I didn’t think about my boys either. First time ever that’s happened this time of year.
I just sat quietly, brain fixed on one thing only: Red.
Her whiplash tongue. Her lush ass I glimpse every time she’s got her back to me. How much salvation and torture she brings every day I have her around the house, and how fucking lucky I’ll be not to screw myself over, with her sleeping in the same house, if she actually decides to take my offer.
Something else nags at me, too. I wonder why the hell she looks so familiar.
What do I really know about this woman I’m asking to move in, to be my short-term live in nanny? There wasn’t exactly time for a background check the day she showed up. Her references were the professionalism I saw at the clinic, plus her spitfire mouth.
Leaving the diner, I decided I’d had enough of letting that mouth do all the talking for her up until now. I made sure Mia didn’t need a bathroom break, and then I loaded her into our vehicle, telling her we’d be taking a quick detour.
I drove to the only address I had, a house I’d been by years ago, and tried to forget. My eyes started to burn as soon as we turned on the familiar street.
Hard to recognize with so many houses decked out in their full Christmas glory.
Difficult, but not impossible.
When I parked across the street, turned the radio to low, ears tuned to the soft, slow carols drifting by, I finally let it hit me. And with Mia singing along with her mushy, adorable little voice in the backseat, all I’m able to do is grip the fucking steering wheel until I’m afraid I’ll tear it clean off.
Her house, her name, her face is so familiar because it’s the sickest trick God ever played.
It’s his family’s house. It’s his sister, his cousin, his something I don’t want to begin to comprehend. It’s his fucking truck in the driveway.
It takes everything I’ve got not to open the door, unlatch my belt, and take a crowbar from the back. I want to break his windshield before we get the hell out of here. The cherry pie churns in my guts, making me fight to keep it down.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until my knuckles pinch the wheel so tight it burns.
Use your head, asshole, I tell myself. You have to turn this vehicle around and leave. Right now.
“Daddy?” her tiny voice interrupts the volcanic roar in my head.
“Yeah, honeybee?” I’m on another planet, trying to return to earth, hoping her small sweet face will bring me home in the mirror.
“Are you lost again?”
Such an innocent question for a four year old. So innocent, and so fucking loaded.
I sigh, loosening my death-grip on the wheel, eyeing the street for traffic. It’s time to go. “No, honeybee. Not anymore. Sweet of you to ask. Let’s watch some movies tonight, okay? It’s still early…”
“Okay, daddy.” She sucks at the juice box clutched in her hands.
For a second, I ignore how fucked up this is. Pretend my whole world isn’t caving in, and hasn’t thrown me into a new crisis.
If I force myself not to look back at Red’s house, avoiding the happy lights and an ordinary family bustle of cars, I’m able to regain control. I don’t breathe until we’ve turned the corner, putting the nightmare behind me well out of view.
The rest of the drive home is peaceful. I nudge the radio up, listening to Mia hum Frosty the Snowman, joining in myself for the last few verses with a deep, baritone hum.
It’s Christmas night. That’s all this is; a tender, happy moment with a father and his daughter. Something I’ll try hard to remember in the years to come, long after I deal with the scalding lump of coal Santa just dropped on my balls.
She drifts off in front of the TV a couple hours later. A claymation yeti spins his eyes, one more reminder I’ve had enough today.
I switch off the TV and carry my sleeping little girl to her room.
Mia stirs lightly as I tuck her in, pull her blanket close, and place my nightly kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight, honeybee. Sorry there’s so much crap on my mind lately. Would’ve been a whole lot worse without you making this day worth something.”
Despite the horrific shock at the Kelley household, it’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had, hands down. First time I’ve genuinely laughed in years, and not at the grim, bawdy jokes from the men who used to keep me company on an Afghan base.
My little girl’s growing up. I stop in the doorway to her room, looking back, marveling how big she’s gotten in just a few years. Won’t be long before she’s older and wiser, asking for shit I can’t afford, and then getting pissy when I don’t let her stay out late with awkward, skinny boys on Christmas Eve.