Page 72 of Sweet on You
Mr. Murphy smiled for the first time since arriving and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay, son.”
“This is strange for all of us,” Mrs. Murphy chimed in, then tilted her chin down. “You’re allowed to have a girlfriend. You’re Olivia’s father… not a babysitter.”
They were two of the kindest parents I’d ever met. Even Mr. Murphy was stern, but fair and nice. They were so different from my own cold mother and father who sent us away to boarding school at age seven. Children were trophies for them. We were just things they were supposed to have because it was the natural order—but not because they actually wanted to care for us.
“Thank you,” I said. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
Mrs. Murphy stepped forward and handed Olivia off into my arms. “You will,” she whispered and kissed Olivia on the cheek.
My little girl looked up into my eyes and with a tiny hand, she touched my stubble. “Spikey!” she said, then laughed. I couldn’t help but laugh too, even though on the inside, I was turning to mush.
“But,” Mr. Murphy interrupted, his tone back to being stern. “If you need help, call us. Don’t let your pride get in the way and cause you to make a bad choice like giving her eggs or something.”
Mrs. Murphy snorted a laugh, covering her face with a hand. “He speaks from experience, you know. The first time I went out with a friend when Olivia was just a baby, he didn’t know that many babies have a sensitivity to eggs, and she’d never had them before. Poor girl broke out in hives.”
He smirked, sliding a playful glare at his wife before winking at me. “Be ye not as stupid as me. Call if you need help. We promise only to judge you a little.” He pinched his fingers together as Mrs. Murphy slapped him in the arm.
“Here’s a list of all things you might need to know. Her doctors, foods she likes, food she doesn’t, her nap times, favorite YouTube videos. It’s all in there.” She handed me a small notebook.
“Does she sleep in her glasses?” I asked. I’d never had corrective lenses myself.
Mrs. Murphy shook her head. “No. You’ll need to take them off after you read her a book for bed. She likes keeping them on as long as possible so she can see the pictures in the book.”
I followed them to the door and open it. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Thank you for finding us,” Mrs. Murphy said, then turned back to Olivia one more time. “You be a good girl for Daddy, yes?”
My heart squeezed at that word and I blinked back the tears. I couldn’t cry right now. Not here in front of everyone, my daughter included.
Olivia paused, seemingly confused and pointed at Mr. Murphy. “Pappap?”
Mrs. Murphy leaned into me, whispering. “The social worker told us that this might take a while. She’s never had a daddy, so the word… the concept is new to her. She’ll get it, though.” Her voice was reassuring. But it was a practiced reassurance.
Mr. Murphy took Olivia’s hand and gave it a kiss. “Not Pappap.Daddy,” he said, pointing at me. Her big, blue eyes shifted to mine, blinking from behind her glasses. “You’re staying here with your daddy today. We’ll be back in the morning.”
Her eyes filled with tears, her bottom lip quivered.
“This would be a good time to put on Elmo,” Mrs. Murphy said to me, indicating with her chin to the TV.
Olivia’s sadness immediately shifted to excitement. “Elmo!” she shouted and clapped.
I nodded, rushed to the TV remote, searching YouTube for the first Elmo video I could find, and plopped her down on the rug in front of the TV.
“There we go,” Mrs. Murphy whispered. “Good luck, Lex.”
“Thank you. Have a good appointment. I hope your knee feels better.”
“Me too!”
With that, they were gone, quietly sneaking away while my one and only daughter had her eyes glued to a red puppet. And I was left simply wondering,Now what?
