Finn.
Olive and Pear.
All stick-figure style, of course, but unmistakable.
I’m the tall one holding a hockey stick.
Chloe is in all pink wearing a bow bigger than her head.
Finn has curly blond hair with dark roots and what I think is supposed to be a blanket in her hands.
The kittens are sporting huge whiskers and blankets of their own.
I grin. “This is really good, peanut. Should we put it on the fridge?”
“Yeah!”
She runs over to her stool, I go and grab the tape, and a few seconds later we’re finding room to put it up on the fridge.
It’s covered in a plethora of drawings and photos and projects from school, the colorful squares intermixed in chaotic joy.
They’re not squares of fabric, but it’s still a patchwork of our life.
I smile, pass her the tape to put back, then start to turn away.
But then I realize what Chloe’s written at the top of the drawing in huge uneven letters.
MY FAMLY
My lungs seize.
“You like it, Daddy?”
I swallow hard, force out, “Yeah, baby. It’s great.”
She beams and runs off to do who knows what, leaving me standing there feeling like I’m going to puke.
My family.
Fuck.
Those two words, and it all rushes in, surrounding me, choking me. Making me realize how big a mistake I’ve made.
I said it was a good thing,thoughtit was a good thing—what Finn means to Chloe, how much Chloe means to Finn right back.
But…Finn is leaving.
Not tomorrow.
Not next week.
But soon enough, her decade-long dream she’s been working so damned hard to achieve planned and booked and?—
Chloe is already attached.
Tooattached.
And…so am I.
