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I shrug before tucking her in tight. “I changed my mind. It’s my prerogative.”
She’s not happy, but curiosity will always reign supreme for her. “What’s a per-per—”
“A prerogative is the right to change your mind.”
She rolls over, ruining my superb burrito-wrapping skills, before tucking her hands under her cheek. “Like you did when you got scared?”
“Daddy doesn’t get scared.”
Lucy’s clap backs are always fast and accurate. “Yes, you do. You get scared every time you leave me, and you were really scared the night you found Henley.” She continues to prove she is far too wise for her years. “But you were way more scared the next day. You looked like you wanted to vomit when you saw her suitcase.” Her face takes on a serious expression. “Did you want to vomit, Daddy? I wanted to vomit so bad.”
After checking that the coast is clear, I gesture for her to scoot over before joining her in bed. “Can you keep a secret?”
She nods so fast I grow worried I’ll need to take her for a CAT scan. “Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t just want to vomit. I did vomit.” I tickle her ribs. “You should be glad Uncle Thane ate all the scrambled eggs before you went to the kitchen.”
My laugh almost drowns out the faint giggle in the hallway when Lucy replies, “I told you eggs are vomit clouds.” She gags like she’s being forced to swallow a mouthful of the number one food on her hate list. “And they smell like fart. You’re not supposed to eat farts.”
I’m laughing so hard my words are chopped up when I try to move our exchange back to our usual bedtime routine. I will always love and cherish the time I get with my daughter, but it’s been a long time since I’ve remembered I am a man as much as I am a father.
Henley gave me that.
“Do you have any story requests tonight?” My brow arches when she shakes her head. “You don’t want a story?”
Through a yawn, Lucy replies, “Not tonight.” A ghost-like grin spreads across her face when I fan my hand across her forehead to check her for a temperature. “I’m not sick, Daddy. I’m just tired.”
“Okay. It’s your prerogative if you don’t want a story.”
After slipping out of her bed, I lean down to kiss her forehead.
Lucy takes advantage of my closeness by gripping the collar of my shirt and whispering, “But you should tell Henley the thought of losing her by choice is way scarier than your worry someone will take her from you.”
“Uncle Thane—”
“Not Uncle Thane,” she interrupts, finally whispering as intended. “The bad people. Mommy didn’t have a choice to leave. They made her go, but Henley has a choice, and it scares you that she might pick to leave.”
She is spot on the money, but this isn’t something she needs to worry about. My neuroses are mine. They don’t belong on her shoulders.
“Luc—”
“Just tell her, okay? Then she’ll stay. Please, Daddy?”
She is so worked up that I have no choice but to say, “Okay, I’ll tell her.”
You’d swear I handed her the keys to Disneyland when she squeals as she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too.”
I already knew we had an eavesdropper, but Lucy gives Henley no choice but to announce her snooping ways when she says, “I love you too, Henley.”
Never one to leave Lucy disappointed, Henley’s nervous squeak escapes the hallway. “I love you too, Lucy-Lou.”
Almost thirty minutes pass settling Lucy down from her euphoria of believing she’s forced Henley and me together. By the time I return to the lower level of my home, Henley is seated on the couch, folding laundry and watching trash television.
“Hey.”
She startles when I cough to clear my throat before she switches off the television. “Hey. I thought you must have fallen asleep with Lucy.” The tension burns when she murmurs. “We’ve been burning the candle at both ends the past week, but now we have no choice but to rest.”
She exhales so profoundly her shoulders sink before she cranks her neck to face me. The reason for her dour tone is revealed when I spot the bulky bulge at the front of her midsection. A hot water bottled is strapped around her waist, and pain medication is open on the coffee table.
“Now the PMS conversation makes sense.”
Henley groans even with my comment being playful. “I’ll try to limit how much time she spends with Amelia.” Guilt flashes across her face. “I didn’t realize she was in the room until she asked what PMS meant.” She scratches at her neck, a telltale sign she’s nervous, before murmuring, “Although if you want a cheat’s way of explaining to her what fuck buddies entails, Amelia is the girl for the job.”
