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It was a crock of bullshit because if she’d had a nightmare, she’d be crying.
“Do you mean to say you just don’t want to be alone?” I asked her as I reached out and stroked her hair.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Say what you really mean,” Tria told her. “Don’t say something that isn’t true just because you think you are going to get what you want. Ask for what you want and the real reason why; you know Daddy’s going to lie down with you.”
“I woke up, and I couldn’t go back to sleep,” Katie said. Her lower lip jutted out as she rubbed her eye. “I wanna sit in our chair.”
“Go get your blanket, Artichoke,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
She nodded and walked out, which gave me the time to get some clothes on.
“Why do you call her that?”
“What?”
“Artichoke.”
“I dunno,” I said as I slipped out from under the sheets and grabbed a pair of lounge pants off the floor. “It just fits.”
“Have you ever given her one?”
“One what?”
“An artichoke!”
“I don’t think she’d like them.” I grinned at my beautiful wife, and she groaned and rolled her eyes at me. I dodged a flung pillow and headed to Katie’s room across the hall.
Months ago, I argued and fought with my daughter about staying in her own bed and going to sleep on her own but ultimately gave up. It wasn’t worth it. I just didn’t think there was much chance she’d still want to fall asleep on me when she was twelve or twenty—she’d grow out of it eventually.
In the meantime, I enjoyed it as much as she did.
Why fight?
The fact was, everything I did was a fight. I didn’t mean that in a bad way at all; it was just life. I still struggled sometimes, but I was learning to deal with the shit that was thrown at me without running away from it. That was the important part.
Erin asked me if I still craved heroin sometimes, and I had to admit that I did. The thing was, even though there might have been that little itch in the back of my head, there was no way I would ever do it. I couldn’t imagine what that would do to Tria and Katie. I would never risk it.
I carried my little girl into the living room and sat down in the big “person and a half” chair Mom had insisted on buying for my last birthday. Katie and I had spent a lot of time hanging out in my old recliner, watching television and whatnot, and Mom decided it wasn’t big enough for both of us as Katie got bigger.
Clicking the remote didn’t help us find anything interesting to watch, and Katie eventually settled on some Animal Planet show about dogs. She was obviously wiped out, and the exact show didn’t seem to matter as much as it sometimes did.
Before too long, she placed her cheek against my chest and closed her eyes. I circled her with my arms and held her in a warm, safe embrace.
I was reminded of her mother and the cold nights when we first moved in together. I remembered the gunshots and alarms outside and the way I would hold Tria close to make her feel safe. Katie would never know conditions like that if I had anything to say about it, but I still liked that she slept safely and comfortably with me watching over her.
Nothing mattered to me more.
Maybe there was a time—a time that seemed so long ago—when my first thoughts were of myself, my predicament, and my grief, but those were long gone. There might have once been a time when I would have resented not going after a UFC contract or maybe abhorred the thought of going back to school to learn to run the family business. Those days were gone, too.
I had Tria.
I had Katie.
The rest just failed to show up on the comparison scale. I was far, far from perfect. I had done some moronic shit in my time as well, but I’d eventually learned from it. I’d learned to forgive my parents and forgive myself. I learned to live for the time when I came home to my girls and found them covered in cookie dough and looked toward what the future had to bring.
Another life to love.
