“Sure thing, started on the finishes yesterday.” I slap his shoulder, and he nods, muttering something that sounds like “great, great” as he turns away and disappears through the crowd.
People bustle around the enormous tree that stands proudly in the center of the square. The small tug on my hand reminds me I’m supposed to be following.
“Coming, Maise.”
“You’re so slow. Stop talking to everyone, Daddy.”
She weaves her way through the mass of bundled-up neighbors toward a handful of food stalls. We come to a stop in front of the candy stall. Of course we do.
I chuckle. “This is what you’re killing yourself over, kiddo?”
“It’s a once-a-year thing. You can’t be too early. If they run out...” Her eyes narrow as she scans the rows of treats. I know what she’s after. And when her shoulders slump and her face screws up, I know they’re out.
Candy apples.
Not exactly a scarcity during the rest of the year, but her favorite nonetheless.
“Sorry, Maise. Pick something else, hey?”
She leans into my side. Now I’m kicking myself for not leaving work earlier and getting to the event sooner. The line we walk between putting food on the table and being parents is a fine, treacherous one some days.
My heart aches for her as she mutters, “Never mind, let’s go find CC.”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
Making a mental note to find candy apples online and order a subscription later tonight that I can dole out throughout the year, I pick her up and place her on my hip. She cuddles into me, and her little sniffles have my hand running over her hair as I wade through the happy folks.
A minute later, by the food van, we find CC ordering. Two guys stand just behind her.
I make my way over, Maise still pouting into my neck, not willing to face the happiness all around her in her saddened mood.
“Hey there,” I offer.
“Oh, hi, Quinton.” Celeste takes her food from the vendor.
She passes some to Hank, who has a large basket swinging from his arm by the handle, before turning to pass a burger and drink to Caleb.
The hell?
I study the interaction like it’s some kind of hostage situation, not knowing who will survive. The intensity must register all over my face, because Celeste says, “Do you know Caleb, Quinton? We went to the same high school.”
Caleb chuckles. “CC, Quinton is my new boss.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize.” Her gaze widens as her cheeks flush, and I’m betting it’s not from the cold.
“I won’t keep you guys, then. Have a great night,” I say.
If three is a crowd, then five is just plain awkward. But as I turn to leave, CC’s gaze shifts to Maisey, still huddled and wrapped around my shoulder.
“Hey baby, what’s going on?” CC says softly, her fingers brushing over Maisey’s hair.
The gesture is so gentle, so maternal, it takes me aback. The naturalness of it all.
And on cue, my daughter pops her head up. Wiping away tears and snot onto her sleeve, she reaches for CC.
I relinquish my hold, and CC takes her, setting her on her feet and kneeling in front of her. “Tell me what’s got this brilliant girl all upset.” She brushes a damp strand of hair from Maisey’s face behind her ear. I grind my jaw shut, not allowing the way my chest swells with their intimate interaction to show on my face.
“I wanted a candy apple, but when we got there,” Maisey says with a sniffle, glancing up at me, “we were too late. They were all gone.”
