Page 43 of Imperfection is Beauty

“Hey, Pumpkin,” my dad said immediately when he took my call.

Inhaling a breath, I whispered, “Hey Daddy, you owe me a hundred dollars.”

I could hear the humor already in his tone, “Fuckin’ A. You're getting better. Am I going to have to shell out another hundred next month?”

I sighed, “Nope.”

That caused my dad to cackle with laughter.

I just sat there.

Like I always did when this happened.

And then because of the hyena fit, he had going on; I couldn’t help but giggle.

But it wasn’t really because he was giggling, no it was because of the events that had occurred just after it happened.

The ride to the hospital might have been a blur, but what wasn’t a blur?

Well, that was when for the first time ever, I felt myself up in his arms. Yes, he carried me to his SUV. I think because that happened, that’s why I couldn’t remember a single thing earlier.

Just as I was remembering what it felt like to be in his arms, my dad calmed down with his laughter.

His deep voice came through the speaker, “Okay, first things first, I love you.”

I sighed, “I know, I love you too.”

“Now, second, what do you want that’s going to cost me a hundred bucks?”

See, we had this running joke, each month if I had a klutzy moment my dad spent a hundred dollars on me. And the count for this year, I’ve already made a thousand dollars… and it’s the tenth month of the year. Yeah.

And since the day before yesterday ended the last month, he hadn’t paid up yet.

“I need a new Kate Spade bag. The one I have is ripped and falling apart.”

My dad chuckled, “You’ve had that thing for seven years, it’s high time you replaced it.”

I sighed then, “Yeah, I know. I’ll send you a link to the one I want.”

My dad chuckled and then said, “Okay, now, what caused you to lose this month’s hundred dollars?”

I took in a breath and asked, “Where are you?”

He grunted, “Why?”

And I’ve never said this, nor asked him for privacy. Ever. “Because I’ve never told a single soul about this moment other than Betty. And I really want to keep it personal.”

My dad didn’t say a word, I simply heard him moving.

And moving.

And moving.

Long moments later, I heard a door shut, “Okay, Pumpkin. I’m in my room at the clubhouse. Lay it on me.”

“Okay so, do you remember that hoodie I wore on breaks back home?” I was still wearing it, as I fingered the bottom hem that was getting a little loose.

He chuckled, “You mean the one I’ve threatened you with and you still never told me who gave it to you?”

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