Page 18 of Lillian

“What’d you get?” I ask, hoping to get her to calm down long enough to tell me.

She runs over to me and throws herself in my arms. I catch her, scoop her up, and plop her down on my knee. “Elsa!” She shoves the box in my face to show me, so I take it out of her hand to inspect it.

“Wow, very cool,” I admit begrudgingly as I look at an Elsa-themed play tent. Big enough for several small children, or one small child and an adult, to sleep in once it’s set up.

“Can we build a fort, Mommy? Please?” Her baby blue eyes are shining up at me with a level of hope and excitement that I can’t crush. So I concede.

“Sure, sweets. Grab all the blankets and pillows you can find, and we’ll build a fort.” The nap she was supposed to take will just need to be postponed an hour or two. Once I get her tent setup, she’ll be able to lay down in it when I put a movie on for her. Probably…Frozen.

An hour later, we’re both laying in her tent watchingFrozenwith a plate of cheese cubes, fruits, and raw veggies. Well, she’s laying in it; only my upper body is actuallyinsidethe tent. Regardless, she’s happy, and that’s what matters. I smile at her and watch as her eyes flutter several times like she’s trying her damndest to stay awake but can’t.

She loses the battle a few minutes later, and I shimmy out of the tent carefully enough not to roust her. Quietly, I move through the kitchen, picking up trash and leftover finger foods. When she wakes up, I’ll see if she wants to help me cook dinner tonight. Sometimes, she loves to, other times, there is zero interest.

I’m looking through my cabinets for inspiration when my phone chimes from the kitchen table. The noise it makes is loud enough to have me worried Grace will wake up. But she doesn’t. Not so much as a twitch.

Picking up my phone, I see it’s a text from a number I don’t have saved.

Unknown

Did you get my gift yet?

What. The. Fuck.

First, he has my address, now, he’s texting me. I even changed my number after I moved back to Flagstaff, so I know he’s not texting an old number and hoping he gets me. He knows I’m on the other line.

Do I respond? It feels like I have to thank him.

On the other hand, him sending the gift in the first place feels like a calculated move to get me to talk to him. So maybe I ignore the text. What are the odds I ever actually see him again, anyway?

I opt for ignoring him.

Instead, I sit down at the kitchen to get a little more work done before Grace wakes up from her nap. There are two small projects I have hard deadlines for in the next few days. If I whip those out today, I’ll have some free time to go to the mall and get something for this weekend.

If I don’t bail, of course. I still plan to use Grace as an excuse if I’m too nervous to go to thesex partyin Phoenix on Saturday. But if I’m feeling brave, I want to have something new and slinky that makes me feel good.

Look good, feel good. Right?

All my current lingerie is getting old and raggedy. The newest item I have was bought three years ago when I was trying to step outside my comfort zone. It was meant for a third date with a man I met online, but we never got to it.

The second date was disastrous. Politics, religion, and family were all shoved into a conversation that had started out very light-hearted. Needless to say, it didn’t end well. We split the check, and I never heard from him again. Nor did I want to reach out.

An hour and a half later, a breath of accomplishment whooshes out of me. That was fast, even for me. The laptop makes the smallest noise known to man when I shut it, and I hear rustling come from the living room. I hold my breath and stay where I am, only to laugh when her tinkling voice calls out to me.

“Mommy,” she says, sounding a little groggy still.

“Yes, sweets?” I ask back, getting up from the table to walk over to her.

“I’m thirsty.” She has crawled out from her tent, so I sit on the couch, and she crawls into my lap, snuggling her head into the crook of my shoulder. No matter how many times she does it, it’ll never not be my favorite feeling. My love for this girl is endless.

“What do you want? Juice?” My voice is low as I hold her tight to me, one hand gently running through the knots in her hair from her nap. She nods against my chest. “Okay,” I agree but don’t move. We sit there for a few more minutes with me reluctant to let go. But then, I sit her down on the couch and go to make her a drink.

“Mommy?” she asks again.

“Yeah?” I spill a little juice on my finger while I pour her drink. I tighten the lid on the cup, lick the juice from my finger, and head back over to her.

“Who got me the present?” I stop moving.Shit.I don’t want to lie to her. But maybe I can be vague.

“A friend of Mommy’s.” She sips her drink for a second, but is nowhere near done with the inquisitions.

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