My Darling Jane (The Darlings)

A few days later, I’m lost in a sea of spreadsheets and inventory lists on the third floor of the shop when Babs’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Attention, we have an X alert on the main floor. I repeat, an X alert. Jane Darling, this is for you.”

X is a new one. With a groan, I leave my paperwork and make my way down the staircase.

Babs is in the bestseller section talking to a customer. I wait until she’s done, then poke her in the arm. “What’s up?”

“Look to your left.”

I scan the room. Customers browse quietly, a kid is entranced by a picture book, and then I spot him.

“Dr. Romantic, in the flesh.” She makes a gagging sound.

Tomas. My ex. I wince.

“I thought you’d want a heads-up,” she continues. “Also, I’ve been waiting to use the intercom for something dramatic.”

“Like the flasher incident wasn’t enough for you.”

“I like a little spice every day.”

Of course she does.

She nudges me with her elbow, a glint in her eye. “He started in the cooking section, and now he’s moving to the medical books. I bet he needs help deciphering all that lingo for the show.” She huffs. “I’ve watched it. I mean, how many times can a man furrow his brow and look pained as he operates on someone? He’s so over the top. Is that good television?”

“Apparently.” It even won an award. Tomas isn’t over the top, though; he’s actually quite shy until you get to know him.

“Yeah, but can he do this?” Babs clutches her chest and mimics a terrified expression. “Oh, the anguish of love, the despair of losing a patient! I need a woman to fuck me in the doctor’s sleep room. Stat. So. Are you gonna go talk to him?”

A long sigh comes from my chest. I’ve been dodging his calls and texts like they’re the plague. Yet, here he is, stepping into my safe space.

I eye his attempt at going unnoticed, the casual shorts, a plain T-shirt, and a black hat tugged low, with sunglasses. He’s trying to blend in, but I recognize his hesitant stance, the way he tends to lean to the right, the shape of his shoulders.

I’m not in love with him anymore—no, those rose-colored glasses were ripped off years ago. But, before my pregnancy, our relationship was sweet. He used to gaze into my eyes and swear I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He loved to surprise me by cooking dinner and making me guess what he’d made.

As I watch Tomas browse through the aisle, more memories trickle in. Long walks in Central Park holding hands and laughing, the way he loved to twirl my hair in bed, a surprise dinner he organized on my birthday on the roof of my old apartment. Then there was the time he stayed up all night nursing me back to health when I had the flu. Every hour he’d check my temperature and bring me an ice pack. He’d joked that he was auditioning for a role as nurse. I guess he wasn’t far off, considering his current TV gig.

He said he was deeply in love with me, but when reality hit, he only thought about his dreams.

I guess he got what he wanted, so why is he tracking me down?

I grab Babs’s arm and move us over to the hallway where there’s a mirror, checking my appearance. My linen shorts and blouse are blah, but I grabbed a bright-red cropped cardigan this morning to dress it up. It’s cheerful at least.

As if reading my mind, Babs opens her purse and hands me a red lipstick. I slide it on.

My hair is styled in a low bun at the back of my head, and I yank it down and run my fingers through it.

We walk back out into the store, and Tomas looks up and starts making his way in my direction.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and walk to meet him.

“Welcome to the store,” I say, trying to be normal.

Babs has gone back to the front counter and comes over the intercom again. “Jane, please report to the drama section. You’re living it.”

I glare over my shoulder at her, then exhale as I meet Tomas’s eyes. “That’s Babs. She thinks she’s a comedian.”

He clears his throat as he tucks his hands into his shorts. “Right. I guess I’m not very popular around here. Look, I hate to just show up, but you haven’t returned my texts. I want to talk about Londyn.”

My gut clenches. “I’m at work. I can’t do that here.”

He follows me as I head back up the stairs. “Wait. Jane. Just give me some time, okay? How about dinner tonight? Are you free?”

My jaw tightens. Of course I’m free. I don’t have a social life.

“‘Free’ doesn’t mean ‘willing,’” I say as I take the stairs up two at a time, hoping to put physical distance between us.

“Jane, please. Before I head back to LA, I want to settle things between us. I’m trying to make things right for you and her.” His voice holds a note of earnestness I hadn’t expected, throwing me off balance.

I turn to face him, my arms crossed. He takes the steps to reach me and stops at the one below me, a nervous expression flitting over his face.

He exhales slowly, his gaze meeting mine. “Please. Let’s meet at Leo’s at eight tonight or tomorrow. You used to love that place. You always said they had the best pesto. Have dinner with me.”

My heart drops, anxiety tingling down my spine.

Everything inside me wants to say no and retreat.

But as I stand there, locked in his eyes, I come to a decision. “Okay, fine, tonight.”

I can’t keep pushing him away as if he doesn’t exist. He does.

And if he wants to talk about Londyn, then isn’t it my responsibility as her mom to listen?

She’s already asking questions in her innocent way. She’s wondering who he is.

Someday, when she’s older, she’ll want to know why I pushed her father away when he finally showed up.

“Good, that’s great. Thank you. I mean it.” His relief is palpable as he reaches out and takes my hand and clutches it.

There’s not even a spark between us as we touch, just lingering nostalgia.

“Okay. Goodbye,” I say as I pull my hand back and turn to go up to the third floor. With each step, I’m already bracing myself for the dinner later, armoring myself to face what’s ahead.

Later that night, I get out of a cab, wearing a strapless red dress, one I kept from a runway event years ago. My hair is curled and falls around my shoulders, and my makeup is heavier than usual.

Still, it doesn’t make me feel confident. I’m a bundle of nerves.

I push open the door to Leo’s, the yummy scent of garlic wrapping around me. Despite the years, this place hasn’t changed. It’s been around forever, and he used to save up his money for us to come.

I spot him immediately, sitting at a table near the back, his posture tense, his eyes tracking every person who enters. When his gaze lands on me, there’s a flash of relief on his face with a smile. I steel myself, drawing on every ounce of composure I have, and walk toward him.

“Jane,” he says as he stands. He’s dressed up, wearing navy slacks and a dress shirt. Of course, he’s handsome, and I notice several patrons eyeing him, perhaps recognizing him from the show. To me he just looks like a stranger. I recall the young man with longer hair and faded jeans, band shirts, and Converse.

“Hi,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. He pulls out a chair for me, a gesture familiar yet weird.

We sit, and an awkward silence envelops us. The soft glow of the light above our table does nothing to ease the tension zipping between us.

The waiter comes by, and I order a glass of red wine, something to calm the nerves. Tomas opts for water, his eyes never leaving the menu, as if the answers to our situation might be between the lines of appetizers and entrées.

“So, the pesto pasta here is still the best?” he says, glancing up at me.

The truth is, I haven’t been to this place since he left. I nod anyway.

The waiter returns with our drinks, and we place our orders, pasta for me and eggplant parm for him.

I take a sip of my wine, gathering my thoughts. “Let’s talk, Tomas.”

He sucks in a breath as he squares his shoulders, and I almost think he’s a little scared of me. It makes me smirk.

He clears his throat, and out come words that sound as if he’s rehearsed them a few times. “I’ve thought a lot about talking to you. About Londyn,” he says, his voice lower than usual. “I want to be part of her life. I know that it’s awful of me to ask because I’ve had no contact with you or her since she was born. Here and now, I deeply apologize for it, for not communicating with you, for pushing you away as if neither of you existed. I’m not the best human. I’m deeply flawed, and I’m sorry for it. At the time, I thought I was making the right choice. You know, career and timing.”

His eyes hold mine as I keep my face impassive.

“And now? What’s changed?”

He hesitates, sipping his water like it’s a lifeline. “Savannah. She has nieces around the same age as Londyn. Every time I see them, it reminds me of what I missed out on. I’ve kept up with you through social media. I’ve seen photos of her. She’s truly beautiful. She has my dimples.”

“Ah, so a wedding’s on the horizon, and suddenly you remember you have a daughter.”

“I always knew,” he insists. “But I was in another world. I had to make sacrifices. And now, I want to do right by Londyn.”

The audacity.

“And how do you plan on doing that? You think you can just walk back into her life?”

He leans in. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it, but I wanted you to know that I am sorry and I’ve thought about you over the years.”

I arch a brow. “I guess the tabloids would rip you apart if they knew you’d deserted a daughter.”

His lashes flutter. “That’s not the reason I wanted to see you.”

“Okay, fine,” I say with a shrug, letting that angle go for the moment. “You’re sorry. What else?”

He shifts in his seat, seeming uncomfortable, but there’s no denying the determined expression on his face. “Things are going well for me. The show just got renewed for another season, and I’m doing a movie next year. I’m buying a house in Malibu with my fiancée. And I thought, well, maybe Londyn could spend some summers with us. Get to know her other side of the family. Savannah wants to meet her too. She adores kids.”

“It’s nice that you have such a perfect life.”

He reaches across the table, attempting to take my hand, but I pull away. He exhales in exasperation. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. My life isn’t perfect, Jane. I just want to make amends. Perhaps I can just be a friend to her? We don’t even have to tell her I’m her father until you’re ready.”

I cross my arms. “So you want me to uproot her life because you’ve decided to play dad?”

He winces. “I know it sounds abrupt, and I know you have your life here, your family who’s supported you when I didn’t.” He looks down at the table, his brow furrowed. “I was flat broke back then, Jane, remember? I was waiting tables, doing catering gigs, delivering food just to keep a roof over my head. I couldn’t fathom being a dad then, but I can help you now. In fact, um, I’d like to give you money, you know, for all the time I’ve missed paying for things Londyn and you needed.”

I have to look away from him, recalling how hard Emmy worked to keep us going. Andrew too. I had savings from modeling, but it ran out fast.

My fingers clench around the cloth napkin, the fabric twisting in my hands.

How dare he assume that his money can make up for missed birthdays or the countless nights Londyn was sick.

Money doesn’t buy time.

But as I look at him and see the strained expression in his eyes, the slouch of his shoulders, my anger eases. Perhaps he’s grappling with his own guilt.

“Money doesn’t cover your guilt. If you want to see Londyn, it’s forever,” I say sharply.

“I know. I do. It’s time I stepped up.” He lowers his voice and mentions a seven-figure number he wants to give me right now. I don’t even twitch. I don’t care about the money because I have made it work, but dammit, I’m still pragmatic.

That amount would secure her college and offer her opportunities that I couldn’t do, like dance class and music lessons. A kernel of bitterness rises in my throat at the idea of accepting it.

Tomas brushes a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not about the money. I just want a place in her life.”

My mind spins as I try to focus. Can I allow him this, knowing it comes with the risk of another abandonment? Or do I deny Londyn the father she might come to cherish?

“I’m not a bad guy, Jane,” he murmurs gently. “I loved you. I guess, I loved myself more.”

“Is that still true? Are you still the number one person in your life?”

He lets out a long breath. “Probably. I’m self-centered, this is true, but I also know it and try to think of others now.”

“But are you a good father?”

He looks down, tracing the rim of his water glass. “I want to be. Growing up, my mom was an alcoholic. Home was the last place I wanted to be.”

I nod, recalling his stories about a tough upbringing in Indiana.

“My older sister gave up her dreams to take care of the rest of us. I saw how much it cost her, and I swore I’d chase my own dreams someday and not let anyone get in the way.”

I listen, part of me empathizing. “And your dreams led you to Hollywood, away from us.”

“Yes, and I won’t lie—it’s what I wanted. But the guilt . . .” He pauses to rub his forehead. “It eats at me. Missing out on Londyn growing up, not being there for you. I can’t undo the past, but I can try to make things right.”

His sincerity tugs at me, a reminder of the complex person he was when I knew him. He’s not a hero type, but he isn’t a villain either. He was a bit wishy-washy, a bit shy, but he was kind to others. In our relationship, I tended to make the big decisions. He was the dreamer; I was the realist.

“And if we agree to Londyn spending time with you, what’s to say you won’t just disappear again? What if your career goes kaput or you get a divorce or really anything that makes you run? Londyn isn’t a toy you can pick up when you feel like it. She’s a little girl, with feelings.”

He meets my gaze, his eyes earnest. “I’ve realized something. Dreams aren’t just what you achieve; they’re about who’s by your side when you chase them. I want to be a father to Londyn.”

Still. How can I just let him waltz into our lives when he hurt us so much?

I stop, my mind spinning. Am I being especially hard on him because of my anger, at the fact that he left not just Londyn, but me?

The food arrives, and we eat in silence. My thoughts are going a mile a minute, and I barely touch my pasta. He doesn’t eat much either. I watch him surreptitiously, trying to see beyond the mask to the man underneath.

He is older, now thirty. He has a stable career and a fiancée. He has a home.

But can I trust him with the heart of my daughter?

The waiter clears our plates and brings me another glass of wine.

Tomas gives me a small smile. “I know you’re over there thinking about how to deal with me. You’re wondering if I’m worth the trouble.”

“Yes,” I admit.

He gives me a hopeful look. “Does that mean you’ll give me a chance? I’ll do whatever you want. I don’t want to change your life. I want to make it better—if I can. You made a commitment to her. I didn’t. But I want to change that, if you’ll allow it.”

The silence that follows is heavy as I process his words.

The clamor of the restaurant fades into the background, leaving only his request echoing in my mind. A chance. He wants to be a part of Londyn’s life, and my initial reaction is to guard her fiercely from the man who, by his own admission, couldn’t prioritize her when it mattered.

Fear—and anger—looms large in the back of my mind. The risk of him flaking again, of him disappearing when Londyn gets attached, terrifies me. The potential for heartbreak, for Londyn’s questions turning from innocent curiosity to tearstained confusion about why her dad doesn’t want to see her anymore, is a scenario I can’t bear.

I’ve been the one to hold her, to soothe her questions with stories and distractions.

There’s also the part of me that bristles at Tomas’s presumption. At the suddenness of it all. After all these years, he wants to step back into her life.

I pause, thinking. I’m the one who always says surprises can be good. They help us grow.

This is definitely a surprise.

I think about second chances and mending bridges.

People can change.

Whatever I decide will change everything. If I accept him, then there’s a chance he’ll hurt her, but if I don’t, Londyn may never forgive me when she discovers it.

Tomas catches my gaze, the softness there reminding me of the sweet person he used to be. “I’m sorry to throw this at you, but well, I had to. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

I nod as I signal the waiter and ask for the check, even though Tomas tries to take it from me. It’s defiance, I guess. I don’t want him to think I can’t pay my own way. After it’s paid, we rise together and head to the exit. He walks next to me, opening the door for me to leave first. I hail a cab and turn to him as he thanks me for dinner.

“I have a lot to think about,” I say.

He nods, sticking his hands into his pockets. “I’m here for a few more weeks. Maybe we can talk before I go?”

“I have your number.” I pause as a cab pulls up next to the curb, and he opens the door for me. I brush past him. “Also, congrats on the wedding. I mean it.”