2 You | Jean Kirstein part deux ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖
synop; only son of the multimillion dollar Kirstein estate Jean returns to his hometown after six years to attend Marco’s engagement party and stumbles into something he never expected
cw; teen pregnancy, baby daddy jean, cliche asf but it’s indulgent for me lmfaoooo
˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡
"Holy shit–" Sasha's voice cut through the tension that was wrapping around Jean and y/n like a damn noose. y/n craned her head sharply in a panicked haze, like the moment Sasha had said something out loud had made the whole situation real. Like it wasn't just a nightmare she'd jolt awake from. Like the inevitable had finally happened in a way that she had never ever imagined would be how Jean found out. She didn't know she would have eventually told Jean, if she ever decided to, but it definitely wasn't supposed to be in Marco's backyard full of people she barely knew at his damn engagement party.
y/n's fingers twitched at her sides, instinctively reaching for Amelie like she always did. But she hesitated once she glanced down and remembered her daughter's hand was still wrapped up in Jean's. Jean who was still looking down at y/n in complete shock. Like his whole life had been a lie. Which, in a sense it kind of totally was. Jean's face was indecipherable, not just a single emotion painted on that stubbled face of his. But it was mostly painted in shock. Still with his mouth slightly open as he still was in disbelief that y/n was actually standing right in front of him. And in complete utter shock about this little girl that stood between them.
"I'm gonna go get something to clean this up. Amelie, c'mon let's get you to aunty Sasha," y/n muttered as she grabbed Amelie's free hand and started to lead her to where Sasha had stood at the back patio by the house's sliding door, Amelie's other tiny hand slipping out of Jean's grip. Jean's hand closed into a fist like he was trying to hold onto something he didn't know how to hold onto or keep.
"y/n wait–",Jean let out an exasperated breath as he started to follow both of the girls. Mind running rampant with a million and one questions. It didn't take much for him to catch up to her, just a few long strides until his hand lurched forward before he stops himself mid reach. Still too nervous and in shock to even touch the girl, now woman actually, that he hadn't seen in six whole damn years. too terrified to close that distance and to claim that familiarity he lost a long time ago. "y/n, please."
She paused, just for a second, her back still turned away from him. Amelie was still holding her hand, confused as ever as this strange man she never met before called after her mother. The little girl's head darting back and forth between the two adults, fully feeling the tension that was oh so tangible between them. y/n turned slightly, not enough to fully face him but just enough to acknowledge that she had heard him, just enough for Jean to see the side of her face, although her eyes were stubbornly planted to the ground. In all honesty she didn't want to tear up or possibly cry in front of Amelie. Which she felt on the verge of in this circumstance, who the hell wouldn't when coming face to face with their high school sweetheart six years later?
"I need to clean up that glass," her words were low, shrouded with shaky breaths as her anxiety started to creep in, "she coulda got hurt. Someone could have." she kept taking long blinks, like it would fix that blurry vision of hers, keep her from getting lightheaded from the overwhelm.
"She didn't.," Jean's voice came out a little harsher than he had wanted it to, but he felt so damn choked up, that ball in his throat constricting more and more as he looks at y/n, and that little girl who was the perfect mix of the two she stood in between. "But you can't just walk away like this isn't going to."
"Oh my god," y/n mumbled under her breath. Jean was still the same. Still, after all this time. That stubbornly persistent Aries who couldn't let go of shit until he got what he wanted. Always pushing and pushing.
Amelie's big eyes darted between her mother and the tall man she was just talking to earlier, still confused as to what was going on, that confused furrow in her eyebrows deepening as her tiny fingers laced with her mother's just a little bit tighter. "Mommy, are you mad at that man?"
That man. It felt like a heavy punch to the chest to Jean, one that would have knocked the air out of his lungs. Not a who's that or how do you know him. But 'that man' like he was someone to be cautious of. And she was right to be wary. Because even Jean didn't know who he was right now. A stranger? A mistake? Just a ghost with his daughter's cheekbones? He wanted to tell her right then and there. He wanted to lift the little girl up and tell her 'this man is your father. I'm your father. I'm the one who gave you those eyes.' But even so, his feelings were too erratic to even say that right now, had his jaw wired shut so no words could even make their way out. And he couldn't just drop that bomb of a truth onto that poor little girl at Marco's engagement party of all things. So he stayed frozen in that deer in the headlights way he was, just staring at this child like she was everything he never knew he needed or wanted.
y/n crouched down to her daughter's eye level, brushing some stray hairs back behind her ear. Her hands steady even though her insides were anything but. "No baby, 'm not mad. I just.. I just need to talk to him for a second, okay?" Her voice was gentle, that soft sound that Jean somehow still remembered from all those years ago, those late nights and whispered nothings that never got the chance to turn into somethings.
Amelie nodded, understanding as always. "Okay, mama." Then turning to Jean with those same amber eyes that he himself had, all polite and sincere and sweet that nearly made Jean fall to his knees in that grass, "Sorry I made you drop your glass, Shawn."
Jean couldn't stop that broken half laugh that made its way out, a sorrow swirled smile on his lips as he looked down at y/n's daughter. At his daughter. "S'okay kid. I didn't like the drink, remember?"
Sasha had finally made her way through the crowd of guests that were luckily enough too tipsy to pay attention to the drama unfolding right in the middle of the party, coming in to scoop up Amelie; "C'mon Mels, I think uncle Coco saved you a cupcake." She said in that caring aunty voice of hers to distract her from what had just happened, dusting some stray grass off Amelie's tulle skirt before turning back to y/n, giving her those reassuring eyes that also said 'it woulda happened sooner or later, better to get it over with now'.
y/n just sighed, knowing Sasha was right, shaking her head as she made her way to the side of the house where the door to Marco's garage was. Maybe if she kept busy finding the broom and dust pan Jean would forget about it all and be back to New York soon enough. But no, he followed after her, of course he did. Watching the way she still walked the same. Shoulders all straight and head held high. But now with those maternal hips and grown woman weight, six years of change and growth that he had missed out on. y/n opened the side garage door, not even bothering to hold it open for Jean, who had to slap a hand on said door to keep it from shutting on him and slamming right in his face.
He snorted incredulously at that, being brought back to high school and her little petty behavior she'd get when she was hurt, "Really, y/n?"
She turned on her feet, hair whipping behind her as she looked at him over her shoulder. "What? I gotta clean that glass up. It's real urgent," she huffed, that oh so familiar pout on her face that Jean loved to kiss right off. But he couldn't this time. Probably could never again, honestly. She turned back to look around for the broom, scanning the cluttered shelves of Marco's garage for a dust pan until one of Jean's heavy hands finally landed on her shoulder to gently turn her around.
"Can you just look at me please?" His voice was bordering desperate, and that desperation was so so evident in his eyes when y/n had finally fully turned to look him in the eyes. Those arched brows of Jean pulled up and together in anguish. Piercing eyes somehow looking soft.
"I am looking at you," somehow she felt sixteen again, feeling all those emotions that she had felt that last time she had seen Jean in the flesh. All the hurt and anger and sadness that was on layaway all these years finally coming back for their investment.
"No,, you're not." Jean's brows furrowed, and y/n didn't know if he was more hurt or upset in the moment. "You're looking at me like I'm just another mess you gotta sweep up."
Her eyes were glossy but not spilling tears, yet at least. So she tried to blink it away. Cleared her throat as she tried to keep the composure she was still desperately clinging onto. "Well, glass is everywhere so,"
Jean scoffed in disbelief, eyes widening as he threw his head back for a moment before looking back at her, "You're seriously gonna act like this isn't happening right now?? That I didn't just meet my damn daughter by accident??"
y/n flinched, like visibly was taken aback by the reality of the situation, by how the words had came out of Jean's mouth. "You think I wanted it to happen like this?" Her words were choked, like this is the last thing she wanted to happen. Cause even though she didn't know just how or when Jean would have found out about Amelie, it definitely wasn't like this. It's not what she wanted. Not for Jean and especially not for Amelie.
"I don't know what you wanted," he snapped, eyes searching her face like it might give him something more honest than those clipped words she offered him. "That's kinda the point, right? I don't know anything anymore. I didn't even know you kept the baby."
That last sentence made her breath hitch, eyes widen and water even more than they already were. Jean could see in her eyes that she was thinking deep and hard about something, saw it in the way her bottom lip wobbled before she left out a deep breath and pursed them. "I didn't tell you," she started slowly, like she was trying to collect her nerves but really the thoughts were running too rampant through her mind that they couldn't even form a coherent sentence, "Because I didn't think you'd come back. Because I thought if I told you, it would ruin whatever life you were trying to build."
Jean looked like he had been slapped, jaw slack from complete shock of what she had just said. Like she had made the ultimate decision for him, one that had changed the entire course of his life. "You think I was just off in New York playing rich boy while you were here, what?? Raising her alone? Hiding her from me??"
y/n's brows furrowed, "Hiding her from you?! You think that's what I was doing?? You don't know what it was like, Jean." Her teeth were gritted, all that fear and hurt turning into anger from one damn sentence. From a far off accusation that Jean had no right to make.
"Then tell me!" He bursted out, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. "God, y/n, let me know something. Let me be angry, let me be shocked, let me feel bad, let me fucking feel something about it. Just tell me the damn truth, we're grown now, right??"
y/n shut her eyes tightly. Like she was contemplating on how much of the truth she should tell him, how much truth she could even bare to tell him. "I didn't tell you because I was scared. Scared you'd resent her. Scared you'd show up out of obligation and not love." Her voice was coarse, and the words literally burned as they left her vocal cords.
Jean stepped closer, being swept into that way too familiar scent of strawberry and caramel that used to cling to his hoodies she would steal from him back in school. "You really think I'm that kind of man, y/n?" His tone had flipped a complete 180, now breathy and exposed like her saying that had shattered his heart open.
"I didn't know what kind of man you'd become," she finally opened her eyes again, looking straight up at him with big vulnerable doe eyes, "you were gone. They took you from me and there was nothing I could do."
Jean just looked at her like she took all the air from his lungs. brows contorted in confusion and mouth parted in concern as his eyes raked over that pain stricken look on her face. "Took me from you? Wha.. What do you mean?"
y/n sniffled softly, hating that those tears had finally found their way out and her nose was starting to burn. She tried to blink the tears away, like maybe even if she did it fast enough she could time travel six years back and do it all different. But a tear slipped. Then another, then another until they all trickled from the wells of her eyes. Each tear like a memory of that night.
"Your parents." She finally mustered out, all bitter and hurt from a truth she had kept wrapped up for years, "your mom, your dad. They made it very clear what they wanted when they found out I was pregnant."
Jean's brows pulled together, trying to recall the last time he remembers his parents even speaking to y/n in his presence. The limited, very limited, times they had ever mentioned her or spoke about her. "They talked to you? After that whole–"
She laughed then, but it wasn't funny. It was that bitter and hurt laugh of disbelief that Jean didn't know what the hell his parents had did. Because honestly, a part of her always thought Jean knew as well. "You know how your parents are, Jean. Let's not act that dense. They did what they always do, threw money at the problem in hopes it would go away quietly. Like I was just some silly mistake you made and they needed to erase. Handed me a stupid manila envelope of cash and said do whatever I wanted with it as long as I got rid of our baby. Told me you were going to New York no matter what. That you weren't gonna stay here and be trapped. That you deserved better."
Jean looked queasy as hell, like the truth was a punch to the liver that had him hunched over and ready to puke. "They told me you stopped answering. That you didn't want to talk to me anymore. That you were getting rid of it. That you had already got rid of it."
"Is that what you believed? That I'd really do that?" Her face fell, like she was disappointed that he would even think that. "After everything we've been through? That I'd really give up on us that easily? Or was it easier for you to believe that and leave to move on without me cause you were scared of what would come??"
And that broke the both of them. Because they both remembered that last conversation. The day that both Jean and y/n had nervously walked into his parent's foyer and told them that Jean had got her pregnant. When Jean had stood next to her, hand in hers but already slipping. And in that moment, Jean felt that guilt flood back tenfold.
"Fuck, y/n, that's not–"
"That's how it looked Jean. You were supposed to stand by me. But you didn't. You were so scared of mommy and daddy that you left me and believed them," yeah her words were sharp and maybe a little mean, but god was she hurt. And finally being able to talk to Jean about that day brought out all those feelings that she never got to express to him. She remembered the exact moment she felt alone. Not when she found out she was pregnant, but when Jean didn't say a word when his parents had said all those god awful things to her right in front of him.
"That's not fair, y/n. I was sixteen. Sixteen and scared and... fuck, I thought you didn't wanna see me after that night. That I ruined your life. That you wanted out."
Her eyes narrowed in both anger and hurt for the millionth time, a fresh wave of tears pooling and dripping, "I was sixteen too, Jean. With nothing. No trust fund to fall back on. No rich fucking parents to help with this shit. Just another statistic like everyone thought I'd become." Her posture slipped for a second, curled in for a moment like a little girl before she straightened her spine once more, "So yeah, you did ruin my life. And then you left before you could help me put it back together."
Another emotional punch to the chest. But all Jean could do was nod and take it because she was right. "You're right, y/n. I was scared. I didn't know how to fight them. I didn't know what to do or how to do anything. And they made it seem like you already made that choice."
Her heart shattered even more than it had, if that was even possible. Her voice was small now, "and you didn't even call? You didn't even try?" There was a crack in that last word, that try. Sounding so soft and hurt.
Jean felt Deja vu. Even after all these years, the maturing of her face and changes from life, her curves now fuller and hair a little longer, in that moment she looked like that same y/n that he last saw six years ago, eyes all big and wide, tears streaming down her face and voice laced with pain and hurt as she cried to him that last time he ever got to see her. When he broke everything that they were.
"I thought you hated me," oh he wanted to hold her so bad, but he knew that he gave that right away six years ago when he left her for New York, "I told myself you hated me."
Those Bambi eyes of hers widened before she scoffed, turning her head away as she wiped all that vulnerability off of her face. "And that's what you needed, huh? To not feel like a bad guy? To go off to New York and live your life guilt free while I stayed back and raised our daughter on my own?"
Jean's lips parted, but the words didn't come out. Nothing he could say could undo it. None of it. Not the leaving. Not the cowardice. Not the ache he had buried so deep that he forgot what it felt like until she reopened the wound and looked him straight in the eyes while his heart bled.
"I didn't live guilt free. I lived every day wondering why you gave up on me. Why you woulda got rid of it. I started to hate you. To hate myself and everything around me," it sounded selfish of Jean, but that's how he felt. How sixteen year old Jean, in some sterile ass dorm at some private school in New York City, felt knowing the girl he had loved since middle school had supposedly got rid of the fruits of their love.
Another scoff left her lips, "you hated me?" It was asinine, just hearing that coming from his mouth. Baffling, like it was her fault in this situation. Baffling that any blame could be pointed toward her after what she had been put through. "Hated me for what your parents did??"
And Jean nodded, low and a bit ashamed because of course he made the situation about himself. "I was a kid, y/n. I didn't know what the fuck was true. I knew I felt sick all the time. Everything reminded me of you. You were everywhere. In my thoughts. My dreams. Hell, I even hallucinated you for a bit. I missed you. And I hated you for not missing me back."
Her chest was rising and falling faster, and anymore fast she'd be hyperventilating to the point of passing out right there in Marco's garage. Her cheeks stung from the salty tears, but not as much as the pain she felt hearing what Jean had to say. How he was framing it making it seem like she was at to blame here.
"Yeah? Well I hated you too," no longer could she stay composed. Stay that healed maternal woman she had to shape herself into way too fast. The woman she made herself for Amelie. She was back to y/n, that y/n that was Jean's. "I hated you every time I walked past Arsicault. I couldn't even walk down that damn street without smelling that damn ham and cheese croissant you'd get before school. I hated you when I had to drop out and walk into some underfunded ass continuation school when my stomach was too big to hide. And I really hated you when I remembered that I had to do it all alone without you."
"I wanted to call, y/n. I really did," Jean's adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and he tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. "My mom told me you wanted nothing to do with me. That you never wanted to speak to me again. Told me my number was blocked and if I had called you from any other number you'd hang up in my face. That you were done with us. With me."
"And you believed her?" Her voice was wounded, somewhat reverting to that girlish hurt that she hasn't sounded like in years. That same girlish hurt that was last brought out by the same boy, who was now a man, standing in front of her. Crazy how things could repeat huh?
"I tried calling, y/n. I did. Just once. I don't know why. Maybe to see if it was really true. Got hit with that stupid dial tone. Kinda felt like confirmation. Like you did block my number and you were done with me," Jean sighed, looking at her like he remembered that exact day he called her just to see. That exact day that monotonous phone voice had said; 'your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system'. He remembered it clearly. Crying in that dorm, silently under his sheets so he wouldn't have his nosy roommate asking him what was wrong.
y/n's brows furrowed in confusion. "I never blocked you, Jean. I even tried calling you. That same day your parents said you were on a plane to New York. It said your number was disconnected." The same monotone voice, just telling her something different.
"I still had the same number for weeks after moving to New York. My number didn't change til my parents got me a new phone. Some bullshit about a fresh start. That I had to finally move on."
y/n snorted, starting to put some dots together as that bitter clarity kicked in. "Bet your dad blocked my number on your phone plan before you even got on that plane. Would explain why when you called it seemed like I was the one who blocked you and when I called.., it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth."
Jean's jaw went slack in disbelief, huffing out some air cause it definitely sounded like some slimey shit his father would in fact do. "That does sound like my fucking dad, doing some evil sneaky shit like that. Damn asshole." For a second it started to feel like old times, just a little bit. Back when Jean would rant about his parents and y/n would put her little two cents in. Her tiny bit spiteful but humble opinion on his rich out of touch parents.
"I waited still. You know? For you to show up at my door. Or call from a blocked number. Send a letter. Anything. Hell, I waited until my water broke and still thought; 'maybe he'll show up. maybe he'll crash into this hospital room and be here to stay. that he truly wanted me and this baby. that he wanted us.'"
"I did want you, y/n. I always did. You know that," Jean stepped forward, wanting to grab her face and hold it like he always would before kissing her forehead then the tip of her nose. It ached him, seeing his first love heartbroken. Finally talking about the things they had kept bottled up for so so long. "I thought about you even when I felt like I shouldn't. Missed you when I tried to forget you."
"And what about her, Jean? What about Amelie?" Because now it wasn't just y/n, it wasn't about just her anymore. Now it was about their daughter, who didn't deserve any of this in the slightest. The one out back giggling with Sasha as she swiped a bit of frosting on Connie's nose.
"Every fucking day," his voice was starting to get raspy from all the emotional turmoil, "and I didn't even know she existed. Just thought about the what if's and wondering why you didn't wanna keep it. But now that I do know? Now that I've seen her? I don't know how the hell I can keep living without knowing her. Without being there. Without regretting every single damn second I know I missed."
"You saw her, Jean. She's real. She's not some what if anymore. She's five. She laughs just like you, same scrunch of the nose with her eyes closed. She gets shy went people compliment her. And she deserves bettter than all this." That motherly guilt had hit her, heart forever aching for her sweet baby girl.
Jean's breath hitched, knowing that even being thousands of miles away for six years was a little girl who shared the same antics that he did. That came from his very own blood. "I wanna do better, y/n. I know I can't fix what I broke, but–"
She cut him off with a small shake of her head, "This isn't about what you want anymore. S'not even about what I want. It's about Amelie. And for once I don't have a single clue on what she'd want. And that scares me, Jean." Her voice cracked again when she said she was scared, and it cracked him too. Because she wasn't yelling now. She wasn't lashing out. She was just being honest. That kind of vulnerable honesty that came from being lost.
Because that's what y/n was. Lost. Still sort of growing up herself, with no manual on how to be a mother. No one to really look up to or ask for help. Just instincts and what she thought was right. Knowing that every decision she made was being relied on by the baby girl that had been by her side since she was sixteen years old.
"I don't know how to tell her you're her dad," she started to blink quickly, the sting coming back to her eyes again. Tears already welling once more, face still wet from earlier ones. "I don't even know if I should. What if she hates you. O-or doesn't even wanna meet you? What if she gets attached and then you leave again?" Those anxious thoughts started to flood her mind, one after another as she tried to play out every possible bad scenario.
Jean gently put his index and thumb under her chin, tilting it up to look into his eyes. To see the sincerity when he said "I'm not leaving."
"You say that now," she muttered back, eyes looking down even with her chin tilted up at him.
"I mean it," Jean emphasized, thumb brushing the side of her jaw as he lifted her chin up just a tiny bit more so she'd look back up at him. "I swear to God, y/n. I didn't even know she was real until like what, an hour ago? And now I've seen my daughter–our daughter–I just can't pretend I didn't see her. I won't."
y/n sighed, head falling in some sort of defeat, going limp in Jean's hands like she used to do when she was pouty. It was like all animosity was gone at this point. Adrenaline all worn out from her blood now turning tired. It felt familiar, and it was familiar. Like way back when y/n would emotionally depend on Jean. When he'd comfort her when she had nobody else.
"I don't wanna confuse her," she sniffled, "she thinks her family is me, and Sasha, and Connie, and Marco. She's never asked about her dad cause I never gave her a reason to. She grew up with so much love cause I didnt want her to think she was missing something. Or someone."
It was like Jean's pupils shrunk, eyes still fixated on y/n and that somber look on her face. "She was missing someone. Me."
Her head jerked up, out of his grasp. "And whose fault was that, Jean?"
"I know," he sighed, hand falling to his side. "I know. I fucked up. But I want to fix it. Let me try to be in her life. I don't just want to meet her. I want to know her. I want her to know me. I want to be her dad. Not just some absent figure. Not just a story with no face you'll have to explain when she's ten and asks why she doesn't have a father like the other kids at school."
y/n sniffled, shuffling over to sit on the old wooden workbench that belonged to Marco's father. She felt drained, like her legs were starting to give out from standing too long. "I don't even know what I'd even say to her. How to even tell her. But... if you're serious, if this isn't just guilt talking, then we can talk. I'll ask Amelie."
Jean made his way next to her, heavy weight causing the old bench to creak. Leaving enough distance between them to still be respectful and not overstep. His head was turned to look at her, his shoulders a little hunched, elbows on his knees. "I mean it. It's not just cause of guilt. It's not just regret either. It's.., knowing I missed out on something I should've never missed. Knowing that she's been walking around with my eyes and I didn't even know. That she has my laugh and I've never even heard it."
y/n turned her head a little, just to look at Jean. Seeing all that overwhelming emotion on his face. Like he didn't know how to feel. Like there was loss, and regret, and some sort of newfound hope written all over his face. Still, it was hard for her to look at him. How much he had changed over the years. It felt like so long, because it was, but also somehow just felt like them again. Waiting at the bus stop because Jean didn't want his driver to tell his parents they were going to China beach.
"She likes slurpees from 7-11," y/n told him, just a tiny piece of lore about his baby girl he knew nothing about, "always has to layer them. Cherry then blue raspberry. So meticulous about it too. She counts three seconds before switching the flavor again. Then puts some random flavor of the week on top as a 'treat'."
Jean smiled faintly, turning his head toward her, his hands still laced together as his body shifted a bit on that wooden bench towards her more. "Yeah?"
"Mhmm," she nodded, "Gets brain freeze every single time. Still refuses to slow down."
A quiet chuckle left his throat, a little rough from the earlier crying and arguing. "Stubborn. That's all you."
y/n snorted with a smile, "Sure, Kirstein." It felt softer now. Like an actual conversation. No defensiveness, no blame game. "She's also picky with her bedtime stories. Doesn't like the ones where the main character is perfect. Says that's unrealistic. She likes the messy characters. The ones that screw up and still try anyways."
Jean gave a somber half smile, eyes still glossy as his heart cracked open as he learned more and more about his little girl. "That sounds like me."
"Could be," y/n softly said, voice airy and light. They sat in that moment, surrounded by cobwebs and old boxes in a garage they used to once hang out in. When there used to be a couch Marco begged his parents not to throw away, back when Marco was obsessed with That 70's Show and wanted his little hangout spot like Eric Foreman. A couch that y/n and Jean had always took one end of, Jean's elbow on the arm as he lounged in that corner, y/n laying her head in his lap as she threw her legs over Sasha or Marco. Connie always standing up and pacing as he told some over exaggerated story from school that day.
"I wanna earn it," Jean finally said after that moment of silence where they just sat in the same air, "whatever I have to. Her trust. Yours. I know I don't deserve a clean slate. And I'm not asking for one, y/n. I just.., wanna be there now. However you'll let me. However she will."
y/n looked at him again. Really looked at him. Past all the guilt. Past the heartbreak. Past the boy she loved that left. And she saw it now, putting all her feelings aside in place for her daughter. And saw the man trying to come back and try to make things right. "You can start by showing up when I call," she started, still unsure on how the hell this whole thing is going to work, "and not flaking. No disappearing acts or excuses."
"I swear," he nods, hand up, pinky out like they always used to do promises to each other, just holding it there in the air as a symbol "you call, I'm there."
She looked down at her lap, where her hands were absentmindedly tangled and playing with some ring from a toy vending machine that Amelie gave her. "If she says yes.., to meeting you... just know she's not some accessory or some pet you play with for a while then get bored of. She's a person. A little girl with a big heart and bigger feelings."
"So basically she's you," Jean's smile was soft. Because those words put it exactly how Jean used to look at y/n when they were younger. Heart on her sleeve and feeling every single emotion with every single fiber of her entire being.
"Basically," y/n smiled, although it was bittersweet. She didn't know if their daughter turned out that way because she had no other option to, or if it was just that innate trait she would have inherited even if Jean had stayed in their lives and helped raise her these first five years. Another silence took over, but it wasn't uncomfortable or heavy like the others.
"What's her favorite color?" Jean asked suddenly, wanting to ask a million questions but deciding on something that sounded simple. Something to ease into.
"Changes every week," y/n chuckled, using her cardigan sleeve to wipe a spot where the salty tears from earlier had started to sting her skin. "This week it's lilac. Last week it was chrome."
"Chrome?" Jean raised an eyebrow, shocked a five year old girl would even consider that a top contender for favorite color.
"She went to In N Out with Connie, saw a chrome Nissan in the drive through when they were eating outside. Said it looked like a future car and asked Connie if they can ride in one one day. Found her watching YouTube videos about it on her iPad later."
He laughed, this little story showing even more funky quirks about their daughter. "God, I missed everything."
"You're not gonna catch up overnight, Jean."
"I know. But I wish I could," he sighed, head hanging low as his posture sunk, shoulders hunching as he looked to the cement garage floor. He left for six years, missed out on five years of his daughter's life. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty six days and some change of his baby's life. Hell, he still didn't even know when her birthday was.
There was clapping and soft cheers coming from out back, muffled but loud enough for y/n to make out that someone was making some sort of toast. The cue to go back to what they had initially came there for, Marco's engagement party. She lost track of time, but from the garage window it started to look like the sun was setting, that blue sky from the afternoon now milking into hazy purples and oranges of the San Francisco sunset.
"I'll talk to her tomorrow," she offered softly, starting to stand up and brushing the creases from her dress as she tried to put herself back together, back to that y/n that she now was. "See how she feels."
Jean looked up at her, not getting up just yet. "Thank you. I really hope I get to talk to her again," he said with a voice filled with strained rasp. And he meant it with every beat of his bruised, still trying heart.
˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡
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