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I might end up in the hospital today because I can’t take this.
Keep it together. Take down the emotion by a notch.
“I brought you something,” Max says, taking the stuffed animal from under his arm. “I heard you like this one.”
“I do,” she whispers, taking it in her hands. I’ve said no so many times to a stuffed Mike Wazowski, so I’m glad her father gets the honors. When I look at my brother, Cam is studying me and puts his hand on my shoulder. He knows I’m barely holding it together. Don’t cry.
Max also hands her the flower. “Every lady deserves flowers.”
“Thank you,” she says, taking the flower down and resting it on the table carefully. She holds the stuffed animal by its thin arms. She makes the stuffed animal dance by pulling at its arms each which way. When she looks up at him, my heart expands.
“So,” I say, pointing to the seat across from Olive at the table. “Please have a seat.”
He walks sheepishly toward the other side, and Cam follows him.
“Hi, good to see you,” Max says, shaking Cam’s hand. They met once briefly, by accident and now Cam grumbles as he takes a seat like Max was his high school bully.
Max folds his hands on the table. “So, Olive, I want to know all about you.”
Olive’s face scrunches in confusion and looks up at me. She moves closer to me as I put my arm around her. Her eyes look everywhere but at Max.
“Tell Max what grade you’re in.”
“Third.” Her voice is barely audible.
“Who’s your teacher?”
“Ms. Lyle.”
“You like her, don’t you?” I ask. Usually my daughter will do a full monologue about Ms. Lyle and how pretty she is and her massive Maine Coon cat, Katniss. Instead, my daughter nods once.
I swore I would never force my child to interact with adults unless she wanted to. I want to break all those promises. This going well is so important to me.
“I heard you like raccoons, and that there’s a pair called Thelma and Louise,” Max says. He also texted me and asked if there were any conversation starters, so I mentioned the raccoon duo I don’t see much of anymore.
If this doesn’t get my daughter talking, I don’t know what will.
She sits up straighter, no longer pressed to me. She folds her hands in front of her, mirroring Max’s posture. In that moment, they’re carbon copies of one another, and there’s no denying he is her father.
“This is creepy,” Cam says under his breath, watching this unfold.
“Yes. Thelma and Louise are my best friends. Have you seen the film, Max?”
Have you seen the film, Max? Cam and I look at each other. You think you know a kid, and then she outs you as a bad mother.
“I don’t think I have.”
“It’s great. You should really see it,” Olive says. Max purses his lips, his look saying, You let our daughter watch that movie?
I shield my eyes. I always justified it by that if showing my child Thelma and Louise at a young age was the worst thing I do as a parent, I’m not all that bad. It’s part of her Women Empowerment education. I do cover her eyes during the parking lot scene, but I let her watch the Brad Pitt love scene. She’ll have sex one day, so I didn’t see the harm. She didn’t want to watch it anyway.
“Ew, his butt,” she said, covering her own eyes.
“Isn’t that…violent?” Max asks.
“It’s a classic is what it is,” Cam butts in, looking for any reason to fight. I touch Cam’s forearm.
“I guess I’ll have to see it,” Max says.
