Chapter 12 Things Daddy Never Did
559 Words
Before I closed my eyes, I saw Daddy sit down next to Mommy.
He saw the pendant I'd left by Mommy's pillow.
I couldn't fix the broken pendant, so I just left it there, figuring I'd tell Mommy when she woke up.
Daddy reached for it, and in that instant my mind flashed to him throwing it on the floor.
"Daddy, don't touch it!" I yelled, trying to stop him.
If he threw it again, it really wouldn't be fixable.
But this time, Daddy picked it up carefully, like it was something precious.
I thought I saw something shiny in his eyes. Maybe tears.
But there was no light in the room, so I couldn't be sure if I was just imagining it.
Daddy sat holding the pendant for a long time, not moving.
I thought Daddy was acting weird today.
But seeing the pendant was okay, I closed my eyes again, didn't watch what Daddy was going to do.
Night seemed to pass fast.
I felt like I'd just closed my eyes when the sun was already up outside.
When I opened them, Daddy was still sitting by the bed, not moving.
In the sunlight, I saw stubble growing on Daddy's jaw.
Back at Spence preschool, the kids told me their daddies always liked to rub them with their stubble.
I said, "Your daddies are mean."
But they told me it was a game, that daddies only did it because they liked them.
They said my daddy didn't like me, that's why he wouldn't play that game with me.
I wanted to argue, but they kept saying — Emma is a bad kid, Daddy doesn't like her.
Thinking about that, my chest hurts.
I touch my chest, say soft: "Emma's not a bad kid."
But — does Daddy still like Emma?
I go over to Daddy, confused, want to touch his face.
But before I even reach him, he wakes up.
Daddy's eyes still have red in them, look kind of scary.
I step back a few, then get my courage up and go closer.
I finally reach him, but I don't feel anything.
I freeze. Then I remember — I can't touch anything now.
I hang my head, feeling low. I guess I'll never get to play that game.
Daddy frowns, then looks over toward where I am.
"Daddy, can you see me?" I test him.
But the next second he looks away, looks at Mommy again.
"Vivienne..." Daddy says.
I tilt my head, repeating the name in my head.
Daddy hasn't called Mommy that in a long, long time.
If Mommy heard, she'd be so happy.
I remember way back, when I was little, Daddy loved calling Mommy that.
Every night when he came home, he'd bring her flowers.
Daddy would say: "Flowers may wither, but my love for you will never fade."
Then Mommy would take the flowers and give Daddy a hug.
Daddy would kiss Mommy on the forehead.
Sometimes, when Daddy was really happy, he'd bring me a little cupcake.
That didn't happen a lot, but I still remember how the cupcake tasted.
Sweet. Like my heart was wrapped up in that sweetness.
Those days were happy.
But then those days got fewer and fewer. Daddy stopped coming home, stopped bringing Mommy flowers.
Like his love had withered along with those dead flowers.
- Writer
