This year, knowing I won’t have my girls, I just didn’t muster up the energy. Ma insisted that I havesomething, so she dropped off a literal replica of a Charlie Brown tree. There on the coffee table it sits—my lone decoration. A wimpy pine bough with a lone red bulb dangling from it.
At least this year, I will be giving them the best gift of all. It won’t be the expensive as shit snow tubes under the tree; it’ll be the promise that I will no longer touch a drop of alcohol. They will be returning back to Maine to a still-sober father, mark my words.
I arrive at Ternbay Primary School before Sarah and the girls do, but that’s ok. It gives me time to support the boosters and purchase a bouquet each for my snow angel, Tati, and reindeer, Terra. My early arrival must please my ex-wife, given that the look on her face right now is one I haven’t seen in ages.
Shit, I did something to impress her. Haven’t donethatin a few years. That makes me grin as I pass my squealing daughters their flowers before scooping them up—one perched on each arm.
“Well, well,” Sarah sing-songs, “look who beat me here. You look good,” she hums, giving me an appraising sweep.
Wow, okay. I can get on board with her eyes on me again. Hell, maybe if I keep putting this kind of effort into my appearance, she’d reconsider reconciling after all. I wouldn’t be opposed. If there was one place we used to get along very well, it was in our bed—well, before she started giving me the cold shoulder, anyway.
“Uh, thanks. Tried something different with my hair tonight. It’s called apomade. Sounded very fancy.”
She snorts. “I meant your eyes don’t look crossed, Gannett. You’re not d-r-u-n-k.”
I frown. Welp, there goes that. She’s still just as repugnant as ever. “Cripes, Sarah. I’m really trying this time. Have a little faith in me, would you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Hard to with you. You have a track record for not following through, Gannett.”
Ignoring her—because I don’t need her seeing the hope she just dashed in me—I bounce my girls. “You ladies ready to break a leg tonight?”
Tati’s eyes go wide. Terra yelps, “I don’t wanna break my leg!”
I chuckle. “It’s just a saying. It means that you’ll go out there and do a good job.”
Tati’s nose scrunches. Ever the analytical one, she notes, “That’s weird. Breaking legs isn’t a good job.”
“How about this, then? Just go out and knock my socks off,” I try again.
She shakes her head. “No bare feet. The floors are yucky.”
I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “You’re too cute, you know that?”
She nods. Terra jumps in, proclaiming, “Me too! We’re ‘dentical!”
I give her a kiss on the cheek next and agree, “Yes, ma’am. You too! Now, shall we?” I try to school my nervous excitement over being in such close quarters with Sarah again as we watch our girls perform tonight. Maybe… just maybe she can see that I’ve started trying to make an effort, and see me for the father and husband I used to be.
“Ope, just one second,” Sarah halts me. “Steve’s coming. He just had to try to find a place to park.”
I arc an eyebrow up at her. “Steve?”
“Yeah,” she huffs, narrowing her eyes to look out the windows facing the parking lot, “Steve. My boyfriend.”
I feel the moment my soul leeches out of my body, pooling around the least scuffed up pair of work boots I could find for tonight. “When did this happen?” I ask her.
“Been a couple months,” she hums, still searching for this mysterious Steve—which is probably a good thing, so she can’t see the total look of shock and betrayal that’s probably written all over my face. I mean, I didn’t totallyexpecther to wait for me to come around, but it was a comforting thought that she had remained single since our divorce…
And now here we are. Not one single mention of this guy before tonight, and she’s invited this rando to come out and watchourdaughters’ Christmas play? He’s already attending family events?! “I’m sorry, Sarah, but what the actual fu—”
“There he is!” she cuts me off, practically launching herself at the lanky beanpole that just strolled in. A quick visual assessment proves that I could easily cast an ominous shadow over this shrimp, in the right lighting. Guy looks like an absolute twatwaffle in an argyle sweater vest, chinos, and goddamn penny loafers.
My lord, who even puts pennies in their actual penny loafers anymore? Rich people, that’s who. I’m barely scraping by rubbing my two cents together these days—between child support, rent, and alimony—and this dweeb isaccessorizingwith them?!
The absolute fucking gall.
Turning to my girls, I ask, “Is this also your first time meeting Steve tonight, like it is for me?”
Both of them shake their heads. “Steve an’ Mumma have sleepovers awholebunch,” Terra explains.
