Doppelbanger: A single dad, romantic comedy. (Cajun Girls Book 2)

SHE’S GONE.

This splintering pain in my chest is forcing me to face what I’ve been fighting to admit to myself—I’ve fallen in love with her. The guilt I was drowning in suddenly takes a back seat to the realization that I’ve lost her and likely, for good.

Oh, I’m still mad as fucking hell. Furious even. With her. With myself. With life.

“Gigi, I waked up!” The sound of Willow’s bare feet slapping the wood steps echoes throughout the house.

Shit. Suddenly, I’m feeling so ashamed.

“Hey Daddy-oh,” my little girl chirps, a grin from ear to ear. “Where Gigi? It’s moobie time!” She breaks out into a little jig, half Cabbage Patch, half Carlton.

My heart screws up tight and I feel hot all over. Tugging the collar of my shirt away from my neck, I try to find air. “She uh…she had to go, baby.”

“Huh?” Willow’s smile vanishes, and her pretty blue eyes well with tears. “Her leaved already? Before moobie night?”

When the tears start to flow, I pick her up, holding my little girl tightly to my chest. I don’t know whether I’m trying to comfort her or myself as I smooth my hand in soothing circles over her back.

“But, I was gonna sweep wif her tonight, Daddy.” Her face lifts from my shoulder, and she stares right into my eyes. “Her promised.”

“It’s not her fault, Willow. Dad made her leave.” Vangie’s arms cross on her chest, and the eyes I’m met with hold nothing but disgust.

“Don’t do this, Evangeline,” I beg. “You don’t have to hurt her because you’re angry with me.”

“You telled Gigi to go home? Why?”

I feel like I’m stuck at the bottom of a ravine with no way out. There’s nothing I can say to make her understand. She’s three.

“Because he’s jealous, Willow. He doesn’t want anyone else to love us.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and bile rises in my throat. Is this what my daughter truly believes? My head shakes side to side—in disagreement or denial? I’m not even sure I know the answer to that. “That’s not true,” I argue, wanting to believe I’m not that egotistical.

“No?” My daughter huffs out a long breath. “She was the best thing that ever happened to this family since…since…” she stammers, tears lining her cheeks. “Since Mom died. And you just threw her away.”

“You tan tall her back and say sowwy, Daddy.” Ah, the innocence of a toddler.

“It’s more complicated than that, princess. Grown-up stuff.”

Vangie snorts, and I get that she’s upset, but so am I, and this is not the time to have this discussion.

“Evangeline Elise, I understand you’re angry, and we can talk more later, but you will not discuss another word of this in front of your sister. Do you understand me?” It pains me to yell at her. She’s already looking at me like she despises the ground I walk on.

“Whatever, I’m out.” Who is this child? I think to myself as I watch her storm off, back to her room.

“I really yike Gigi, Daddy,” Willow whispers. “Her painted my nails and my toes, and her tisses and snuggles me yike a real momma.”

And the hits just keep on fucking coming. “I’m glad you like Gigi, honey. But, you know she’s not your momma. Your momma’s in heaven with Jesus.” I smooth the hair back from her face, wiping her tears away with my thumbs. “And I know that Mommy wishes more than anything to be able to kiss and snuggle you.”

Willow groans, exasperated by my response. “I know dat hers not my momma. I said her wuvs me yike a momma. Yike a tend one.”

“I’m sorry, princess.” I don’t know what else to say. I should have never brought her around my kids. It’s one thing to hurt myself, but to know I’ve added more grief to their lives unnecessarily…I hate myself for it.

“I wuv you, Daddy.” Her little arms latch around my neck, offering me comfort when I need it most.

“I love you too, Willow Jane.”

Evangeline remains in her room for the remainder of the evening—not even coming down when I call her for dinner. Willow and I hang out in my bed, watching movies and eating our feelings, as Gina would say. The great thing about three year olds is their short attention span. Once I distract her with junk food and cartoons, she’s all about it. Her sister, however, will be a lot harder to win over.

When she finally passes out, a little after nine, I head up to Evangeline’s room. I feel like I’m walking into a snake pit.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I knock, softly, not all that confident she will even respond.

“You were dating her, weren’t you?” Vangie asks, pulling the door open. My little girl is more observant than I give her credit for.

“Yes.”

She nods, moving aside so I can walk past.

Vangie plops down on the edge of her bed, so I turn the desk chair to face her and settle in for what I’m sure will be a grueling conversation.

“Just so you know,” Vangie starts, pulling her pillow into her lap and hugging it tightly to her chest. “She wasn’t trying to get me on birth control because I want to have sex.”

My eyes widen.

“I don’t want to have sex, Dad.”

“Oh, thank God.”

With a roll of her eyes, she continues. “She said she was gonna talk to you about taking me to a gynecologist because my cramping is really bad, and sometimes they can put you on the pill and it helps.”

Gina wasn’t trying to undermine me. She wasn’t encouraging my daughter to explore her sexuality. In a moment of clarity, I can’t even fathom how I ever thought that’s what she intended in the first place. Gina was only concerned about my daughter’s well-being. Doing exactly what I called on her to do. If I’d listened. If I’d allowed her two fucking minutes to explain…

Goddamn it!

“What have I done?”

My daughter gives me an “I told you so,” look and I can’t even be mad at her. I deserve so much worse. “You have to get her back, Daddy.”

“I’m not sure I can, Vangie.”

“Do you love her?”

I shrug, unable to say the words to my child. That I’ve fallen in love with a woman who is not her mother. I can barely admit it to myself, but the look on her face tells me that my confirmation isn’t needed.

She dangles her feet over the bed, edging closer to where I sit. “Loving Gina doesn’t mean you can’t love Mom, too. And it doesn’t mean you have to love one more or less. Do you love me more than Willow because I came first?”

“No.”

“Do you feel guilty for loving her just as much?” she asks, her eyes meeting with mine. “No, Dad, you don’t. Because your heart is big enough to love a lot of people at the same time. I’m not afraid of Gina taking Mom’s place. That will belong to her forever, but we can give Gina her own place,” my wise-beyond-her-years daughter says with tears streaming down her face. “I won’t stop myself from being close to other people because I’m afraid I’ll hurt Mom, and you shouldn’t either. Mom can see what’s in our hearts, and she knows she’s still in there.”

Schooled on love by a fourteen-year-old. “When did you get so smart?” I ask, swiping at the first tears I’ve shed in front of my child since the day we buried her mother.

“Good genes.”