Page 48 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Within reason. You come up with a list, and we’ll talk it over.”
That seemed to appease him.
Neither of the kids commented on the lack of card with the present, so maybe they were used to it. But I noticed, and it plucked at some sad little chord inside me that I preferred to stay ... unplucked.
It was Maggie’s turn next, and as she started tearing into the wrapping paper, I said, “Just to temper your expectations, I did not slip five hundred bucks in there.”
She breathed out a short laugh, and even though I could feel the weight of Barrett’s gaze on the side of my face, I ignored it. Maggie carefully opened the envelope attached to the top of the box, her eyes skimming the card.
The moment awareness hit, I saw it in the widening of her eyes, her mouth going slack. The card was carefully set aside, and then she took a deep breath and ripped off the final piece of paper covering the label.
Maggie squealed when she saw the picture on the side.
“No way,” she breathed. “It’s yellow?”
“How else are we going to know it’s yours?”
Barrett leaned forward as his daughter unearthed her present. Carefully, she pulled out the first layer of Styrofoam until the pale yellow of the mixer was visible.
“You got me a real baking mixer?” she said, eyes filling immediately. She dashed at her cheeks when tears spilled over, and I felt a pinch of panic in my chest that I’d overstepped.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
She shook her head furiously. “You didn’t.”
Then she launched herself into my lap, and for a stunned second, I looked helplessly over at Barrett as I rubbed his daughter’s back.
He stared down at the mixer, his brow furrowed.
My hands felt tingly. Bad tingly.Reallybad tingly—anxiouswhat the fuck did I dotingles, and a few deep breaths did not make them disappear right away.
Maggie sniffed and pulled back, color high in her cheeks. “I love it, thank you,” she whispered.
My heart was in my throat when I answered. “You’re welcome. It’s going to take practice to figure out how to use it. You’ll make a few messes, but that’s why it’s good to have your own. You get the feel for it.”
She nodded, immediately pulling out the different hooks and attachments. “Will you show me what these do?”
“If your dad’s okay with it,” I said, not willing to look over at him again.
“Daddy, can she? Maybe after Christmas?”
“Yeah, sure,” he answered. His voice—that deep, goose bump–inducing timbre—gave nothing away. “It’s time for bed, kids.”
They groaned, but with a simple look from Barrett, they stopped. Which ... highly impressive, if you think about it.
I stood, feeling a little self-conscious that I was still present for the whole “bedtime routine” part of the night. The day had been so much easier than I’d thought it would be, and in some ways, a lot fucking harder.
It was being part of someone else’s family traditions that had the inevitable effect of making you think about your own. Or lack thereof. Of the consequences of moving around so much that you didn’t have time to create traditions somewhere.
My only tradition—for any holiday, any part of the calendar—was movement.
There was an emptiness present in my life that was filled by theirs, especially in moments like this. Watching movies and playing games and eating cookies. Yes, I could do some of those things on my own, but wasn’t sharing it with someone else what made it special?
I wasn’t sure there was a clear answer. If that empty space didn’t bother me, then it wasn’t wrong. Just like forcing yourself to be part of someone’s traditions wasn’t automatically right. But I hadn’t been forced into being here.
I’d chosen it. And after giving the kids a hug, wishing them a Merry Christmas, thanking Maggie for the invite, and then watching Barrett walk them down the hallway and up the stairs, I knew I would’ve chosen it again.
I thought of my bags and suitcases, tucked away in a closet at Scott and Patty’s, and the weariness of having to fill them again made my entire body feel heavy. Tired. Could I do this forever?
