Page 1 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

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LILY

REMINDER: Theannual Christmas Day Daddy/Daughter dance will be held at the Town Hall this year, not the School.

The crimson words glare up at me from a nauseating green poster, and my stomach flips slightly. Each year, the daddy/daughter dance comes around like a beacon, reminding me of the very thing my darling daughter Emma doesn’t have.

A father.

At least not one who’s in her life to take her to such a dance. I’ve skillfully dodged questions each year, and Emma’s been happy to attend the dance with her grandfather, but she’s six now, and the questions become clearer. More demanding.

I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the truth from her when fairy tales are quickly losing their sparkle.

How do I tell my child that she doesn’t have a father because he never wanted her? How do I tell her that while her room is filled with books about happy families?

I don’t have the strength to tell her when she looks up at me with her gigantic blue eyes.

Beyond the corkboard filled with announcements for all unsuspecting parents, activity in the classroom just beyond the closed door takes my attention. Emma is inside, engrossed in an animated conversation with a friend who seemingly enjoys the taste of plastic animals. Emma’s curls fly back and forth as she dramatically shakes her head, and laughter pulls from my chest.

“She’s adorable,” says a voice to my left.

I turn to face a man dressed in a light blue shirt and a cream sweater. He flashes me a bright smile and adjusts his oval spectacles while glancing past me into the classroom.

“You know which one is mine?”

“Emma, right? You’re Lily Thompson, unless I’m embarrassingly mistaken.”

“No, no, you’re right.” I smile back, taking in his brown curls and the dusting of powdered chalk along his sleeves. “And you are?”

“Mr. Sepher.” He holds out one pale hand. “Mark. Please.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark.” Taking his hand, I notice there’s an odd dryness to his palm that immediately sends a scratchy sensation up my arm, but his grip is warm and firm.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He locks eyes with me, and the handshake lingers until I flex my fingers for release.

“Is your kid in there?” I tilt my head toward the classroom and quickly glance at the clock. I’m not typically this early, but time was on my side today, and there are still a few minutes until thebell rings to release the hoards of children kept safe inside these walls.

“Oh, no, I have none of my own,” Mark says with a soft laugh. “I teach here. In fact, I think Emma will be in my class next year. How about that?”

“Oh, that’s nice!” My smile wavers a fraction. It’s only November, and Emma still has half a year left in her current grade. “I didn’t realize they sorted things like that so early.”

“What can I say? We’re incredibly efficient here.” Then he winks at me. “And caring.”

I nod politely, sneaking another glance at the clock.

This town is small, and in some ways, everyone knows everyone else. While I run one of the most popular bakeries in town and participate in almost every event hosted throughout the year, I try to avoid making small talk because I simply don’t have the patience for it.

Who cares what the weather is like or how much the price of fertilizer has increased at the grocer?

“Is Emma excited?” Mark reaches up and peels the daddy/daughter dance poster off the wall. “For the dance?”

“Yup. Just like every other six-year-old. She sees it as some special party for her on Christmas Day which just makes everything a little more special, y’know?”

“I can imagine.” Mark taps his fingers against the paper and then clears his throat. “And her father?”

There it is, that daunting question from anyone who only knows me in passing. They carry the same assumption that everyoneelse does the moment they meet Emma, though I can’t really blame them. Maybe I’d be guilty of the same if my situation were any different.

“She dances with her grandfather,” I reply. It’s a non-answer, but I’ll leave it to Mark to fill in the gaps.

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