Freddie texted no less than a dozen times to check in on Sophia. If I didn’t know how protective he was of her, I might’ve been offended he didn’t think I could manage to both entertain and keep her in one piece. I humored him, sending proof of life photos in response to every message.
At dinnertime, I realized the flaw in my plan. The cupboards were bare, and I doubted Freddie would approve of me feeding Sophia cookies and cupcakes for dinner. “Hey Soph, I have to call for dinner. What do you want?”
“Can we go out on a date?” Sophia asked, batting her huge brown eyes at me. “I want to get dressed up and go see Uncle Frankie for dinner. Daddy used to take me there before Mommy left, but now he’s too busy.”
Dagger straight to the heart.I had been tempted to tell her it wasn’t a good night to go to Marino’s, and that I wasn’t sure Freddie would approve of me taking her on the bus, but I hated the idea of telling her no. I pulled up the app on my phone and checked to see how much it’d be for a ride. Uber beat the hell out of trying to keep track of her while navigating bus routes I was still getting used to.
“Okay, you go get dressed and we’ll do it,” I decided. I sent a quick text to Freddie before I went upstairs to change, letting him know what we were doing and giving him time to reply telling me I was out of my mind if I thought I was taking Sophia anywhere.
I flipped through the clothes I’d amassed while I’d been here, trying to find something appropriate for date night with a little girl, chuckling when I realized this was my first date with a girl in twenty-six years. I’d managed to dodge that bullet as a teen by pretending I was more interested in books and video games than dating like the rest of my classmates.
I locked myself in the walk-in closet while I changed. I was feeling sassy and knew Soph wouldn’t judge me if I wore my new high heel ankle boots that went perfectly with my skinny jeans, but I wanted to go a step further. I dug deep into the back of the closet, where I stored everything that made me feel sexy. Unlike when I was younger, I wasn’t hiding out of shame as much as not wanting to explain my preferences to a well-meaning but nosy child. As I rolled the silk stockings up my legs, I considered what Freddie would say later, when he saw the complete ensemble. One piece would stay neatly tucked away until we got home tonight, but knowing I had on bright blue lace underwear and black stockings when he couldn’t do anything about it felt like foreplay.
Sophia was waiting on my bed when I stepped out, smoothing my hands over the flowing royal purple fabric of my top. “You look pretty, Peter.”
“And you look absolutely divine,” I replied dramatically. She giggled as she swung her feet at the end of the bed. I checked myself in the mirror, turning to make sure there were no telling lines through the back of my pants. Not a one, which was exactly what I wanted. “Why don’t you go grab your brush so we can do something with your hair while I do my makeup?”
It never fazed Sophia that I liked to wear makeup. To her, there was no such thing as girl things and boy things, unless you were talking about toys. “Will you do my makeup, too?”
“I think you’re a little young for that,” I responded, cringing when I realized I’d made a fatal error. One did not tell Sophia Marino she couldn’t do something based on her age. Before she could launch into a tirade, I offered a compromise. “But if you hurry and you sit still while I do your hair, I might have some lip gloss you can wear.”
“What’s that?” she asked, jumping off the bed and wrapping her arm around mine as I started laying out the products I needed for the look I was going for. It was nothing too dramatic, but I hadn’t left the house feeling completely like myself since I left New York. Even at home, I’d dialed it back, not wanting to rock the boat. But Freddie sure as hell didn’t mind when I tapped into my more delicate desires, and the few times I’d worn a bit of makeup around Sophia, she’d been fascinated.
She sat next to me on the vanity bench, asking questions as I went through my beauty routine. It was mildly annoying because this was a ritual for me, always done in silence or with soft music playing in the background. I couldn’t explain why, but it was one of my quirks. I answered each question and allowed her to put on moisturizer and primer, laughing when she sat up straighter as she checked herself out in the lighted mirror. “Oh Peter, I look beautiful!”
“You sure do, Soph. But that has nothing to do with makeup because you’re a natural beauty,” I told her, wanting to make sure she understood, even at her age, it wasn’t powders and creams that gave her self-worth.
We took a selfie once our looks were complete, and I ordered our ride so it’d be here once I finished doing Sophia’s hair. Because I’d gone a bit bolder on my makeup, I opted for a low, sleek bun for myself, but I used the curling iron on her hair so the tendrils bounced as she spun in her party dress.
She watched, eyes wide, as I slipped my feet into my boots. I stuck one out, turning my foot one direction and the other. “What do you think? Too much?”
“They’re so pretty,” she cooed, kneeling beside me to touch the metal accents. “Can I have some like this?”
“Maybe someday,” I responded. My phone chimed, and I offered up a silent prayer that it was the ride notification, not Freddie telling me to keep Sophia home. I lucked out.
I held the doors open for Sophia as we left the house and got into the car, just like a gentleman should. I’d read somewhere that kids learned from a young age how they deserved to be treated, and this little girl was nothing less than a queen as far as I was concerned. She talked the driver’s ear off the entire way to the restaurant, telling him how I did her hair and let her wear my makeup. The guy gave me a disapproving glance in the rearview mirror a few times, but I ignored him. Fuck him if he thought I was a freak for wearing makeup or that I was twisting Sophia’s mind by normalizing my behavior. I was making sure she knew it was normal, because I wanted her to grow up knowing you could do or be anything you wanted because no one had given me that reassurance when I was younger.
The second we stepped into Marino’s, I was shocked by how busy they were. The lobby and bar were both filled with people waiting for tables, which I thought was odd for a Thursday night. It was impossible to miss Mrs. Marino teetering back to the hostess stand. The moment she spotted us, her eyes lit up and she moved faster. “Oh, don’t you look beautiful! Did you come in to surprise your daddy?”
“Nope! Peter and I are having a date night,” she proudly proclaimed. “I told him how Daddy used to bring me here when he didn’t have to work so I could see Uncle Frankie and he told me to get dressed up.”
She stood and took a long look at me. My shoulders slumped forward, and I pulled back slightly. We’d talked a few times over the past few weeks when I’d gone with Freddie to drop off or pick up Sophia, but she’d never seen me in all my glory, so to speak. I wasn’t embarrassed about who I was, but it was important to me that I not see disapproval from the woman who’d been a second mother when I was young.
A knot formed in my stomach, a literal ache as painful as if I’d just been punched, when my thoughts drifted to my own Mama and what she’d say if she could see me now. Maria and I had talked about her a bit, and my little sister’s version of the woman who gave birth to us was a stranger to me.
“Well you both look… beautiful?” The statement came out more like a question, and Mrs. Marino narrowed her eyes as her gaze shifted from my feet to my face and back again. “I must say, this isn’t something I’d have expected to see you in, Peter.”
She seemed more confused than upset. I gave a quick shrug because I didn’t know how to make her see I was wearing what made me feel good regardless of who it was marketed to. “Thank you, Mrs. Marino.”
“Oh, you stop that right now,” she scolded, swatting my arm. “You best remember I used to change your diapers, young man. You call me Mama, same as you used to.”
“Thank you… Mama.” I choked on the last word, overcome by the knowledge there was at least one parental figure out there who accepted me, or was willing to try. She wrapped her arms around my middle, squeezing tightly. My eyes watered and I pulled away, hoping to keep my eyeliner from ruining the shoulder of her blouse. “Hush now, it’s okay.”
“I just…”
“I know,” she said. Well that was reassuring because I had no clue what I’d been about to say. “Your mama, she would’ve been so proud of you, living your life the way you do.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I argued.
