No. No, I did not.
I finally found him in the airy conservatory. White poinsettias surrounded a plush Christmas tree. The scene was fresh out of a Reclamation Hardware catalog.
I crept at the edge of his little pod of dads.
“I love having a baby,” he was saying, cuddling the little girl in the baby carrier on his chest. “You know, it’s nice to settle down and finally get to be a father.”
Oof.
“She’s just learning so much every day. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
He laughed. The sad thing was my dad did actually look happy. My heart clenched.
“You look like you need some ornaments for your tree,” I said, awkwardly inserting myself into the conversation.
“Excuse me?” One of his coworkers wearing a sweater vest squinted at me.
“You know, because I own a Christmas tree ornament shop. I can hook you up.” I motioned with my plate. One of the cookies slid right off the edge onto the floor.
“Oops! I promise I haven’t had that much to drink.” I picked up the cookie and took a bite.
The men looked at me in horror.
I pulled a cat hair out of my mouth. “Did you guys get two new babies?”
They gave me blank looks.
“Because uh, you know, I found a cat hair?” I wiped my hand on my dress.
My father frowned. “We don’t have a cat.”
“Welp. Guess that’s Louise’s, then.”
“Who?” My father looked irritated.
“Olivia’s cat. You know Dad, Olivia, only one of my best friends since forever?”
A moment of stunned silence pervaded the group.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” one of his friends finally said. “Just thought you had the stepchildren.” He trailed off.
“I didn’t think you could come,” my dad said to me as his friends meandered off, murmuring excuses.
The baby on his chest gummed a chew ring.
“I have Olivia watching the shop,” I said. I pulled out a package from my purse. “Aunt Bettina forwarded me the invite. Merry Christmas!” I handed it to him.
He took it with two fingers and practically threw it under the tree.
I waited, half hoping he would ask me about my life, about how I was doing. Maybe he would want to know about the bake-off or the shop, but all he said was, “I see another coworker I have to talk to.”
Guess I shouldn’t have come after all.
The food wasn’t even that good, and they were serving kombucha and craft beer, neither of which I liked to drink. Where were the Christmas-themed cocktails, and why were there five different types of salads at a holiday party? That should be illegal.
I tried not to gag at the array of healthful and borderline inedible party snacks, contemplating whether I should grab another serving of meatballs or cut my losses and go back to my shop.
Olivia:Mattis here.
