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That was hilarious. “I grew up on Granny’s fine cuisine. Turned me into a healthy boy then a strong man. Plus, you know I gets down in the kitchen. Pedro don’t cook all my food.”
Ignoring me, my baby asked, “Did somebody die? Is that why you’re sad, Daddy?”
Abruptly, my steps halted inside my garage. I turned around as though looking for someone. “You, too, Elia? Why do you think I’m sad and that somebody died?”
“Because you’re always happy.” She giggled. “But Daddy, wait. I have something to tell you.”
I hit a button to close the garage door, and managed tapping the keypad while wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding the bagged food. “I’m listening.”
“Okay. So, you know how you always say don’t wait till the last minute to tell you what I want for Christmas?”
“Uhn, huhn.”
“Well, I know what I want.”
As I strolled inside towards the security pad, I entertain my cutie pie, fully aware of her finesse game happening in the moment. “Okay.”
“Disney!”
“Disney? When I was eight years old, I ain’t never been to noDisney, and you’ve been like eight times!”
“But when you were eight, you were poor, Daddy,” she sounded offended.
Shit.Ishould have been offended for her pointing out half of the obvious. On the one hand, she was correct: I was relatively poor as a kid. But the other half of that coin was how poverty escaped her because I was pooras a kid. I worked hard to make sure she wouldn’t be poor as a kid or an adult. I even named my publishing company after her.
“I was, I know. And you’re not: we know. But you going to Florida for Christmas means I won’t get either holiday with you.”
“Yes, you will.”
I stalked down the hall of my empty home, passing the laundry room and heading toward the short set of steps for the main level. “Nah. You’ll be with your family in Boston forThanksgi—”
“Ohhhhh!”
“Yup. So, that’ll be both holidays without my Pear Bear.”
“Daddy!” she whined. “You could come, too.”
“You didn’t invite me. I wasn’t in mind when you came up with this.” When her silence confirmed it, I asked, “Who did you plan on taking down there?”
“Mommy, JuJu, his mom, Pinky, and her auntie, maybe?” Elia didn’t sound very confident, now conscious of leaving me out.
“JuJu, too?”
“Daddy!” there was more bass in her voice. “Daddy, please!”
JuJu was a little boy who had been friends with my daughter since they were old enough to make friends. The boy was cool, but was still a boy. The dad in me didn’t want my baby to have boys as friends, especially not travel companions. But lucky for me, little JuJu was as feminine as they came. If the boy hadn’t declared his sexuality yet, I’d be surprised. He walked and talked with more vibrant femininity than my Elia. He was a smart kid, too. Very respectful and talkative as hell. JuJu stayed asking questions about the artists I worked with. The kid knew the stylist Ragee worked with, and who made Brielle’s wigs. All the shit I had no clue or care about. On the other hand, if he grew up to be heterosexual, I’d die of a heart attack: the joke would have been on me all these years. The kids spent a lot of damn time together.
“Okay, Pear Bear,” I relented. “Have your mom give me the details. We’ll make it happen—”
“Thank you, Daddy!” she shouted into the phone. “I love you! I love you! I love you a thousand times!”
“Just a thousand?”
“A bagillion!”
I smiled, shouldering out of my jacket. The girl knew she had me wrapped around her finger. It was similar to another finger my heart, and now my fucking dick, was melted all over.
Lennox…
