Chapter Seven
Abbott
When I got home from the party, the adrenaline was still rushing, or maybe it was all the sugar.
Probably a bit of both. But every time I let my mind wander at all, it went back to that daddy.
The richness in his voice, and how he didn’t make me feel bad about my spoon, and the way his smile lit up the room.
I still didn’t know his name. I should’ve asked. And even if I hadn’t been brave enough to ask him, Ms. Lily would’ve told me, and there was nothing scary about her. I talked to him twice, and all I learned new about him was that he made ice cream. Really, really good ice cream.
I locked my door, ready to hit the shower.
I was sticky. It made sense that I had some on my hands and my arms, but I could feel my jeans sticking to my knees.
I’d gotten my sundae everywhere, or sat in other people’s or picked up toys that had ice cream on them.
That poor cleaning crew needed triple pay tonight.
You did a good job today, Abbott. If no one was there to praise me, I was going praise myself because I was proud of me. I didn’t get overwhelmed. I didn’t shut down. I stayed the entire time. I played with my friends. I made a couple of new friends. The night was a success.
I dropped my backpack, kicked my shoes off at the door, and headed straight into the bathroom.
I didn’t want to risk getting my apartment full of sticky.
I peeled my clothes off and almost forgot that I had my shorts on underneath my jeans, until they got stuck on the zipper.
I tossed my dirty clothes into the hamper and climbed under the hot water, scrubbing myself clean.
When I came out, I felt like myself again.
I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and went to the kitchen to get some real food, not wanting to go to sleep with a belly full of sugar.
I took out some microwave chicken nuggets and fries.
Hardly the midnight snack of champions, but it only required me putting them on a paper towel and setting a timer, so they worked for me.
And that was when I remembered my spoon was in my shorts which were in the hamper. Please don’t let it be too sticky. I dug in and pulled out my shorts. No spoon. Next, I grabbed my jeans. No spoon. I checked my shorts again. Still spoonless.
Panic started to set in and I proceeded to tear the hamper apart, taking everything out one by one, rolling it, shaking it, putting it back. When that was done, I did over and over again. As if my spoon would magically appear after the second, third, or fourth time.
My spoon wasn’t here. No. That couldn’t be right. I’d been so careful with it. It had to be here. I probably hadn’t been paying enough attention when I put it in my backpack, the place I normally kept it. At least that was what I told myself.
I went and grabbed it and followed the same protocol I did with the hamper, taking every little thing out, putting everything back, shaking it, rolling it, doing it again and again.
This could not be happening.
I could not lose my spoon.
I could not.
There was no denying it at that point. It wasn’t here.
I’d used it twice at Chained, but that was the last time I remembered having it.
From Chained little room to here, there were so many places it could be.
It could be in Luke’s car or in the changing room.
It could be in the hallway or the parking lot.
I had no control over any of those right now, but I was able to go out and trace my steps all the way back to where I’d been dropped off at my building.
Using my flashlight, going slowly, tracing every single step and back again.
It wasn’t there.
I messaged my group chat, seeing if anybody there had seen it. Crickets.
Fuck.
The chicken nuggets were long cold by the time I gave up. My spoon was gone.
For most people, losing one of their favorite things would be sad, and this was sad, but it was more than that.
It would alter my ability to eat ice cream.
And that sounded ludicrous. Who can’t eat ice cream without the right spoon?
Just suck it up and do it. No big deal, except it was, and I’d tried.
I used all of them. Different shapes, different materials. None of them worked.
I was always so careful, but tonight, I allowed myself to get lost in the fun. I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have talked myself into it. No amount of enjoyment was worth losing my spoon.
My phone dinged, and I hoped it was one of my little friends saying they had seen it. It was my group chat, but none of them had seen it anywhere. Given how long it took them to answer, they had looked, too.
Brock asked if I checked my bag. And then when I told him of course I did, he asked me every place else. I’d done it all.
Chained office hours were over and I’d be sent straight to voice mail. Suck. I couldn’t do anything about it now except leave a message, but no one would get it until office hours. And when they did, what were they going to do about it? The odds were great it had ended up in the trash.
So like every responsible grown-up who loses something, I grabbed my stuffie, climbed into bed, and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
There was sadness to my tears, but most of it was anger—anger at myself for being so careless as to lose my prized possession.
And the more upset I got, the littler I felt, and the more I needed a daddy.
He would’ve helped me find it or at least held me while I cried.
Maybe he’d put me into softer pajamas, tuck me onto his lap, tell me it would all be okay.
If I’d called Luke, he would’ve shown up. Honestly, Brock or Sammy would’ve too, but I didn’t want to take them away from their daddies because I didn’t have one. That wasn’t fair to them, and asking Luke to step up because he was the one without a daddy wasn’t fair to him, either.
I cried myself to sleep but didn’t stay asleep long. Every time I woke up, I checked my phone. Nothing. I kept holding on to maybe it’d show up, and Luke and Brock would let me know. Or maybe Ms. Lily found it and would leave me a message.
The phone buzzed, waking me again. I was sure that it was Luke or Brock checking on me. They were great like that.
Instead, it was from Ernie. Ernie, who I barely spent any time with tonight. That caught me off guard, and the first thing I worried about was that something had happened. And then a picture populated, and in it was my spoon sitting on a counter, clean, with the message, Did you lose this?
My spoon. Ernie had my spoon. There was a spoon fairy, after all.