I know that she would never keep me from seeing the baby altogether. But equally, I know that she is going to love that baby and it is going to be immensely difficult for her to part with it. Would I be forced into a situation where I only saw the baby when it suited Molly? What would that look like? A few hours on a Saturday afternoon? Every second weekend? A day here and there between my assignments?
Would I have any say at all in its upbringing if that happened? I am suddenly furious even at the thought of an outcome in this situation where I might completely lose control over my family life. I am going to be a good father and I won’t let Molly take that away from me. One way or another I will be present in my child’s life. As it occurs to me how utterly powerless I would be in that situation, I feel such anger towards her that I want to pack my things and go back to the terrace. The sheer loudness of this emotion is like a slap to my face, and I realise how far ahead of myself I’m getting. Molly is still trying to work all of this out, just as I am. Neither of us even wants to be apart from the other. I feel my pulse begin to settle and I have almost regained my equilibrium when the door behind me opens.
‘Leo?’ she calls softly.
I turn my chair back towards her and see the concern in her beautiful blue eyes. The last of my rage evaporates. She loves our baby – but she loved me first. For all of the pain that I have put her through, she is still trying. I reach for her hand and she steps out to join me on the balcony. The breeze whips her hair around her face.
‘We need to make this work,’ I whisper.
‘I know,’ she whispers back, and she gives me a smile. ‘Please come back to bed, I’m lonely without you.’
I follow her back inside and we climb back into bed and I take her in my arms. She falls back to sleep, snoring softly against my ear, but I lie awake for a long time considering the sheer weight of the possibilities that lie ahead of us.
Molly warns me that she will be late home from work the next day. She’s going to meet her parents for coffee to tell them about the baby.
‘Have you thought any more about me trying to reconcile with them, Molly?’ I ask.
‘I have,’ she says lightly. ‘I’ll try to run the idea by Dad this afternoon.’
When she comes home several hours later, Molly is upset, but she shrugs off my attempts to comfort her. She takes a bath, and when she emerges, she tells me quietly, ‘I’m not going to see my parents any more, Leo.’
‘But – why?’
She puts her hand on my thigh and she squeezes gently. ‘I realised today how unfair it was for me to reconnect with them the way that I did. I did it because I missed them and I was lonely.’
‘It’s natural for you to want your parents in your life, especially now.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’ve made up my mind. If they can’t accept you, they can’t accept me. I should have said that to them two years ago, because I think by dropping back into their lives like that, I kind of condoned the way they treat you. It was a betrayal, in a sense, because I didn’t insist that they respect you. And it’s not okay, Leo. You did nothing wrong.’
‘We’ve talked about this. About Dec. I get why they blame me.’
‘No,’ Molly says. Given how fragile she seemed when she walked through the door from visiting them, I’m amazed at the determination in her voice. ‘I won’t be a part of it. You have my loyalty, Leo – all of it this time. I mean it. You can trust me, I promise you.’
‘What happened, love?’
‘I asked Dad if he’d consider having coffee with us – both of us. I thought it would be better now, you know, because of the baby. But Dad can be such a hateful man. I think it’s easier for him to blame you for what happened than to accept that it was actually Declan’s problem. In any case, I told them that you and I are a package deal and that they don’t get to treat you badly and have me or our baby in their lives.’
By the time she’s finished talking, her voice is little more than a whisper and she’s almost in tears. Then she sits up suddenly and groans in frustration. She wipes her eyes on her sleeves and growls, ‘I hate being a weepy pregnant woman!’
‘You know what will help with that,’ I say, and she raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Ice cream. With or without pickles, your choice.’
‘Without.’
‘I’ll go out and pick some up, and then we can watch The Bachelor together.’ She brightens considerably at this offer, so I caution, ‘This is a one-time-only offer, by the way.’
‘Thanks, Leo.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
35
Molly – January 2014