My throat squeezes, right along with my messed-up, damaged heart.
“I know, cupcake,” I say gently. “But that’s not an option.”
“Why not? You like her.”
I sigh, part my lips, but I’m not sure what to say. The truth—that love stabs you in the heart with a rusty knife—is not something I want to teach her. Though, does it always? I never once felt like Isla would do something like that. Do I tell Mia I don’t want to take a chance? That feels a little chickenshit to tell my kid, especially since I play a dangerous sport for a living.
I need to say something though. “I do like her. You’re right about that,” I say, and, wow, it’s a relief to be honest.
“So what’s the problem?” It’s asked so simply, so innocently.
Maybe I owe it to her to tell more of the truth. I blow out a breath, then take her hand. “I just don’t know if I’d be any good in a relationship,” I admit with a shrug.
She frowns. “Why? You’re a good dad. And a good dog dad,” she says, gesturing to our little cutie-pie who’s sniffing all the snow.
My heart slams painfully in my chest, but I push past the ache. “I think a part of me shut down after Mom left.”
Mia’s lower lip quivers. “I thought that happened to me too,” she says softly. “But then, I realized it didn’t.”
Ah, hell. Oh fuck. I haul her in close for a hug. “I’m so glad you learned that.”
She wraps her little arms around me. “You can learn it too.”
Can I? Is she right? Can you teach a damaged dad new tricks? I just don’t know.
But I hold her a little longer. “I love you, cupcake.”
“I love you too, Dad. And I mean it—you’re a really good dad even when you didn’t want to celebrate Christmas.”
I smile against her hair and do my best to swallow down this annoying threat of tears. But my stupid eyes are a little wet when she lets go.
I take a beat, then say, “So…do you want to come?”
With a beleaguered sigh, she says, “Okay, fine. But what am I going to wear?”
Excellent question.
It’s three o’clock on Christmas Eve, and the world is starting to shut down. But then I remember the thrift shopwhere I picked up the ornaments, the one where all proceeds support the town’s animal rescue. If memory serves, I passed a rack of fancy dresses for kids. I quickly google the store and check the hours.
“Let’s get you a dress,” I say.
Super Dad strikes again.
That keeps us busy for the next hour as we find a red, shiny dress with a white faux-fur neckline and snowflakes all over it. I buy the dress—and then I make a twenty-thousand-dollar donation.
Well, my team didn’t win first place in the competition, but there’s no reason my chosen charity shouldn’t still benefit.
“Oh my gosh, thank you so much,” the clerk gushes.
“Dad!” Mia gasps, her eyes going full moon.
“This will help so many animals.” The woman stares at me, her silver Ally name tag gleaming as brightly as her surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, Ally,” I say.
And really, this is something Iamcertain about. I need to put more goodwill back into the world. It’s the least I should do at Christmastime.
We finish the transaction and leave. But once I open the door to the car, I think of Isla and her team. They didn’t win either. And Isla loves animals, yes. But she also really, really loves trees.
