I’m all kinds of fucked up, I guess, because it doesn’t bother me too much. The only thing thatdoesbother me is that it means I can’t buy Logan a birthday present.
Until today. It took two years, but I finally managed to earn some money. Eighty dollars, to be precise. I set that goal two years ago, and I’ve reached it. I learned how to paint, and spent about a year and a half struggling to make anything half decent.
Logan is aware of my new hobby, of course—I had to ask him to buy me the material. I think he’s happy I have something to do on the afternoons he spends locked up in the bedroom, talking to Everest. Since he spends that time away from me, he hasn’t seen how good I’ve gotten. Good enough that over the past week, Dolores secretly went around to a few galleries and cafes in neighboring towns and tried to sell my work.
She didn’t manage to sell any but one, and only this morning, on the very day of Logan’s birthday—a painting of Aurora. But the person who bought that painting, bought it for the exact price I’d fixed for myself. Eighty dollars.
It feels like a goddamn miracle, and now, it’s on to part two of my plan: buy the actual present.
That’s also a whole undertaking. I’ve had to wait for Logan to lock himself in the bedroom with his phone for his usual noon-time call. I calculate I have about one hour ahead of me, but there’s no way I could get the car.
I’m just going to have to walk to town with Aurora.
“Ready for a long walk?” I ask Aurora.
“Yay, mama! Is papa coming?”
“Nope. Papa’s working.” I kiss her head. “We’ll let him work, okay, baby? We’re off to town to buy him a surprise. It’s his birthday today.”
“Let’s go!” she squeaks. “Let’s go, mama!”
“Uh huh. One second.” I put the finishing touches on myhair, then walk out the door with her, a finger on my lips. “Let’s be as quiet as mice, Aurora. Remember, it’s a surprise!”
If I’m being honest with myself, the surprise isn’t really the reason we’re being quiet—I have the nagging suspicion Logan would be upset if he found I’d snuck out. But being stuck in his cagecanget stifling at times. It’s strange that I only realize it when I leave it temporarily… for the purpose of buying my captor a gift.
But at last we’ve gone a few yards up the country road, and I breathe easier. “What do you think papa would like?” I ask my chatty little girl, smiling the way I always do when I remember how effortlessly she fell into the habit of calling him that.
“Hmm.” She scrunches her cute little face into a thoughtful frown. “A drawing!”
“Well, yes.” I realize he probablywouldhave appreciated that more than anything I could think of to buy. But then, I wouldn’t have had a reason to leave the house. “How about something we could buy?”
“A story? Peter Pan! Cinderella!”
“I think papa knows those stories already. And he likes reading them to you. Maybe I could buy a book, but…”
But what kind of book does he even like?
Thereisa lot I still don’t know about him. I’ve seen him with a book in hand, but try as I might, I can’t recall the name of any of the ones he’s read.
“A… a… a dollhouse?” suggests Aurora.
I grin. “Why do I get the feelingyou’re the one who wants the dollhouse?” I tease her.
“No!” She shakes her head very seriously. “Papa wants the dollhouse. I want to play with papa and the dollhouse.”
“Hmm.”Play.A boardgame, maybe? But it doesn’t feel particularly romantic. And I have a hard time picturing Logan sitting down to play anything as tame as that. But then, what canI possibly get him? Everything he needs, he buys himself. What do guys want in general? My dad loves his cigars, but Logan doesn’t smoke. A watch? But you can’t buy a nice watch for eighty dollars, can you?
Besides, I doubt I could find a luxury watch in the small town by our house.
By the time we reach town, I’m feeling pretty desperate. I spent two years worrying over saving money for Logan’s present, but I didn’t spend a single second thinking about what I would buy once I’d earned that money.
“Look!” calls out Aurora, pointing to a storefront. “Look at that funny dress!”
She stares at a dress with a pattern of flamingos wearing sunglasses, but right beside it is a nice dress shirt. I guess a shirt is a pretty good present… isn’t it?
I’m running out of time, because it took almost thirty minutes to walk to town—I hadn’t calculated how long it would be with Aurora’s little feet—and his phone call likely won’t last much more than an hour. So I hurry into the store and buy the shirt from the saleslady. She must be new around here. Seeing as this is the only town we ever go to, I know pretty much everyone by name.
She takes her time to wrap it in tissue paper and slip it into a bag with the name of the store marked out in gold foil letters. By the time she holds it out for me, I’m getting really antsy.
