“What?” He makes his way around to me, inspecting what I’m seeing and leaving Mabel alone.
I finally cave, my nerves getting the best of me. “Mabel, honey. Can you stop pulling on the branches? We don’t want to have a bald spot there.”
She responds with a glare and another yank. The tree moves slightly, and I sigh because what else can I do? She’s not my child. If Abel doesn’t see an issue, and no one is getting hurt, it’s not my problem.
Abel stands up, disappointment written all over his face. “Well, damn. It’s like the whole back side just shriveled up and died. Now this half price sign makes sense.” He sighs deeply. “But the front is so perfect. I guess we could put it in the corner of the room to hide all this, but I really wanted to put it in the window.”
“Maybe they have another one,” I say cheerfully, trying to offset the discouragement he’s feeling. “I bet Nate would know. And since he thinks our family is precious…”
Abel smirks at me, clearly more amused than he was a few seconds ago. “That’s a good idea. I’ll go ask…”
Before Abel can finish his statement, there’s another jerk, a loud crack, and the tree suddenly falls to the ground. Behind it, sporting her own stunned look, is Mabel with a small branch of needles held in her hand.
No words even need to be said as he and I glance over at the giant sign reading “You break it, you buy it.” The trunk is clearly split in two, rotten and practically hollow on the inside. Regardless, we’re about to come home with a half-dead tree. I know it. Abel knows it. Mabel knows it.
Apparently, Nate knows it, too, as he ambles forward, the same kind smile affixed to his face. “Looks like you guys just wiped out my clearance rack. Blue spruce it is!”
And the alligator tears promptly begin sliding down Mabel’s face.
So much for Abel’s dream of having a Christmas tree in the front window. This one is going in the corner to hide the dead branches. Once we figure out how to rig the trunk, that is.
Chapter Thirteen
ABEL
Work has my body’s clock so jacked up I can’t seem to sleep in anymore. Not even on Christmas morning. So here I am, at five a.m., wide awake and brewing a pot of coffee, while I wait for Mabel to get up. Well, trying to make coffee. Betsy has decided to take the day off again.
“Come on, Betsy,” I grumble, while I smack her in the sweet spot, grateful I have time to deal with her this morning. “Show me some love.”
I need all the caffeine I can get since it could be a while until Mabel gets up. My girl loves her sleep almost as much as she loves her Wii.
Speaking of which, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees “Santa” brought her a new one, complete with all the upgraded games. Finding it wasn’t easy or cheap, considering the gaming system is practically obsolete at this point, but nothing is too good for my girl. Especially since part of me feels like I’m having to do the Christmas of two parents. Running up a credit card I don’t need is a small price to pay to give her some joy on Christmas morning.
I think.
Presents aren’t going to take the place of her mother, but it is so wrong to want to give her as many distractions as I can on one day out of the year?
Now that I look around the room at the giant pile of gifts, I’m second-guessing this thought process. I’m not sure blowing my careful spending habits is going to lead to a good time, or if all will be forgotten under a sea of wrapping paper.
Maybe I didn’t think this through enough. Honestly, I don’t think she needs everything I got her. And maybe having everything her little heart desires won’t do much more than give her a false sense of entitlement.
Ouch. That’s a harsh realization to my parenting skills. But I suppose it’s not the first time I’ve been aware that I cave a little too quickly and spoil a little too much. The last two parent-teacher conferences hinted at such. Not to mention the Christmas tree is in the corner hiding the damage to the back.
In my defense, a significant chunk of these gifts are from my parents and siblings. Still, we may have gone a bit overboard, which is how I ended up standing here, bleary-eyed, banging on the side of my coffee maker, and having daddy-guilt.
The obvious answer to this dilemma, and I’m not talking about the appliance I fight with every morning, is talking to Elliott about this. Not that it really has anything to do with her. Unless Ainsley only gets a couple of things while Mabel is spoiled rotten. That’ll make me feel bad.
Sighing, I rub my hand down my face and thank my lucky stars that at least my liquid energy is finally dripping into the pot, but the promise of a caffeine boost isn’t helping me forget the issue at hand. The real issue. Well, one of the real issues. Somehow, the lines are becoming blurred with Elliott and moving beyond the basic woman/man attraction. I’m not sure why. When she moved in, I assumed we’d be roommates and would cross paths every once in a while. It never occurred to me that our lives would become intertwined, and I’m a bit perplexed as to how it happened.
Actually, I know the answer. We need each other. Parenting is hard. You wouldn’t think it would be, but keeping a tiny human alive and healthy, and growing them into a functioning adult, is the hardest job out there. It’s exponentially more difficult when you are doing it by yourself and don’t have a co-parent who is equally responsible. Even if they aren’t physically in the house, a parent’s job never stops. Falling into our little “it takes a village” situation has relieved the pressure on both Elliott and me, which is why it works.
It’s also probably why I’m conflicted. Part of me is worried this fantastic situation I’ve gotten us into will all fall apart.
The other part of me doesn’t care about the consequences. That part wants to push this friendship even further.
There. I admitted it to myself. I want to date Elliott. I think I already knew it, but the night at the tree lot brought it to the forefront of my mind. When that Nate guy pointed out we had a nice-looking family, I could see it plain as day. Us, as a family, with Elliott by my side, holding my hand.
The image shocked me for about half a second, and then suddenly had merit. Elliott is kind and beautiful and a great mom. She has a fantastic sense of humor and is witty. She’s smart and motivated but prioritizes her family over everything else. She’s a little bit unsure of herself, but it translates as being humble.
And I like her. I like her a lot.
And that could cause problems for all of us if we aren’t careful.
Pushing my opposing thoughts out of my mind, I settle onto the couch and flip on the television.
The benefit of being up this early is I get to enjoy a cup of coffee while indulging in one of twelve back-to-back showings of A Christmas Story. Man, I love this movie. It reminds me of my own family. The cranky dad who lovingly yells at everyone. The sweet mother who always keeps a gentle temperament and dotes on the younger brother.
Oh, look at that. He won’t eat unless he’s a piggy. Gross.
Yeah, that kid definitely reminds me of my brother Eugene all right. He was the whiniest little shit and always refused to eat. I’ve never figured out how he grew up to be a beat cop in Chicago. I didn’t know they had a need for officers who scream like Mabel when they see a spider.
I chuckle at my own joke, knowing full well Eugene has actually grown up to be a pretty tough son of a bitch and the force is lucky to have him. I’d never tell him that to his face, though. Nor will I ever call my mother sweet and gentle to her face. Technically, she’s both of those things, but with a large Italian flare. If this movie only added in two older sisters and more hand gestures, it could be the family I grew up in.
Speaking of which, I need to make sure Mabel and I are out the door by two. My mother will be livid if we don’t make it to Christmas dinner on time. And by on time, I mean early enough to peel potatoes, set the table, and yell that the kids are a bunch of hooligans and ask: “Who’s raising these monkeys?” It’s tradition.
Staring at the boob tube, my thoughts once again wander to Elliott, wondering what she and Ainsley are doing now. Are they awake yet? Are they watching the same movie I am? They spent last night with her mom and won’t be back until tomorrow, which is understandable. Yet, it’s strange to not have them here. In the short amount of time they’ve lived here, they’ve integrated themselves into our lives in such a big way that it doesn’t feel right for us all not to be together.
“It’s Christmas!” a boisterous voice shouts from the top of the stairs, and Mabel comes barreling down, an exaggerated thump with every step. I smile at her exuberance. Now, this is what Christmas is all about. “Are these my presents, Daddy? Is this all for me? Can I open them?”
Okay, maybe it’s not supposed to be all about gifts. We’ll work on it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say with a laugh, placing my coffee cup far back on the table so it doesn’t get knocked over as she bounces around. Any day could be the day my beloved Betsy gives out. I can’t risk losing any liquid gold. “Hold on a second. Maybe you can start with ‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’”
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Mabel says with a monotone voice usually reserved for hormonal pre-teens. When did eight become the new twelve? “Can I open my presents now?”
“You don’t wanna watch this movie with me?”
Immediately, upon looking at the screen, her cute little nose wrinkles up in disgust. “I hate this movie. The next-door neighbors’ dogs are the worst. I’d have to file a complaint with animal control.”
I’m not sure if I’m offended that she hates my favorite movie, impressed at her problem-solving skills, or disappointed that I likely won’t get the chance to see how it ends anywhere other than in my mind.
Shrugging to myself, I decided holly-jolly is the way to go. “Okay. One at a time, though,” I yell over the sound of her shriek as she runs to the tree and begins ripping things open.
Forget it, I think to myself, settling back onto the couch and grabbing my mug again. Who cares if she rips through four million gifts in two minutes as long as she’s happy, right? I’m perfectly content being an observer.
“New boxing gloves!” she yells, looking at them for a hot second before throwing them over her shoulder and grabbing another gift.
“A Harry Potter shirt!” Again, over the shoulder it goes.
“A box of chocolate-covered cherries!” These are placed carefully on the table. Of course. She’s growing up to be a foodie already. Not that it distracts her from the task at hand.
Another rip of paper. Another yell.
“A… coffee maker?”
I furrow my brow, wondering who would have gotten an eight-year-old the ability to binge drink caffeine and if it’s Eugene’s idea of a joke.
“Let me see.” I scoot forward on the couch and take the appliance out of Mabel’s hands. Fortunately, she only ripped the top of the paper off. The rest is still intact, with a card affixed to the side. The envelope clearly has “Abel” written on it.
Pulling it off, I hold up the card for Mabel to see.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she spouts off. “I thought Santa was losing his touch.” Then, she turns on her heel and continues the whole rip/yell/toss pattern.
I’ve lost all sense of parenting focus, too interested in the mystery machine, as it will now be referred to. Who would send it to me, and why? The adults in my family don’t exchange gifts anymore, too interested in spending our hard-earned money on the children. And Joey has never given me a gift.
As I open the card, I have my answer—Elliott.
My breath hitches at the shock of her thoughtfulness. I know she’s struggling financially as much as I am, maybe more so, so for her to sacrifice like this makes me like her all the more.
Abel –
Merry Christmas to the best roommate I could have ever dreamed up. You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking us in and giving me a sense of independence again. I know, I know. We rely on each other a lot to get through the days, but it’s nice having my own space again. Even if we’re invading yours.
I hope you enjoy this new coffee maker so you can put poor Betsy out of her misery. I know you love her, but Abel, it’s time to let her go peacefully. She doesn’t want any more lifesaving measures. Pull the plug, already!
I throw back my head and laugh because she’s not wrong. I should have replaced poor Betsy a long time ago. Only using her a couple times a week though didn’t make it seem worth it.
Have a wonderful day with Mabel and we’ll see you sometime tomorrow afternoon. Or late morning if my mother doesn’t quit bitching about what a waste wrapping paper is.
Elliott.
“Who’s it from, Daddy?” Mabel asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Did Santa bring it?” Even her emphasizing the word Santa with obvious disgust doesn’t detract from the odd sense of excitement I feel about this gift.
It’s not that it’s a coffee maker. You can get any number of cheap ones at just about any store. It’s that Elliott was thinking of me. That she made me a priority and went out of her way to find me the perfect thing.
And it is absolutely perfect. Now that the wrapping paper is all off, I can see it’s a Bonavita BV1900 TS with heat control to guarantee the perfect temperature. I’ve seen them before, and they’re on the lower price scale of the best brands on the market. Which means they aren’t cheap. It also makes me feel bad about the rinky-dink gift I snuck over to her house through her daughter.
“Um,” I have to clear my throat of the strange lump that suddenly developed. “It’s from Elliott.”
“Elliott?”
Sensing distain in her voice, my excitement fizzles. “Yes, Elliott. Is that a problem?”
Mabel shrugs and turns away, pretending to be scouting for another present. I know she’s avoiding answering my question. But what can I do? This is a weird transition for her. As much as I want her to get along with Elliott, it’s going to take some time. Maybe I should schedule a fun outing for all of us. Or a spa day for just the girls. Or maybe I should ignore the pissy attitude until Mabel gets over it. I don’t even know.
Why don’t they give you a preteen-of-a-divorced-family-with-an-absent-mom book when you have a kid? That’s harder than parenting a baby. All they need is to be fed, burped, and changed. These hormones are way more work to figure out.
Moving my head to crack my neck in the hopes it rids me of the sudden tension in my shoulders, I try to level with her. “Mabel, Elliott isn’t trying to be your mom. She’s trying to be Ainsley’s mom, and we’re helping each other out.”
She grumbles something under her breath I don’t catch.
“Say that again, please. Only this time make sure I can hear it.”
Mabel’s head whips around so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t spin right off her head. “Then why is she waking me up in the morning? And making a breakfast I don’t like? And taking me to school?”
“So, you don’t have to wake up at four in the morning. And so, I can take an extra client before school. She’s helping me out like I help her out. It’s no different than me picking Ainsley up after school.”
“It’s very different.” She stomps her foot to emphasize her point, which I’m not getting.
“How?”
That makes her stop and think. Considering how long it takes her to answer, I think she’s starting to see my point.
“Because you’re hot. All the moms say so. She’s helping cause she thinks you’re hot.”
Maybe she’s not seeing my point at all. Or maybe she’s stubborn like her mother. Either way, she turns her back on me, a sure-fire indicator she’s done with this conversation and would rather open presents.
I’m not sure who learned the lesson here. Her, that Elliott is our friend. Or me, that presents won’t ever serve as a distraction for heartache in the form of parental neglect, no matter how many there are.
Chapter Fourteen
ELLIOTT
Christmas has always been
my favorite time in the Donovan household. The house is decorated with multiple trees, lights everywhere, and celebratory knick-knacks from all different parts of the world. The effort my mother puts in to make this place a winter wonderland is truly astonishing.
Tucking my legs underneath me, I watch Ainsley open her next present while sipping on my cup of coffee.
Speaking of coffee, I wonder if Abel opened his present yet and if he likes it. I know he’s attached to his Betsy, but she’s going to give out any day now. With as much as he loves his morning brew, it could be bad news for those of us caught in the crossfire of an un-caffeinated Abel.
That’s probably an exaggeration. Abel is such a naturally happy person; I could switch him to decaf, and no one would ever notice.
Still, he loves it. Besides, I got the new fancy coffee maker for half off when one of our members mentioned trying to unload it. She was telling Tabitha at the smoothie bar that she got duplicates for her wedding. Unfortunately, without a gift receipt, the store wouldn’t take it back. Since Tabitha didn’t want it, I swooped in and got it for myself.
That’s not completely accurate on how it went down. At first, the member was hesitant, being she didn’t know who I was. But the second I mentioned it was for Abel, her eyes lit up like the wreath on my mom’s porch, and she gushed all over me about how “If anyone deserves it, he does. Make sure you tell him it’s from me!” Then, she giggled and bounced away. And I do mean bounced. Every part of her. I could have probably bounced a quarter off the abs on her. I, on the other hand, have lost actual quarters in my fat roll.
Regardless, I thought it was the perfect present, and I really hope he likes it.
“A Hatchimal!” Ainsley exclaims, excitedly holding up her new, uh, toy? I don’t even know what to classify the thing as, but it was on her list, so here it is.
Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3) Page 11