Page 39 of Single Dad Dilemma
Bryce jumped off the couch. “Sweet, I’m gonna go pick games for tomorrow,” he called, tearing off toward the storage closet at the end of the hallway.
“Can we go to that church down the street?” Maggie asked. “A couple of my friends at school said they do one of those candle services.” She frowned. “It doesn’t sound very safe to have open flames in church, but I kinda want to see it.”
“We can do that if you want. We can make all new traditions, if that sounds good.”
With Rachel, Christmas was always over the top. She wanted black tie parties and spectacle. It wasn’t about movies and games and quiet evenings at home. A decorating company came in and made our house look like something out of a magazine.
Maggie stared at the half-decorated greenery in the corner. “I love our little tree.”
“Thatlittle treeis nine feet tall,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s not perfect. I like that.” She hopped up from the floor and dug through the box to find another ornament.Baby’s First Christmas, it said, with a small blurry picture of Bryce. “It feels like afamilyChristmas tree.”
When she was done, she made her way over to the couch and curled up against my side. I closed my eyes, tightening my arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, it does, kiddo.”
She was quiet for a minute, playing with the edge of the blanket covering my lap. “Do you think it would be sad at Christmas without family around?”
They spoke to Rachel a couple times a week. But outside of that, they didn’t ask about her much. Finding a new normal, just the three of us, was both easier and tremendously more difficult than I’d imagined. The kids seemed to know that they were better off with me, as did Rachel. All their early childhood years had been run by nannies. The maternal gene had skipped Rachel, as did a few other traits I thought I’d seen in her early in our relationship. Candor being one. Vulnerability another. And the ability to love, most of all. I wasn’t entirely sure she was capable of it.
But my kids had all those traits, and it didn’t surprise me that Maggie might be worried about her mother being alone during the holidays.
I dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Yeah, kiddo, it would be hard to be alone.”
She nodded. “What if—what if you’re in the position to make someone feel better? Shouldn’t you do it?”
“Of course,” I told her. “What do you have in mind? A call on Christmas Day or something?”
Maggie lifted her head, giving me a look like I was crazy. “No, I was thinking of inviting her over.”
“Honey, your mom’s in California,” I answered slowly. “She won’t be flying here tomorrow.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about Mom.”
“Then who are you talking about?”
“Lily. She doesn’t have any family, so she’ll just be alone tomorrow.” She gave me a beseeching look. “Please, Dad.”
It was astonishing how your kids could back you into a corner of your own making. Without realizing what she was doing, Maggie had me completely at her mercy, asking me to voluntarily spend time around the biggest threat to my sanity, the one woman I needed space from. And she was doing it because she had a huge heart. Because she cared about people and was asking for my advice about how to put that care into action when it really mattered.
I’d rather swallow hot coals than stifle the girl’s kind nature. Yes, she was smart as hell and scary in a way I didn’t know how to define, but she was good. That goodness could be snuffed out so easily, from a place of selfishness, of being too busy or too stressed, a million different reasons that might seem small at the time. Might seem inconsequential. Wasn’t that often the way with most parenting decisions?It’s just one time. But one turns to two, turns to a dozen, and then a pattern is formed before you realize what you’ve done. It made me wonder if someone hadn’t stifled Rachel’s heart when she was Maggie’s age.
“How do you know she doesn’t have any family?” I asked quietly.
“She told me a couple days ago. I asked her what she was doing for Christmas, and she said nothing,” Maggie answered. “Because she doesn’t have any family.”
“Maybe she just means she doesn’t have any familyhere.”
“Maybe,” she hedged. “But I don’t think so. I think she’s alone.” Maggie’s eyes welled up, and I was a fucking goner. “I really like her, Dad. I don’t want her to be alone. Can we please invite her over tomorrow? I’ve always wanted to decorate cookies at Christmas, but Mom never wanted to make a mess in the kitchen.”
It didn’t matter what I wanted or didn’t want. It didn’t matter whether I needed space, or that Lily got under my skin so effortlessly that it felt like all she had to do was breathe and my agitation went sky high. What mattered were moments like this, where my daughter felt like the things she wanted were important. Backing up the things I told her, about how to be a good human being, how to be kind and thoughtful and true to our principles.
No matter how often I felt like I was failing, as long as I didn’t fail herhere, I was doing all right.
I cupped the side of her face, speaking over the knot in my throat. “Yeah, kiddo. We can invite her over tomorrow.”
Her smile was huge. Happy. “Can I do it now?”
“It’s late,” I answered. “Why don’t you send her a text in case she’s already in bed. She can answer tomorrow.”
