Page 34 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I roll over in bed, searching for those last few seconds of sleep.

Tap tap tap.

My eyes open to find a tousle-headed little girl standing not-so-patiently beside my bed.

Sometimes while I’m sleeping, I forget I’m a father. It’s all still so new. Less than a week ago, my biggest worry was the weather. Grapevines do best with full sun, seven to eight hours a day of it. Less light leads to lower fruit production, poorer quality, and fruit rot. In my position as Chief Operating Officer, I became obsessed with the weather. Yet now I realize I haven’t checked it in days.

Maisy turns on the light and shoves a picture in my face. I smile, because although I’ve had to say no the past few days, today I get to say yes.

“Yes,” I say and sign.

She squeals.

I love her squeal. It’s one of the few sounds she makes.

Somehow, when she was here on Friday, Ellie was able to convey to Maisy that she’d be going to school soon. She made three pictures of a little curly blonde-haired-girl sleeping and the fourth picture was of the same girl sitting in a schoolhouse with other children.

Maisy seemed to understand the school part, but what she didn’t quite get was the three sleeps. For the past two days, she’s come into my room with the same schoolhouse picture. And for the past two days, she’s thrown a tantrum when I said no.

I hate saying no.

It’s not that I want to spoil her—okay, so maybe I do a little—but saying no when she can’t understand why is really a ball buster. It breaks my goddamn heart. But it seems there have been a lot more ‘nos’ than ‘yeses’ lately, which is why I’m happy to see her so excited right now.

She runs out of my bedroom. I learned very quickly not to sleep naked, so I roll out of bed half-dressed in sweatpants, and follow her. When I round the corner to her room, she’s already undressing and reaching for the outfit she picked. It’s not one I’d have chosen. It looks like something a little girl would wear to church. But based on the wardrobe she showed up with, it was evident she never got to wear fancy clothes. So now, that’s all she ever wants to wear, even though all we’ve done is stay home.

Until now.

Suddenly I’m nervous. What if she hates school? Will the other kids make fun of her because she’s so far behind?

But I mask my anxiety and try to bask in the fact that, for the first time, Maisy seems happy. The only other times she isn’t sad is when Ellie is around.

Hmmm, that may be something we have in common. I sure tend to be in a better mood when Dr. Stone is here.

We had another moment Friday night. I’m pretty sure it might have even turned into a profound one had we not been interrupted by my mother. The way her expressive eyes were looking at me, I just knew she wanted it as much as I did, despite shooting me down days earlier.

Maisy finishes dressing and drags me to the front door.

I laugh, but then she gets upset when I try to pull her back.

I do the sign for food.

She stomps her foot and pouts, not giving up her spot by the door.

I go to the dining room table and sift through the many many drawings we’ve been using to communicate when signs won’t do. I bring two back to the door and show her. The first one is of us eating at the table. The second is of the schoolhouse—one of many Maisy has drawn these past few days.

I point to the first one, then the second.

She seems to understand, and, although not happy, she shuffles to the kitchen and sits at the bar.

I take my time making pancakes because school doesn’t start for an hour. After we eat, I try to convey to her that I need to get ready. She wants nothing to do with it and goes to stand by the front door. I point to myself and do the sign for bathing, then pull out my phone and raise my brows.

There’s a game on my phone that she likes to play. It’s the only thing that keeps her occupied while I need to do things she can’t participate in. Like showering. Or shitting. And she’s only allowed to play it during those times.

She still sulks but takes the phone anyway and starts playing.

After I’m done getting ready, and she brushes her teeth faster than ever, I show her the school picture again and start to walk through the house, away from the front door. She’s confused, but quickly understands when she sees my car in the garage.

She takes a few steps toward the car, stops cold, and runs back into the house. Damn, this was what I was afraid of, that I’d have to drag her kicking and screaming. But after her display of excitement, I was sure I wouldn’t have to worry about it. She reappears a moment later carrying her stuffed cat. That old thing is her security blanket.

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