Page 36 of For The Weekend
“Because we’re staying home to play Barbies?”
I blow out a breath. I hate playing Barbies because she always tells me I’m doing it wrong. As if there is a right or wrong way to make plastic dolls sit. Apparently, my Barbie voice is not lifelike enough. And I can’t ever get the tiny goddamn clothes on and off them. Most of the time, my doll’s naked, like I’m some kind of pervert.
“No, I need to do some things around the house. You said you wanted me to paint your bedroom pink, right?”
“Yes!” She freezes, fist mid-pump. “But Barbies first.”
“What? No. I’m not wasting time playing Barbies.”
She positions her hands on her hips. “You haven’t played with me in soooo long, Daddy. It’s rude.”
“Rude?” I wrench my head back, a mix of amusement and melancholy settling in my stomach. My kid is so funny—and also really smart. She’s curious and inquisitive, always so interested in learning about the world. She reminds me so much of my mom. A person who took genuine interest in everything and everyone around her. The older my daughter gets, themore I wish my mom could have known Mazie. I think they would have been best friends.
It’s why I chose Violet as her middle name. I wanted her to have something from the woman who was my world growing up. Now, as my world grows up, I am happy to know she takes very little after me. Even less after her mother.
She is Violet Stone through and through.
“Yeah. Finley in my class taught me that word. It’s rude. You’re rude for not playing with me all the time.”
“I can’t play with you all the time. I’m an adult. I need to work so you can be a kid and play.”
“But you’re supposed to play with me because you’re my daddy. Who else am I going to play with?”
It’s been only Mazie and me for a long time, and she’s used to it, but this was why I moved us here, so she could have more people in her life to play Barbies with. Not solely me.
Still… “You get fifteen minutes of Barbies after breakfast.”
“Woo-hoo!” She races off to the kitchen. “Fuck yes! I’m gonna have Cocoa Puffs, and then we’ll play Barbie camping.”
I heave a sigh and fall onto the couch, my head back and eyes closed.
Is it bedtime yet?
Before I head into work Monday morning, I stop in at Sweet Cheeks, hoping to catch Eloise.
She’s behind the counter, loading trays of fresh pastries behind the bakery case, hair up in a messy bun, stray wisps framing her face, and she’s wearing a pink apron dusted with flour. Fuck, she’s adorable.
She glances up when the door opens, and I absently rub atmy chest when she hits me with her smile. “Hi! I can’t believe you’re here so early.”
“Morning, sunshine,” I reply, even though I don’t even think she hears me since she immediately starts up her engine.
“But you know what? I’m glad you’re here early. We can get this out of the way.” She puts the empty trays aside, not meeting my eyes. “I’ve been going over and over this all weekend, and I know you said you’d help and you’re so sweet for that, but I think it’s a really bad idea. The shower was a nightmare. My mom was relentless, asking me questions about my boyfriend, and to be honest, I did consider saying it was you, but I thought that was weird because we don’t even really know each other that well, and what would I say? He’s twenty-seven feet tall and gorgeous? I mean, she probably wouldn’t even believe me.”
I shrug, playing it cool with the gorgeous comment. “I don’t think she would believe you saying anyone was twenty-seven feet tall, boyfriend or not.”
She giggles, sounding a bit nervous, and plays with her necklace. It looks like a mini tire, pink, gold, and black. She rolls it between her fingers as she rounds the counter.
I almost reach for her but shove my hands into my pockets instead while she continues, “My aunt was a complete bitch. Condescended to me about showing up on time then didn’t even say thank you to me or anyone else who helped set it all up then stayed to clean. And Lily kept going on and on about her perfect, stupid life and?—”
“Lily’s your cousin, right?”
She nods. “So, yeah, I think we should forget about you coming with me to the wedding. It’s a terrible idea, and I would never force you to hang out with them. Pretend I never even mentioned it or the whole fake boyfriend thing, okay?” Sheclaps, waves her hands back and forth, then snaps like she’s performing a magic trick or something and squeezes her eyes shut. “Forgotten.”
Unfortunately for her, she can’t erase time or my memory, and I’m still standing in front of her when she opens her eyes to me again. Clearly disappointed, she wrinkles her nose.
I rub my palm over my mouth, smothering my smile.
It’s too easy to relax with her, enjoy it—her energy and, hell, her silliness. She’s beautiful and funny and clever. All I want to do is be around her. Cloak myself in everything she loves, so that I can love it with her.
