Page 77 of Fielder's Choice

I’ve tried and failed yet again.

I must be broken because I can’t even give myself an orgasm.

I don’t even know if I’m capable of having an orgasm, honestly. My reproductive system doesn’t work for reproducing. Maybe it doesn’t work for that either.

I groan with my head in my hands, frustrated.

What do I do to see if I can make this happen?Howcan I make it happen?

I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m so damn clueless when it comes to this.

But then, an idea pops into my head because I know someone whoisn’tclueless.

Maybe that’s weird, though.

I’ll just push that thought to the back of my head. We’ll see if it ever sees the light of day.

twenty-eight

Lane

Theholidayseasonisway too goddamn busy.

I’ve only been able to see Olive twice since our date, and one of those times was at a ballet lesson. Since this week is Christmas, the studio is closed, which means Sage didn’t get to dance on Tuesday, and we didn’t see our favorite ballerina.

I don’t mind, though. January always brings less chaos, so I know I’ll soon be able to spend more time with my two favorite girls.

I miraculously wake up before Sage, so I have time to do my morning routine. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed. Since today is Christmas and we’re not going anywhere, I throw on the pajamas I got myself that match Sage’s. Buffalo plaid bottoms with a long-sleeved black top. Mine says Daddy, and Sage’s says Daughter.

I’m absolutelythatdad.

Sage runs into my room the moment I finish pulling on a pair of black socks. “Daddy! Santa come?”

I smile wide and scoop my daughter off the floor. “I don’t know, Lovebug. Should we go check?”

“Yes!” she shouts, happily bouncing in my arms before pointing at the door. “Daddy, go!”

I laugh as I carry her out to the living room, and Sage lights up the moment she sees all the presents by the tree.

“Santa come!”

“You must have been a very nice girl this year, Sagie.”

She squirms to get out of my arms, so I let her down before she falls. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she runs to the tree, excitedly jumping in front of it.

Sage is patient just long enough to let me grab a cup of coffee, but then she drags me over to sit with her while she rips off all the wrapping paper I spent far too long putting on.

I help her through some of it—she’s two, so she loses focus easily. But each time something new is opened, her happiness radiates, permeating the air until it’s all you can feel.

I loved Christmas when I was a kid, but it’s one hundred times better as a parent. Nothing beats seeing genuine joy on your child’s face.

When everything is unwrapped, we spend the next several hours playing with dolls and dinosaurs, reading books, and throwing her new tea party boas around our necks.

Sage goes down for her nap in the afternoon, and I use that time to clean up the mess from the morning. All the random bits of wrapping paper and plastic packaging no longer dot my living room floor. Now it looks a little less like a feral toddler lives here.

You can still tell a toddler lives here; you just can’t tell that she’s feral.

I grab myself another mug of coffee since I’m a caffeine addict, and I flop onto my sofa, leaning back and watching the greatest Christmas movie ever—Elf.

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