My eyes took in the room as I waited. Matching red and gold couch with gold throw pillows, burgundy hand-tufted rug, half-done puzzle on the floor in front of a stone fireplace. Pictures of Carrie everywhere. It was beautiful yet homey. I turned to see why it sounded like a herd of elephants was coming down the stairs, but it was just one tiny little human. How in the world did someone so small make so much noise? I thought with a grin.

“Carrie, why are your shoes untied? You’re going to break your neck,” Blaire said, lifting the little girl up and carrying her to the couch.

“I couldn’t remember how to do the loops,” she said as her mother bent to tie her shoes. Seeing Blaire do something so simple, yet maternal, pulled on my heartstrings. Carrie noticed me then and ducked her head shyly. God, she was adorable with her sweet face and dark, curly pigtails that looked like little balls of springs on the sides of her head.

Blaire sat beside the tot and said, “Carrie, do you remember Axel? You met him at the grocery store.” Carrie nodded her head vigorously, and Blaire gently scolded, “Words, please. I can’t hear your head rattle.”

My daughter giggled and said, “Yes, ma’am. I remember. He helped me get the spicy Cheetos.” Score a point for Dad, I silently cheered myself.

Blaire cleared her throat and glanced at me before speaking. “Well, Axel and I have been friends for a very long time, but when I moved to California, we lost touch. We didn’t see each other for a few years, but we missed each other very much.” Our eyes met over Carrie’s head, and we shared an affectionate smile. Her voice shook just a little when she looked at Carrie and started talking again. “But now that we’ve found each other again, I really wanted you two to meet because, um, because honey…” Oh, Jesus. Here we go. “Carrie, Axel is your daddy.”

There was a long moment of silence where Carrie’s face scrunched into a thoughtful frown.

Oh my God. She hates me. She totally hates the shit out of me.

She stood and came to stand right in front of me with her fisted hands on her little hips. “You’re my daddy?” she demanded.

Full disclosure: I was a teeny bit afraid of this little girl with my eyes and Blaire’s dimples. What if she was pissed I hadn’t been in her life and kicked me in my chicken nuggets?

“Y-yes,” I croaked out, nodding for emphasis. She stared at me for an interminable moment, during which I found that my lung capacity had been reduced by at least seventy percent.