enough to tell her she needed to find someone her own age to play with. Her chin had shot up another notch, and I noticed she now had Dad’s arm in a death grip.
“So,” Dad said once we’d hit the parking lot. “Where would you ladies like to start?”
“Nordstrom,” said Brittany.
Dad smiled at me. “You fancy some new duds for Christmas?”
What I fancied was some time alone with my dad, but I obviously wasn’t going to get that.
“We should get her a new top,” Brittany said. “She’ll feel a lot more like shopping if she can lose that one.”
“Good idea,” Dad agreed.
So I got a new top for Christmas. Dad paid.
Brittany got a new top too, and some perfume and a cashmere sweater. Dad paid some more.
“Oh, Mikey,” she gushed. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“He’s good at that. Just ask Mom,” I cracked.
Brittany lost her smile and Dad looked like he’d like to send me to my room without supper.
No one gets my sense of humor. I decided to inspect a nearby display of scarves.
“Would you like one of those?” Dad asked.
Was he offering me a present or a bribe to shut up?
“I’ve got plenty of scarves,” I assured him.
“A top isn’t much to get you for Christmas, Princess. What else would you like?”
For life to be a video you could rewind and edit
. I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” What a liar I was!
We window shopped a little more, making our way past piles of fake snow and phony snowmen with plastic carrot noses and stick arms dangling signs pointing the way to Santa’s workshop. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” blared at us as we passed a maternity shop. This was a nightmare, like the one I had about Keira in her too-expensive new house. I surreptitiously pinched myself, but I didn’t wake up.
Dad asked about my job and my car, and gave me a pop quiz on the security at my apartment. Once I’d passed those tests, he seemed to run out of steam.
I was feeling a little steamless myself. Brittany was still going strong, though. They had to be missing her over at Chez Rory’s by now. Maybe she was just hanging around to make sure I didn’t get a chance to bad-mouth her to Dad when she was gone.
There wasn’t anything to bad-mouth, really. She was nice enough, just not old enough. I have to admit, I was hoping she’d get a sudden urge to return to her scissors and hair gel so I could ask Dad if he was suffering from some kind of reverse Oedipus complex, but she stuck with us.
I finally gave up trying to outlast her. “I’d better get going,” I told Dad.
“Oh, look,” she said, pointing to the plastic shack where a tired-looking Santa was jiggling a howling two-year-old on his knee. “We should get our picture taken with Santa first.”
There would be a charming memento: me, Dad, and The Girlfriend. My luck, he’d put it on Christmas cards and one would somehow get back to Mom.
The line for Santa wasn’t too long, but long enough. “Sorry, I really have to get going,” I told her. “Maybe next year.” Maybe by next year there would be no girlfriend in the picture.
“This was way too short,” Dad said as I hugged him. “You ought to let me take you out to dinner.”
“Oh, good idea!” said Brittany. Did she come by that perky voice naturally, or did she practice it?
Another threesome, I thought.
What fun!
“I’m afraid Mom’s got me pretty busy,” I said. “Did Ben invite you to the Christmas Eve service?” I asked Dad.
He nodded.
“I hope you’ll come,” I said.
“For another chance to see my girl? I’ll be there.” He hugged me again. “See if you can sneak away from your mother one more time. I won’t tell.”
“Me either,” said Brittany.
I didn’t say anything, just smiled in a noncommittal kind of way. I wished Brittany a merry Christmas (and a new boyfriend, I added mentally), told Dad I’d see him Christmas Eve, then hurried away, relieved to have the torture session over.
As I left the mall all I
“So,” Dad said once we’d hit the parking lot. “Where would you ladies like to start?”
“Nordstrom,” said Brittany.
Dad smiled at me. “You fancy some new duds for Christmas?”
What I fancied was some time alone with my dad, but I obviously wasn’t going to get that.
“We should get her a new top,” Brittany said. “She’ll feel a lot more like shopping if she can lose that one.”
“Good idea,” Dad agreed.
So I got a new top for Christmas. Dad paid.
Brittany got a new top too, and some perfume and a cashmere sweater. Dad paid some more.
“Oh, Mikey,” she gushed. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“He’s good at that. Just ask Mom,” I cracked.
Brittany lost her smile and Dad looked like he’d like to send me to my room without supper.
No one gets my sense of humor. I decided to inspect a nearby display of scarves.
“Would you like one of those?” Dad asked.
Was he offering me a present or a bribe to shut up?
“I’ve got plenty of scarves,” I assured him.
“A top isn’t much to get you for Christmas, Princess. What else would you like?”
For life to be a video you could rewind and edit
. I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” What a liar I was!
We window shopped a little more, making our way past piles of fake snow and phony snowmen with plastic carrot noses and stick arms dangling signs pointing the way to Santa’s workshop. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” blared at us as we passed a maternity shop. This was a nightmare, like the one I had about Keira in her too-expensive new house. I surreptitiously pinched myself, but I didn’t wake up.
Dad asked about my job and my car, and gave me a pop quiz on the security at my apartment. Once I’d passed those tests, he seemed to run out of steam.
I was feeling a little steamless myself. Brittany was still going strong, though. They had to be missing her over at Chez Rory’s by now. Maybe she was just hanging around to make sure I didn’t get a chance to bad-mouth her to Dad when she was gone.
There wasn’t anything to bad-mouth, really. She was nice enough, just not old enough. I have to admit, I was hoping she’d get a sudden urge to return to her scissors and hair gel so I could ask Dad if he was suffering from some kind of reverse Oedipus complex, but she stuck with us.
I finally gave up trying to outlast her. “I’d better get going,” I told Dad.
“Oh, look,” she said, pointing to the plastic shack where a tired-looking Santa was jiggling a howling two-year-old on his knee. “We should get our picture taken with Santa first.”
There would be a charming memento: me, Dad, and The Girlfriend. My luck, he’d put it on Christmas cards and one would somehow get back to Mom.
The line for Santa wasn’t too long, but long enough. “Sorry, I really have to get going,” I told her. “Maybe next year.” Maybe by next year there would be no girlfriend in the picture.
“This was way too short,” Dad said as I hugged him. “You ought to let me take you out to dinner.”
“Oh, good idea!” said Brittany. Did she come by that perky voice naturally, or did she practice it?
Another threesome, I thought.
What fun!
“I’m afraid Mom’s got me pretty busy,” I said. “Did Ben invite you to the Christmas Eve service?” I asked Dad.
He nodded.
“I hope you’ll come,” I said.
“For another chance to see my girl? I’ll be there.” He hugged me again. “See if you can sneak away from your mother one more time. I won’t tell.”
“Me either,” said Brittany.
I didn’t say anything, just smiled in a noncommittal kind of way. I wished Brittany a merry Christmas (and a new boyfriend, I added mentally), told Dad I’d see him Christmas Eve, then hurried away, relieved to have the torture session over.
As I left the mall all I
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