Page 35 of The Enemy Face Off

"I'll get it cleaned up," I say as I take her hand in mine so she doesn't slip…"Right after I finish giving Jonah a bath. Then it's time for bed so Santa can make his visit."

The living room is bathed in the soft glow of lights from the Christmas tree. I'm sitting on the couch, watching Josie and Jonah, both still dressed in their festive pajamas, tear open their presents.

Well, Jonah tears open his presents, his little fingers making fast work of the gifts I stayed up all night wrapping. I now realize there was no point spending all that time watching instructional YouTube videos on how tolevel up my gift-wrapping game.

The last thing he's paying attention to is the layering effect I painstakingly applied to his race car set or all the ribbons I ironed on low heat to make curling easier before attaching them to his swing set.

His delighted squeals fill the room and make all the effort worthwhile, even if he is too young to appreciate it.

But Josie's another story.

She's sitting on the carpeted floor, holding a wrapped gift—a collection of animal-themed books if I remember correctly—not saying or doing much.

"What is it, sweetie?" I ask, putting my mug down on the coffee table and joining her on the floor.

"I miss…" Her blue eyes start to water. "I miss Mommy."

"Oh, sweetie."

She falls into me, sobbing as I hold her in my arms, frantically hoping my touch is comforting her because I sure as heck can't find any words. What could I even possibly say?

All three of our lives have changed in the most unexpected ways this year.

If you'd have told me last Christmas this is what I'd be doing a year later—spending the day with my kids in a small town where I bought a house next to a woman who seesaws between tolerating and hating me—I would have laughed in your face.

But that's life, isn't it? You've got to expect the unexpected.

And if all this change has been a lot for me, I can't even begin to imagine how hard it is for the kids.

In some ways it's good that Jonah's so young, he seems to be coping well. He asks about his mom from time to time, and I tell him she's always with him, looking out for him, that all he has to do is close his eyes, and remember her, and she'll never leave his heart.

But Josie is just that little bit older, and she feels her mother's absence more acutely. What words can you find to explain to a five-year-old that their mother is gone forever?

I hold her close to me and rub my hands up and down her small back.

Given all the changes they've experienced, they're both coping remarkably well. They've gone from losing their mother, to being shipped off to live with their grandparents for a few months, to traveling all over the country with me.

I may be their father, but until only a few short months ago, I was also a complete stranger.

And my lifestyle is anything but kid friendly, something that's become abundantly clear to me as we traipsed from city to city in the lead up to the holiday break.

But that's a problem I'll deal with another time.

Jonah drops his plush toy and toddles over to us, managing to slink his way between us to get in on the hug, too.

"Don't be sad," he says, giving his sister a reassuring pat on the back.

"That's right," I say softly. "Mommy loved you. Nana and PopPop love you. And I love you. Both of you."

Josie pulls away and sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "You do?"

"I do. Very, very much. The three of us are a family, and I am always going to be here for you."

"Promise?"

Emotion catches in my throat. "I promise."

"I wuv you, Daddy," Jonah says, giving my bicep a press with his tiny fingers.

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