Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of an Apology
Two days later, I drove back to the suburban house.
The driveway was empty when I pulled in. Peter’s car was gone, but when I walked into the kitchen, I saw that the house had been scrubbed clean. The counters were polished, the mail was sorted neatly on the desk, and a vase of fresh white hydrangeas sat on the island next to a written note in Peter’s handwriting.
I agree to everything. Please call me when you get in.
I didn't call right away. I unpacked Nina’s clothes, put her down for a nap in her familiar nursery, and poured myself a cup of water.
When Peter came home at five o'clock, he looked exhausted. Dark circles were etched under his eyes, and his suit jacket hung loosely on his shoulders. He didn't offer a hug or attempt to kiss my cheek. He simply walked into the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the dining table, and sat down.
"I called a therapist," he said, his voice flat and hoarse. "His name is Dr. Aris. My first appointment is on Tuesday at four."
I sat down across from him. "Thank you."
"I also called my mother," he continued, looking down at his hands, which were clasped tightly together on the table. "I told her that what she did was unacceptable. I told her that if she wants to be part of Nina's life or Willa's life, she has to apologize to Willa directly."
I watched him closely. "What did she say?"
Peter winced slightly, the old habit of protecting her trying to assert itself, but he swallowed it down. "She was defensive at first. She said I was letting you dictate my life. She said Kara was poisoning my mind through you."
"And what did you say to that?"
Peter looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time since I had walked into the room. "I told her that Kara had nothing to do with it. I told her that I was the one who ruined things by being a coward. I told her that if she ever called Willa an extra or implied she wasn't part of this family again, she wouldn't be welcome in this house."
The words were correct. They were the exact words I had spent four days waiting to hear. But looking at Peter’s pale, stressed face, I knew that stating the words to his mother over a phone call was only the easiest part of a long, painful repair process.
"Willa comes back on Friday," I said softly.
"I know," Peter said. "I spoke to Kara this morning. We... we had a long talk. She was surprisingly reasonable, given how much of an idiot I've been."
"Kara doesn't want drama, Peter," I said. "She just wants her daughter to be safe."
"I know," he repeated. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his folded hands. "Beth... I am so sorry. I didn't see it. I genuinely thought I was just managing my mother's feelings so she wouldn't throw a fit during the holidays. I didn't see what I was doing to Willa. I didn't see what I was doing to you."
"That's the problem with trying to keep everyone happy, Peter," I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "When you try to please everyone, the person you sacrifice first is usually the one who loves you enough not to make a scene."
Friday arrived quickly.
When Kara dropped Willa off at four o'clock, the atmosphere in the front hallway was quiet and cautious. Kara stayed by the front door, her coat zipped up, holding Willa's small weekend duffel bag.
Peter walked out from the living room. He didn't offer a casual joke or pretend everything was normal. He walked straight up to his daughter, knelt on one knee so he was at eye level with her, and looked her in the eyes.
"Willa," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"
Willa looked at me, then at her mother, before looking back at her father. "Okay," she said quietly.
"I made a very big mistake," Peter said, reaching out to gently touch her hand. "At the photo shoot last week, when Grandma told you to step out of the frame, I should have stopped her immediately. I should have told her that our family isn't complete without you. I was scared of making a scene, and because I was scared, I let you get hurt. That was terrible of me. I am your dad, and my job is to protect you, not to make things easy for myself. I am so, so sorry."
Willa stood very still. Her small thumb rubbed against the strap of her duffel bag.
"Do you really want me in the pictures?" she asked softly.
Peter’s eyes filled with tears. He reached out and pulled her into a tight, fierce hug, burying his face in her hair. "I don't want a single picture in this house that doesn't have you in it, Willa. Not one. You are my daughter. You were my daughter first, and you will always be my daughter."
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Willa rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't cry, but her body noticeably loosened, the tension that had held her shoulders square for ten days finally melting away.
From the doorway, Kara caught my eye. She gave a small, slow nod—a silent acknowledgment that a small piece of ground had been reclaimed.
