Page 115 of Booked for the Holidays
God.
She hasn’t called me that in years. It stopped when she got to fifth grade, wanting to shorten the word. Her face softens and she scoots closer to me, head resting on my shoulder.
“Sorry,” I exhale. “I don’t need to unload all my problems and inner turmoil onto you.”
My arm falls to her shoulder. Even with the sling, even with the stiffness of the cheap mattress under my ass, even with the arctic air conditioning casting a frigid temperature in the room, I hold her close. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax marginally.
“It was an accident, Dad,” she starts. “It could have happened anywhere. It could have happened at our house while you were at work, or during a soccer game. Accidents are going to happen, whether you're dating someone or not. I’m growing up. I’m going to high school soon, then college probably. You won’t always be around to take care of me.”
“No, but I’m herenow. I can be aroundnow.”
“What are you going to do when I’m 3,000 miles away? What are you going to do when I meet a guy or girl and move in with them? Are you going to buy the house next door?”
I tuck away the use of both guyandgirl, knowing we’ll need to come back to that later.
“I’m going to have kids one day, too,” she continues. “I don’t want you sitting around, alone, for the rest of your life. Bridget is amazing. I know that.Youknow that. Someone else will scoop her up in a heartbeat. I want you to behappy, Daddy, and you are with her. I don’t want to go through life thinking you’re only halfway content because you’ve allocated all of your time and love to me.”
“Jesus,” I mumble. “When the hell did you get so smart? Allocated? Are you already preparing for the SAT?” I kiss her head. “Sometimes people have to sacrifice parts of their life for other things and other people. I’m okay with that. I’m okay waking up alone in the morning.”
“Are you?” Mac presses. “When you think down the road, and you think about Bridget with someone else, and notus, how does that make you feel?”
My lips press together. I imagine someone else making her smile. Someone else kissing her cheek. Someone else wiping away the chocolate that lingers in the corner of her mouth when she eats a cookie. My chest tightens at the thought of her rolling over in bed, sleepy eyes finding a pair that aren’t mine.
“Shitty,” I admit honestly. “It makes me feel really shitty.”
“You’re going to have to accept that you won’t always get to be there for me. You can’t control every part of my life. I’m going to get hurt. I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to get my heart broken. I’m probably going to break someone else’s heart, too. But you can control your happiness. Take me out of the equation, Dad. If you could have only one thing in your life, what would it be?”
Bridget.
Wholly, unequivocally her. In any and every capacity.
She calls me “Collector”, and she’s right. I do collect things. Her joy, her laughs. Her breathy moans and her yawns in the morning. Her giggles late at night and the smile she gives me—justme. The jeans that make her ass look incredible. The ink on her fingers left behind from a day of reading and highlighting her favorite passages. The way my heart warms whenever she’s nearby. The butterflies that flutter in my chest every time I look at her. The contentment I feel with her in my arms.
Those things… they’re worth more than any fine painting. They’re indefinable, I think, but at the same time alarmingly obvious. They’re years of pain abating. Hours of anger soothing. Days of insecurities coming to a screeching halt, all at the hands of the beautiful brunette who makes blueberry muffins forme. And captured my heart and soul in the process.
“See,” Mac whispers. “I know you love me. I know I’m your world. But you deserve to be loved by someone else, too.”
“For the record, I hate how mature and wise you’re getting,” I grumble. I wipe my eyes again and sigh. “I don’t know what to do, half-pint.”
“It’s simple. Apologizing for being a dick would be a good place to start because I know you probably said something stupid. Then tell her how you feel.”
“If Grams hears you talking like that, she’ll have me murdered.”
“Hear you talking like what?”
I look up and spot Dad wheeling Mom into the room.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Our granddaughter called us and told us she was in the hospital,” Mom says. “And apparently an intervention is happening, too.”
I groan and climb off the mattress. “You’re grounded from now until eternity, young lady.”
Mac rolls her eyes and grins. “Fine by me.”
I shuffle the chairs in the room so Mom can get closer to the bed. She talks softly with Mac, looking at the sling and asking about what color cast she’s going to put on.
Collapsing into the chair off to the side of the room, I rub my temples. Mac spelled it all out for me. It’sokayto have space for two people in my life. I think, for the first time in a very, very long time, I know I deserve that love, too.
