Chapter 5
Asher
“If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late,” I call to my daughter while rinsing my coffee mug in the sink.
No answer.
I cringe. That can’t be good.
Five-year-olds and silence are rarely a good sign.
“Bea?” I turn around and listen. When I still don’t hear her, I stride down the hall to her bedroom where I sent her to get dressed after breakfast.
That’s where I find her. And while she is dressed, it’s not what I picked out for her. “Um, Dolly, why are you wearing a tutu?”
“Because it’s my birthday,” she states, then ducks her head and returns to painting her nails.
Painting her nails!
My instinct is to snatch the bottle from her, but I take a deep breath and compose myself. I’m going to kill my sister for sending her nail polish for Chanukah last year.
My daughter, who turned five a few hours ago, is sitting on a wooden stool with two bottles of open polish on a kid-size table. She’s deep in concentration as she coats a nail in light blue, her tongue stuck out to one side.
Squatting down to her level, I scoot the bottle over.
“Daddy, I wasn’t done.” She holds up her hand and wiggles her petite fingers in my face.
“I can see that,” I say quietly. “But we don’t have time for this right now. We’ll be late to your party. And I need you to change. A tutu isn’t exactly horseback riding attire.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
The front door swings open, cutting me off.
“Asher?” Mom calls.
“We’re in the back,” I yell out, hauling myself upright.
“There’s the birthday girl,” Mom sings. She scurries into the room, bypassing me and hugging her only grandchild.
“Mimi, you’re going to mess up my nails,” Bea whines even as she leans into her grandmother’s embrace.
Dad wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You doing okay, son? I know it’s a hard—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off before Bea hears. I don’t have time to think about that. It’s been five years, and I have a party to throw.
“C’mon, Bea.” I clap. “Let’s clean up. Time to go.”
“But I have to finish the patty.”
“The what?”
“Pink, blue, pink, blue.” She names the alternating colors, pointing to them as she goes, smudging the polish. “See? The patty.”
Mom laughs. “I think you mean pattern. When did you learn about patterns anyway?”
Bea shrugs. “Uncle Ezra taught me. He’s a teacher.”
“Mmm,” I hum, reaching for the lid of the polish. “We can paint nails later. It’s time to go.”
“But Daddy,” she protests, her dark blond pigtails taunting me with their cuteness.
“I said no.”
“Oh, Asher, what’s the harm?” Mom cuts in, standing now.
I lift my arm and check my watch. “I don’t want to be late.”
I tower over my mom, but when she sets a hand on my shoulder, I feel like a little boy again. “Your daughter only turns five once. The party can wait.”
A long breath escapes me, my body deflating.
Nothing like Jewish Mom Guilt on a Sunday morning.
Dad’s brow pinches, a sure sign that he’s on his wife’s side.
When I peer down, my daughter’s hazel eyes shine like gold—just like her mother’s used to—and I’m overwhelmed by how fleeting time can be.
Sighing, I squat again, ignoring the cracks in my knees. “May I help you?”
“Nice digits, dude.”
I ball up my hand at my side, hiding my light blue-and-pink fingernails. “Just wait till you have a daughter, Mr. Man Bun. I’ll be sure to gift you a day at the spa as a congratulations.”
The teasing smile on Ezra’s face drops. Shit. Did I take it too far? Maybe he and my sister haven’t discussed kids yet. Though, if I know him as well as I think I do, that man wants babies.
Clearing my throat, I survey the area around us. “Where’s Millie?”
Ezra points toward the picnic tables, chuckling. “Staying as far away from those”—he drags his arm around and points at the stables—“as possible.”
“She’s a good sport for coming.”
“You know her fear of horses couldn’t keep her from missing Bea’s birthday.” He claps my back.
I give him a smile. He’s a good guy. I’m thrilled my younger sister found a partner who adores her the way he does. It’s a bonus that I actually like the man too.
“Thanks for inviting Kane,” he adds.
“Of course.” I nod to the tall, gangly teen standing next to my dad. “Your brother is part of the family too.”
Last summer, in a ridiculous—yet very legal—scheme, my sister helped Ezra gain custody of his half brother, who had been living in Hawaii. A brother he didn’t even know existed until weeks before. Kane’s had it rough, but he’s an incredible kid, and Bea loves him like a cousin.
“Daddy!” Bea calls from the picnic tables where Millie is taking off my daughter’s shoes.
What? Why? Her white socks will be stained in a heartbeat.
When she pulls a pair of bright purple cowboy boots out of a box, I sigh.
Once Millie has slipped both of Bea’s feet into the boots, she flaps her hands in glee. “Look what Lee Lee and Uncle Ezra got me. They match my tutu.”
“Are you sure you like them, Dolly?” Millie teases. “If not…”
“I love them.” She swings her legs in the air, nearly whacking my sister in the nose, and leaps off the bench, taking off toward the table adorned with cake and presents.
My sister stands as well, giggling at my little girl’s antics.
“Thank you, Mills.” I hug her. “You just made her day.”
“Don’t mention it. I love spoiling my only niece.” Her green eyes shine. While they aren’t the same color as Bea’s, they’re the same shape, and it’s never more obvious than when she smiles. “Are Daisy’s parents here? I wanted to introduce Ezra.”
I nod toward the stable where my in-laws are talking to our parents. “Yeah, they’re here. They don’t leave until the day after Bea’s birthday.”
The summer after Daisy died, Jack and Natalie, who co-own Daisy Lake Retreat and Camp with me, started spending their summers in Canada, leaving me to run the family camp.
They return before Labor Day, just in time for our fall programs to begin.
It’s been a point of contention in our relationship, but it’s one I’ve learned to live with.
“They’re still doing that?” My sister frowns.
“Yup.” I lower my head, drawing circles in the dirt with my boot.
She squints in their direction. “Is that Dr. Parsons next to them?”
I dip my chin. “You better tell him goodbye. He leaves town tomorrow.”
It’ll be weird not having coffee with him on the porch in the mornings.
He’s been an integral part of my life for many years.
But I’m thrilled that he has the opportunity to move closer to his grandkids.
I can appreciate it more than most, since I don’t know how I’d survive without help from my parents as well as Daisy’s.
“He wasn’t in the cabin when the tree fell, was he?” she asks.
“No, thank God.”
Several days ago, a storm came through and knocked a giant pine tree onto Dr. Parsons’ cabin.
The cabin Claire is supposed to take over for the next few months.
The construction company can’t get a crew out for several weeks, if not longer, since we weren’t the only ones in the area with storm damage.
Thankfully, Jack and Natalie don’t mind having Claire stay at their place while they’re away, and I’ve already checked in with Claire to confirm that she’s comfortable with the change of plans.
“Go ahead,” I urge my sister. “I’m going to check on the birthday girl. See that she hasn’t gotten into the cake yet. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Millie studies me a moment too long for my liking, her eyes deep and thoughtful.
I bite back a huff. Everyone handles me like porcelain on this day.
Like I’m so fragile I could break at any given moment.
After five years, dealing with both emotions—joy for my daughter’s day of birth and deep sadness for the day my wife died—hasn’t gotten any easier.
Rather than snap at her, I give her a smile. Millie may be the professional actor in the family, but I’ve perfected the art of faking it. Especially for my daughter. She doesn’t need to see her old man crying on her birthday.
The party is a huge success, minus the part where Bea tripped and fell, ripping a hole in her tutu. I held back the “I told you so” when she burst into tears. Instead, I did what any girl dad would do—I drove home and returned with a replacement tutu. There’s no shortage of them in our house.
By the end of the day, I’m beat.
Bea is spending the night with Jack and Natalie next door like she does every year on her birthday. She gets a fun sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa before they leave for the summer, and I get to drink and cry myself to sleep. Not that anyone knows this is my own sick tradition.
I pour an extra finger—or three—of whiskey into a tumbler, kill the lights in the kitchen, and pull down the plain cardboard box from the top shelf of my closet. Then I stretch my legs out on my bed. A bed my wife has never shared with me.
When Daisy died, I refused to stay in the home we shared.
It was too difficult in those early days, and I thought it would help me move through my grief faster.
I had an infant to take care of and didn’t have time to be sad.
Now, when I look around one of the rooms she’s never set foot in, it’s a stark reminder that I’m living a life she’ll never have.
Lifting the lid, I inhale sharply, my lungs yearning for a whiff of her scent.
Too many years have passed, and her smell has faded from the box, but I pretend anyway.
I could spritz her perfume, but I’m saving the partially filled bottle for Bea one day.
I gently dig through artifacts until I find what I’m looking for: the last picture of the three of us.
Tiny Bea is flat against her mother’s bare chest, covered by a blanket I keep preserved in this box. Daisy is staring down at our daughter’s milk-drunk face, and my gaze is locked on my wife.
She’d been an absolute champ that late spring day. In labor for nearly twenty-four hours, then pushing for two. When the photo was taken, the sun had barely risen, and it felt like we were the only three people in the world. We had our whole lives in front of us.
Or so I thought.