Happy New Year!

Ch.27

He didn't come down to dinner.

He's not here. He's sitting upstairs somewhere, basically holding my heart in his hand. And okay, maybe this is taking the metaphor just a bit too far—but what if he completely hates me for everything I wrote? He probably doesn't wanna hear that I haven't slept with anyone since him. And I so doubt that he cares about how much I sobbed on that flight away from him.

Because it doesn't matter to him that I'm ready now. I should've been fully prepared to be Olivia's mother whenever I gave birth to her!

I can't believe I gave him the letter. Not one thought I poured onto that page will convince him that I'm not a complete ditz. But how does one go about conveying a mature, motherly image in writing when one can't even do that in PERSON?

Olivia was sitting across the table from me, swinging her legs back and forth and looking bemused.

"Olivia!" said Grandmere imperiously from her spot at the head of the table. "No elbows on the table!"

Her cheeks took on a slightly pinkish hue as she mumbled, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," said Grandmere with a have of her hand. "Just don't let it happen again."

"Okay," whispered Olivia. I guess I had gotten used to her bubbly, sweet side, because it was odd to see her retreat to being shy.

Grandmere didn't pick up on the nasty affect she was having, though. She just kept getting worse. "Your Highness," she said sharply. "You refer to me as 'Your Highness.'"

I chose this opportunity to leap in. "Grandmere," I said through gritted teeth. "Do you honestly expect my daughter to treat you like some goddess? We're all family." I turned to Olivia. "You can call her Grandmere, like I do." And hopefully not "conniving witch," as Michael had referred to her.

Olivia nodded, fidgeting with her napkin. "Can I go up to bed?" she whispered to me.

Grandmere overheard, though, and answered before I could say a thing. "Really now! You do not just leave the table before the cheese course. Honestly, Amelia, you would think she had been raised by barbarians." She paused for a moment, her lips twitching. "Oh, yes, I had forgotten about her father."

Olivia looked close enough to tears already, so I leaned towards Grandmere to whisper my next words. "You'll have to get used to Michael, Grandmere. Because, like it or not, I love him…and…and nothing you say will change that. He's going to be around for a while."

"Then where is he now?" she asked, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't find the right words. Anything I thought of hinted at the fact that Michael planned to hightail it out of there the first chance he got.

But after a few seconds' of incoherent stammering, I found my answer.

"Hey, Mia," said Michael easily, sliding into the seat across from me. He threw a grin Olivia's way and then turned his smile towards Grandmere. "Clarisse, you look lovely this evening. And this food!" He slurped up a spoonful of soup. "Divine."

Grandmere seemed just as shocked as I was, but I composed myself as she looked my way. "Mr. Moscovitz," she said, employing a sickeningly sweet tone. "Do you mind explaining your absence for the greater part of the meal?"

"Just getting ready," said Michael, tugging at his collar. And he did look nice. Combed hair, crisply ironed button-down, and a tie.

And I thought I was the surprising one.

But no explanation for his sudden enthusiasm was given to me until after all the plates were cleared and Grandmere had come as close to storming off as Grandmere has ever done.

"Ready for bed, pumpkin?" said Michael, holding his hand out to Olivia.

As she slid her fingers into his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and scooped her up into his arms. "Daddy, you smell funny," she giggled.

"Well, that's a nice thing to say."

"Is that aftershave?" I asked, catching a big whiff of him as we turned the corner.

His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. "It might be."

"That's nice," I laughed, blushing as well. He's wearing AFTERSHAVE! Who else would he wear aftershave for if not me? It doesn't even matter that he probably shouldn't have put that much—it's the thought that counts.

I felt oddly comfortable. After all the worrying and freaking out I'd done while writing the letter, and even after I gave it to him…it just seemed like things might work out now.

We paused outside the door to Olivia's room. "I'm gonna get her ready for bed," said Michael in a slightly apologetic tone.

"Yeah, okay. I'll come with you."

His grin widened as he followed Olivia and me inside.

"He's being goofy," said Olivia in a conspiratorial whisper while he drew the bathwater.

"I agree," I laughed. I couldn't shake the giddiness out of me either. He hadn't exactly said anything about the letter—but I couldn't help but rejoice at his presence…his smile…his fingertips brushing against mine…

I sat on the toilet lid while Michael helped Olivia shampoo. "She doesn't like to lean back into the water by herself." He shuddered. "I don't blame her."

"Watch it, Dad!" she cried, frantically rubbing at her eyes.

"Ah! Sorry, Liv."

I watched them, wondering if this is how our nights would be from now on. So…so…family-like.

Michael tucked in Olivia and lay down on top of the covers beside her. "Come on, Mia," he said, noticing me backed up against the wall.

Okay, here's my chance. Act kindly. Parental. Yet at the same time, exude sex. If Michael can do it, I can!

"Are you okay?" asked Michael, eyeing me strangely.

I scaled down the swagger in my hips. "Who me? I'm fine. How are you?"

"Never better," said Michael after a moment. Sated, I lay down beside him.

Another hint that he was not thoroughly disgusted by my letter? The way he put his arm around me protectively as he began story-time with Olivia.

"So, there was this Jedi," Michael began, not looking at either of us, "and for a long, long time, he was wicked pissed at the princess. See, he was under the impression that the princess was greedy and only wanted him for…for his light saber. Because a while back she had left him because of his…backpack. And he still had that backpack. He loved that backpack a lot, because she had given it to him, even though she had pretty much skipped out right after that. Anyway, one day the princess showed up at his door again because she needed the backpack for her country. Now the Jedi was still a little annoyed with the princess because she had never returned any of the messages he sent her through R2D2. But he knew that she needed the backpack, so he and the backpack went with her to her country and worked pretty hard at forgiving her."

He drew a breath, while I was holding mine. "The Jedi couldn't help being a little…short with the princess. Partly because she was so tall. But in all the time he was spending with her, he kinda realized that maybe he'd been wrong, and maybe she wasn't so awful. Before he could get too settled, though, he started to worry that she didn't like the backpack as much as he liked the backpack. It was really important to the Jedi that anyone he was gonna…feel a lot of things about should be on the same wavelength when it came to his backpack. He knew that he couldn't take the backpack while the princess needed it, though. But as he wasn't really needed, he decided he was gonna head out. Until R2D2 showed up with a message from the princess.

"R2D2 made the Jedi feel more than a little stupid, which wasn't a feeling he was used to. It turned out the princess was just his big bundle of nerves. She just didn't tell the Jedi any of this because she thought that he didn't care, because he didn't want anything to do with her country. And though this may have been true at one point, well, the Jedi just wants the princess to know that any animosity between him and her principality is easily remedied with her love. Because it's magical or something. The End."

Olivia was the one to break the tense silence. "Dad," she said slowly, looking up at his damp eyes, which were locked with mine.

"Hmmm?"

"That story kinda sucked."

Even I joined in on the laughter, my heart swelling all the while. Michael stood, pulling me to my feet. I bit my lip in anticipation. "I'll have to think of a better one for you for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" I asked, still holding his hand.

He nodded.

I'll have to disagree with Olivia. That may be the best bedtime story I've ever heard.