Page 5 of The Sleight Before Christmas

Peyton marches toward his twin and barricades himself under the covers. “Fine, stupid Daddy.”

“You just lost your Mega Legos.”

“Daddy!” He shouts, pulling the covers downto glareat me. Who would have thought the cutest kid to ever exist would be such a shit. I do. That’s who. In fact, that’s all I think when I look at him now. No more lingering on the baby who stole my beating heart the first time he looked up at me, but a kid who thinks I’m no one to regard for any reason. Just someone to boss around and take orders. Can a four-year-old have so much power over any human? Am I that much of a chump? Why am I so hurt? Am I thinking reasonably? Do I need therapy? Do I even fucking care right now? Serena’s forlorn expression flits through my mind, and I instantly make her my priority. This war I’m declaring for her. Any version of her but the absent woman who fled this room.

“Daddy, you’re not being nice,” Peyton states.

“Pot kettle,” I snap. “You’re not acting anything like the son I taught to know better, so why should I be?”

“I don’t know what kettle is, but you’re not the daddy I want, too.”

“That’s either, Son. Not the daddy I want, either, and want to go for number two on your list?”

“I dunno what number two is,” he snorts.

“The number of days you better learn how not to backtalk your daddy. But,” I improvise on a whim. “I think I’ll put you both on probation until Christmas.”

“What’s that?” Peyton asks.

“Your future after prints and handcuffs if you don’t find some act right,” I sigh, ushering Gracie out and turning off the light before closing the door.

“What’s act right?” Peyton inquires through the closed door as I stand just outside of it, gripping Gracie’s forearm to stop her from stomping away.

“Your baby brother screams at me instead of talking to me and orders me around like I’m an employee.” No reaction. None. “Wonder where he learned that behavior?” I drawl out, and her mask of indifference doesn’t shift as she eyes the phone in my hand. “He could have really hurt himself,” I try to reason with her, even as she bristles with contempt. “Jesus, kid, do you even care?”

“I was watching him,” she offers. But it’s so clear she doesn’t.

“No, you weren’t, and I was taking out the trash for you while your mom was in the bath because it’syour chore.I was covering for you, but you don’t appreciate that, so you can get down there and doit now.”

“If I do, can I have my phone back?”

“No, and don’t ask me when,” I add. She opens her mouth, but something in my expression has her clamping it shut. “I’m done, Gracie. If I thought your mom and I had done a horrible job conveying what human decency is, then I would be a lot less pissed, but we have. Daily. For years, and you know better. I’m fed up.”

“Whatever.”

“You just lost your Visa Gift card, want to go for your damned Bum Bum cream?”

“Daddy, please no,” she whines.

“Then I suggest you shut your mouth and get to the trash.”

“Dad,” her voice wobbles, and I shake my head adamantly.

“It’s over. I won’t be manipulated by your tears, your pleas, by anything, Gracie. By absolutely anything you try, so you might want to think long and hard about any moves you make in the coming days. And if your brother so much as has a hair out of place or in any way harms himself before Christmas Eve, I swear on all I am, you get nothing for Christmas. Not even coal.”

“What?” She utters in confusion.

“God, Iam old. Go,” I order.

Minutes later, after securing the house and setting the alarm, I’m stopped at our bedroom door by the sight of my wife. Her hair now soap-hardened, she sits on the edge of the bed in an utter stupor.

“Baby,” I coax as she turns to me with watery eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

“Why? What happened now?”

Stepping inside our bedroom, I shut the door and lean against it. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

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