Chapter Nine Barrett #2
When she was done, she made her way over to the couch and curled up against my side. I closed my eyes, tightening my arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, it does, kiddo.”
She was quiet for a minute, playing with the edge of the blanket covering my lap. “Do you think it would be sad at Christmas without family around?”
They spoke to Rachel a couple times a week.
But outside of that, they didn’t ask about her much.
Finding a new normal, just the three of us, was both easier and tremendously more difficult than I’d imagined.
The kids seemed to know that they were better off with me, as did Rachel.
All their early childhood years had been run by nannies.
The maternal gene had skipped Rachel, as did a few other traits I thought I’d seen in her early in our relationship.
Candor being one. Vulnerability another.
And the ability to love, most of all. I wasn’t entirely sure she was capable of it.
But my kids had all those traits, and it didn’t surprise me that Maggie might be worried about her mother being alone during the holidays.
I dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Yeah, kiddo, it would be hard to be alone.”
She nodded. “What if—what if you’re in the position to make someone feel better? Shouldn’t you do it?”
“Of course,” I told her. “What do you have in mind? A call on Christmas Day or something?”
Maggie lifted her head, giving me a look like I was crazy. “No, I was thinking of inviting her over.”
“Honey, your mom’s in California,” I answered slowly. “She won’t be flying here tomorrow.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about Mom.”
“Then who are you talking about?”
“Lily. She doesn’t have any family, so she’ll just be alone tomorrow.” She gave me a beseeching look. “Please, Dad.”
It was astonishing how your kids could back you into a corner of your own making.
Without realizing what she was doing, Maggie had me completely at her mercy, asking me to voluntarily spend time around the biggest threat to my sanity, the one woman I needed space from.
And she was doing it because she had a huge heart.
Because she cared about people and was asking for my advice about how to put that care into action when it really mattered.
I’d rather swallow hot coals than stifle the girl’s kind nature.
Yes, she was smart as hell and scary in a way I didn’t know how to define, but she was good.
That goodness could be snuffed out so easily, from a place of selfishness, of being too busy or too stressed, a million different reasons that might seem small at the time.
Might seem inconsequential. Wasn’t that often the way with most parenting decisions?
It’s just one time. But one turns to two, turns to a dozen, and then a pattern is formed before you realize what you’ve done.
It made me wonder if someone hadn’t stifled Rachel’s heart when she was Maggie’s age.
“How do you know she doesn’t have any family?” I asked quietly.
“She told me a couple days ago. I asked her what she was doing for Christmas, and she said nothing,” Maggie answered. “Because she doesn’t have any family.”
“Maybe she just means she doesn’t have any family here.”
“Maybe,” she hedged. “But I don’t think so.
I think she’s alone.” Maggie’s eyes welled up, and I was a fucking goner.
“I really like her, Dad. I don’t want her to be alone.
Can we please invite her over tomorrow? I’ve always wanted to decorate cookies at Christmas, but Mom never wanted to make a mess in the kitchen. ”
It didn’t matter what I wanted or didn’t want.
It didn’t matter whether I needed space, or that Lily got under my skin so effortlessly that it felt like all she had to do was breathe and my agitation went sky high.
What mattered were moments like this, where my daughter felt like the things she wanted were important.
Backing up the things I told her, about how to be a good human being, how to be kind and thoughtful and true to our principles.
No matter how often I felt like I was failing, as long as I didn’t fail her here, I was doing all right.
I cupped the side of her face, speaking over the knot in my throat. “Yeah, kiddo. We can invite her over tomorrow.”
Her smile was huge. Happy. “Can I do it now?”
“It’s late,” I answered. “Why don’t you send her a text in case she’s already in bed. She can answer tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Maggie called, running into the kitchen to get her and Bryce’s shared cell phone.
It was basic, only allowing for texts and calls from preapproved numbers.
If I could swing it, I’d keep them off social media until they were thirty.
Knowing my daughter, however, she’d find some corner of the dark web that would tell her how to circumvent any protections I could put in place.
Being a parent for kids their age was impossible.
They were being pushed by the world to learn more, to experience more.
A world that was telling them things that were both wildly inappropriate and entirely educational.
They felt older and more mature than they really were.
And it was impossible to protect them. No matter how badly I wanted to make their lives easier, to remove their obstacles and stress, I couldn’t.
Nights like this were like watching sand escape the hourglass in real time. Still so innocent, still naive to the toughest lessons I’d had to learn, but in a lot of ways, smarter and more aware than I was ready to give them credit for.
She was already tapping on the screen.
“I want to see the message before you send it.”
Maggie nodded, typing three times faster than I’d be able to manage on my own. “Okay. How’s that?”
The message was enough to melt any reserve that might be lingering.
Hi Lily. Happy Christmas Eve Eve. I loved the cookies from your last batch.
Can you help me bake some tomorrow? No one should be alone on Christmas, and Dad said if we have the ability to help someone who is, we should do something, so we’re inviting you over tomorrow.
We’re playing games and going to church and eating.
You can even choose your favorite Christmas movie. Please come?
P.S. This is your friend Maggie.
My voice was rough when I told her, “It’s perfect.”
She beamed, hitting send with a nervous little exhale. “So now what?”
“Now you wait to see if she says yes.” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “And if she says no, then we respect her answer, okay?”
Maggie nodded solemnly, but I could see in her eyes she was not prepared for that to be the case.
Bryce came back in the room, arms loaded down with board games, the top few wobbling dangerously. “I think I’ve got enough. Can someone help me?”