Chapter 35 #2
While he sets it up in a tree stand he snagged at the farm, Mia shows me around the main living area.
Their place is simple and practical, like his home in San Francisco.
A stone fireplace anchors the living room, but it’s electric, which makes me happy for the earth.
A huge soft beige couch fills the space, the kind you watch family movie nights on, huddled under blankets while eating popcorn.
In the spacious kitchen, cast-iron pans hang from hooks above the stove, and Mia shows me a set of kitchen towels with cookie illustrations on them.
“I bought these at the school holiday fair. All the money goes to a local food bank in San Francisco,” she tells me.
“Oh! And the food bank works with Little Friends Animal Rescue to raise money for people who need help with their pets too.”
“That’s lovely.”
“I also got an apron from them this year.” She scrunches her brow. “But I think that’s still in my suitcase. I’m going to use it for a cookie-making class I’m going to next week.”
“Sounds like the only kind of class I’d want to go to during the holidays.”
Mia laughs. “Me too. Let me show you some more stuff.”
Mia’s drawings are taped to the steel fridge, others pinned to a corkboard in the hallway, including an artful illustration dubbed Grumpy Cat.
The tabby, cartoonish but well-drawn, scowls.
“Did you make this?”
Mia shakes her head. “No, but my grams did. She’s a tattoo artist. She said it’s my dad.”
From the living room, Rowan scoffs and calls out, “I am not grump—”
“You are,” Mia and I say in unison.
“I’m not a grumpy cat. That’s what I was going to say when I was interrupted.”
I laugh. “Rowan, if ever anyone was a grumpy cat, it’s you.”
“She’s right, Dad.”
Shaking his head, he grumbles, “Not a cat.”
With a snicker I meet Mia’s eyes. “Such a cat.”
“One hundred percent,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper.
I look back at the corkboard, spotting a stick figure drawing. One has long hair. The other has short hair and a beard. That figure is much taller. My heart swells. “This one must be yours?”
Mia nods. “I did that when I was…four or five I think.”
“Yep,” Rowan calls out. “And it’s my favorite.”
“I know,” Mia says with an eye roll.
This feels like an insider moment, one I’m lucky to witness. But it ends just as quickly when Mia spins around. “Water! We need water for the tree.”
In the kitchen, she crouches down, grabs a pitcher from the cupboard, and fills it at the sink. “You need to add enough water to cover the bottom inch of the trunk,” she tells me, using my words from the first time we did this at my home earlier this month.
“Good memory.”
“I’ve wanted to do this forever,” she says as she pads carefully to the tree, filling the stand like she did at my house in the city two weeks ago.
She turns on some Christmas music, full of upbeat tunes like “Frosty the Snowman” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
As we decorate the tree, with Wanda pawing at wooden ornaments and Mia asking me which ones look best as she hangs them, then giving me advice on where to put the little sled, the little snowman, and the little moose, I try to remind myself that all of this is pretend.
Including the time with this little girl who tugs on my heart. I’m not sure I want to have children. But I am sure I like Rowan’s daughter a lot. And yet, it’s all just part of the fake-dating plan.
I say that last part again silently as Mia hangs her homemade book ornament on the highest branch.
“What do you think?” she asks.
Emotions rush through me, including pride I didn’t expect to feel. “It’s perfect.”
She bounces on her toes. “Even though I hardly remember it, I’m pretty sure from the pics that I haven’t had this much fun at Christmas since Mom was around.”
It’s so casual, the way someone would mention her favorite song was playing, but the words nearly stop my breath.
I still while adjusting lights, but Rowan straightens like he’s on alert. I sneak a glance at him, but his face is stony. I can’t tell if he’s hurt or shocked.
Mia busies herself with the final touches, adjusting an ornament here or there, and chattering on without a care in the world. “I don’t remember much about the Christmas she left though. Mostly that I was sad after. But now I’m having fun again.”
Emotions wallop me all over, harder and more fiercely, knowing the story behind her mom leaving on Christmas.
I stare at the blinking lights I’m nestling among the branches.
Will Mia ever have another one with her mother again?
Would she even want one? I can’t fathom that kind of hole in my heart, but this girl is so strong and resilient.
I admire her deeply. More than she might ever have imagined someone would.
Rowan clears his throat. “Cupcake, you haven’t had fun at Christmas in the last few years?”
Mia slides next to him, rests her head against his arm. “Of course I did, Dad. We always have fun—you, me, and Wanda. And Matilda, too, back home,” she adds. “But here—here I get a tree. A real tree! Like I’ve wanted for a long time.”
He gives her a sad smile. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t get you one in the last few years.”
She wraps her arms around his waist. “It’s okay. I like Matilda a lot, and I’m not getting rid of her. I know why you didn’t want to get another one,” Mia says, and my heart clutches as I witness this touching moment between father and daughter.
It’s an exoneration of sorts—Mia forgiving her father for something that isn’t really a transgression but more of a coping mechanism.
But should I even be here? This moment feels private. I let go of the lights and inch away, giving them space, figuring I can fiddle with something in the kitchen. I don’t know what, but something.
Rowan clears his throat, runs a hand down her hair. “I should have gotten you one, cupcake. I knew you wanted to. I was selfish.”
“It’s okay. I understand. We still had fun with Matilda and Wanda.
I’m just saying it’s also fun with Isla.
” Mia spins around, her eyes scanning the room, then locking on me as I step into the kitchen.
“Isla, can you help with this dog ornament? Wanda knocked it down.” Mia scoops up a wooden cut-out of a dog, then offers it to me.
I return to scrutinize the tree and find a spot. “Let’s put it here.”
“Perfect,” Mia says, and we hang it together.
When she turns around, she says to Rowan, “See? I told you it would be fun to have a tree.”
“You were right.”
“I usually am, Dad.” She shoots me a pleased look. “Trees are always a good idea.”
“They really are,” I agree.
Maybe I didn’t need to walk away. Maybe I was always part of this moment.
I look at Rowan. He seems relieved. Pretty sure he wasn’t expecting that conversation tonight, but I swear a weight seems to lift from his shoulders as we finish decorating.
When he walks me to my car a little later, he sets a hand on the roof. “How do you feel about trains?”
It takes me a beat to connect the dots. “I love them. Especially the Christmas train.”
“Perfect,” he says, then sets a time. “And wear a skirt.”
I’m already thinking of the perfect outfit and counting down till our fake-date that feels a little too real.