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He sat with his legs stretched out over the dusky pink comforter, picture book in hand with his daughter lying next to him tucked into the covers. He finished the story, turned to her, and immediately noticed something was off.
“Maggie, what’s wrong?”
Her bright blue eyes flitted to him momentarily before looking away again, applying a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and responded, “Nothing’s wrong”.
He couldn’t help himself from smiling. Stubborn and wilfully independent, just like her mother.
“Margaret Jane”, he said softly, without a hint of anger, using her full name to let her know that he’s on to her.
She rolled her eyes before fixing them on her bedspread, worrying a lose thread between her fingers. “How do I know that you’re really you?” She asked softly, almost a whisper.
A pause. Of all the things he thought she might say, this was certainly not on the list. “Hey, Mags” he said softly, and gently shifted her chin so she was looking at him. “What do you mean?”
She struggled to make eye contact with him. “Never mind, it’s silly.”
“Maggie, if it is something you’re worried about, it’s not silly. Will you tell me? Please?”
She took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself for what she was about to say. Six years old and she was already a clone of her mother in so many ways.
“What if someone is pretending to be you. What if they look like you and they talk like you but they’re not, they’re just pretending. How do I know it’s really you?”
He looked at her wide blue eyes, wet, and earnest, and a little afraid. It never ceased to amaze him that he and Lisbon, after everything, created this little human together, and that she was here, filled with wonder, and they were able to watch her learn to understand her world in her own unique way.
“Did you know”, he said gently, “that when babies are born they have to learn how to regulate their body temperature?” She shook her head at him, eyes wide, listening with rapt attention. “One of the ways that they learn how to keep their bodies warm is by being close to their parents’ skin. Like this,” he reached for her hand, holding it and aligning their forearms. “After you were born, I’d lie on the couch and hold you on my chest. Right here.” He said as he patted the space over his heart.
“With momma too?” She asked.
“Sometimes”, he answered honestly. “But you lived inside momma for 9 months. So when you were born, you already knew what she smelled like, what she sounded like; you already knew that she’d keep you safe”. She smiled at this. For a moment he indulged himself in the memory of Lisbon, lying in the hospital bed, exhausted but exalted with joy, their newborn daughter squirming on her chest, Lisbon’s soft, breathy laughter of amazement, the size of the tears that fell down her cheeks, overcome with love. “I liked to lie with you because it helped us get to know each other. It helped you learn that I would also keep you safe.”
“Oh”, she whispered. She squeezed his hand once, as if she understood all the gravity behind the gift she gave him; as if she had even a fraction of an idea what it felt like to hold her, skin to skin, like that and watch her simply exist in those early days.
He went on. “I made sure that your head was always right over my heart, so you could hear it, what it sounded like.” He gave her hand a syncopated squeeze, imitating a heart beat, and it earned him a soft giggle. “It probably feels like you don’t remember it, but you do. Your body does. Wanna see?”
Without needing to consider she nodded.
“Okay”, he shifted himself slightly lower against her bed frame and gently tapped his chest. “Put your head right here”; she did as she was told. “Listen carefully.” He brought his hand up to affectionately smooth out her hair as she listened. “If it's me, you’ll just know. You’ll remember that you are safe, you are warm, and that I love you”.
He could feel her head shifting over his shirt as he breathed, could feel her little belly rise and fall with her own breaths. After a few moments, he felt her shift so that she could wrap her little arms around his waist and squeeze. He huffed out a small breath, smiling, before asking, “do you feel it?” He felt rather than saw her nod her head against his chest. He reached up and wrapped his arms around her gently, cocooning her slightly and placed a kiss to the crown of her head. “That’s how you’ll always know it’s me”. She responded silently with another little squeeze of his waist.
“Stay for a little bit daddy?” She asked.
“Of course.”