Chapter 6
“Regrets? I’ve had a few - million.”
-Aaron
“I’m hoping to hear back from the ATF next week,” Dahlia bounces around the kitchen to the jazzy music on the built-in speakers.
My oldest daughter has her curly black hair pulled to the top of her head in a gold clip. She’s always serious but seems more so tonight, with her blue eyes trained on me, waiting for an answer.
“If that’s what you want.”
“I do,” she answers with a higher pitch in her voice than usual.
I stop arranging the charcuterie board and give her my full attention. “Really?”
Dahlia chews on a hangnail. “It’s what I’ve worked for.”
I’m about to ask more questions when Poppy and Daisy bang in through the door of my house. My middle and youngest daughters never quietly enter a room. They’re forces of nature and burn brightly. Often overshadowing the oldest kid.
I squeeze Dahlia’s shoulder. “We can talk about this later if you want.”
She nods and turns to her sisters.
Poppy is laughing at something Daisy said. The laugh so much like her mother’s I try not to wince.
“Girls! I’m so glad you’re here,” I move in for a group hug, which they return.
Since the divorce, I worked hard to set aside family dinner nights with my girls. It has gotten much more challenging as they near the end of their college educations. And soon, they’re likely to scatter to the four winds, blazing their own trails.
“Wine?” Poppy holds up two bottles of red.
I shake my head no. Dahlia heads to the kitchen to grab three glasses. Daisy turns 21 in a few weeks. I don’t delude myself into thinking she doesn’t drink at nursing school. I made a deal with her that she could have one glass of wine with dinner if she got a ride home.
I’ve responded to too many drunk driving calls to budge on this point.
“What’s on the menu tonight, Dad?” Daisy accepts her glass from Poppy.
I clap my hands together like a cartoon villain. “Well, we’re having chili!”
All three of them groan. I laugh. This is a running joke in the family. A firefighter who makes chili every chance he gets. It’s not only a firefighter thing. I love chili.
But that’s not what I made tonight.
“Just kidding,” I laugh and grab my beer. “We’re having bourbon-glazed salmon on a bed of wilted spinach, with a side of broccoli and brown rice.”
Eyebrows go up around the room. My girls love salmon.
“That sounds delish!” Poppy flops on the couch. “Need us to do anything? And byus,I meanDahlia.”
She laughs with Daisy. Dahlia’s face flickers for a second before she plasters on a smile. I frown. This is their mother’s fault.
After Sabine and I married, we were on the same page about having kids. And when it came to babies, Sabine loved them. But as soon as the babies grew up and started talking, she didn’t want anything to do with them. Sabine also forced Dahlia to cook for the entire family, something I didn’t realize until the girls were much older.
Working fire shifts was no excuse for not knowing what was going on in my own home. When I was off, everything seemed fine. I spent time with my daughters. I’d take them to school. We’d play in the backyard.
But they say while the cat’s away, the mouse will play.
The mouse in this scenario is my ex-wife. She’d leave my daughters alone to fend for themselves. And Dahlia stepped up to take care of her sisters, even though she was a kid too.
