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Payton explains the process as she starts snipping the ends off the flowers, compiling them into groups by length. Bri is hanging on every word she says, nodding her head every so often in understanding. Then, they get to work.
I stand off to the side so that I don’t interrupt them. Payton explains how she’s using the blooms with longer stems for the center and works her way out with the shorter ones. The colors are a mix, but seem to make my daughter happy as she helps arrange them in the vase. When the flowers are in position, they walk over to the sink and add water. Then to finish off the project, Bri chooses a polka dot white and pink ribbon for the bow. Even though Payton makes it, she takes her time, explaining each twist and loop of the ribbon. When it’s completed, Bri places it around the lip of the vase and Payton ties it into place.
It’s complete.
And so is my heart.
When Payton glances up at me, there’s a moment of pure joy and excitement radiating from her. Unfortunately, it’s quickly squashed when something else takes over her features. Not wanting to lose what we’ve been slowly building, I head over to where she’s standing.
“That was amazing. Bri will never forget it.”
“It was fun. I enjoyed getting to show her this side of my passion.”
“You love your work. It’s evident in how you spoke about it and how detailed you were in your teaching.”
“I do love it.” She nods and gazes fondly back over to her little helper.
“Thank you,” I say without hesitation.
She looks back over at me, confusion written on her face. “For what?”
“For spending time with her, for teaching her something I couldn’t, for loving her.” I take a stab in the dark that my comment will hit its mark. I know she loves my daughter, I see it in the way she interacts with her. I just don’t know if she’s ready to acknowledge it. She’s so gun shy when it comes to relationships, and even though one with my daughter is on a different scale, it’s still a big step for her.
“That’s easy to do,” she whispers. I don’t miss the tears filling her eyes. “She’s a very special, amazing, lovable little girl.”
“She is. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“She’s you.” Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, right in the chest. My love for her is boiling over and I want to say it. Hell, I want to scream it! I want to tell her that she’s it for me, the one.
“Daddy, can Payton come have dinner with us?” she asks, moving her floral arrangement from the table to the front counter.
“I’m not sure, honey. Why are you taking your flowers up front?” I ask, following her through the doorway.
“So dat the other people can see how pretty they are. Payton says flowers make you smile and I want to make everyone smile.”
Pride spreads through my chest. It’s warm and familiar and something I’ve experienced several times over the course of this life journey as a father. “Those will make everyone smile, I’m sure.”
“Do you wanna have mac and cheese with us, Payton? Daddy is gonna take me to dinner and I get mac and cheese.”
“No, you don’t get mac and cheese. If we’re going to a restaurant, you have to pick something you don’t eat almost daily at home.”
“Daddy,” she groans, clearly unhappy with my rebuttal. “Payton, can you come to dinner wiff us?”
“Oh, I’m not sure, sweetie.” I can tell she’s trying to figure out how to get out of it.
“Puh-lease? I promise to eat all my dinner. And I’ll get something besides mac and cheese.”
She smiles down at the little brunette giving her the big doe eyes in front of her. Her resolve is clearly cracking and crumbling around her. “I might be able to have dinner tonight,” she concedes with a small smile.
“Don’t feel obligated,” I say, feeling a little annoyed. “If you have other plans, that’s fine.”
“No,” she defends quickly. “I don’t have other plans.”
I give her a few moments to change her mind or back out, but it doesn’t come. I give her a quick nod. “We’ll pick you up at six, if that works for you.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”
“Yay!” Payton exclaims.
