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That said, Bee was three. She wouldn’t remember this birthday. I wasn’t against it as an idea, but tried to reason that it would be more appropriate for her fifth or sixth birthday. That way, she would remember it.
What was my husband’s response, you might be wondering?
“Well, we can do it on her fifth or sixth birthday too.”
A part of me was exasperated.
The other part, though, couldn’t believe what an amazing father Bee got to have. One who cared about making her birthday the most amazing day in the world. One who stayed up at night researching the latest and greatest gadgets for her to enjoy. One who had gone to seven different stores in town to make sure he got a roll or two of every kind of colorful wrapping paper so that each of her packages at Christmas would be different. One who sat patiently with her on Christmas morning after being up with me all night arranging the tree and put together every last toy she got, played with her until she started to fall asleep sitting up.
I figured that, through Bee, Fenway was getting to experience the joy and wonder of being a new human, something he hadn’t been able to have as a child with an overbearing, unfeeling father.
That little girl had him wrapped entirely around her finger.
Extra juice when I had already said it was time to switch to water? Go to Daddy. Ice cream for lunch when I was out running errands? Daddy had her back. Going to the fair every single night of the week for ten days while it was in town? Yep, Daddy made sure of that too.
I had my concerns about what would happen when Bee was older and she realized she could get away with anything when it came to her father.
When I’d expressed those concerns, Fenway had shrugged. He claimed that I had him wrapped around my finger too, and nothing bad had come from that. He’d been so sweet and sincere in the moment that I had forgotten my counterargument. Which was that I was a grown ass woman who had already been through struggles by the time I met him. Bee was a little girl who could very easily become a spoiled adolescent.
But, I figured, I had time to try to curve that before it was too late.
Besides, I learned, being spoiled a little bit was nice.
But the giraffe? That was where I needed to draw the line, right?
I mean, Bee couldn’t even actually play with it. It was too big, too clumsy. It was even too high for her to climb on. So having it in the house would just be more of a stupid status symbol that took up far too much space. Besides, we were in London. Getting the damn thing home would be a pain as well. We’d be tripping over it in the jet.
“Okay, let’s compromise,” I suggested, planting a hand in the center of Fenway’s chest, halting him.
“But I don’t wanna compromise,” he said, imitating a child by stomping his foot, then giving me that big, boyish smile I never got sick of seeing. Even when he was being a pain in the ass.
“How about we get her that whole Disney Princess wardrobe set?” I suggested. I had shaken my head at it when he eyed it earlier. The price tag just seemed astronomical for something she would grow out of in less than a year. But if it was between a massive, useless giraffe, or a wardrobe that Bee actually would have fun playing with? I was willing to be a little ridiculous.
“And the dolls to match.”
“Fenway.”
“Don’t make me demand the stuffed animal companions too,” he said, eyes dancing.
“Okay. We have a deal,” I agreed, offering him my hand.
He took it, and in true Fenway Arlington style, dropped down on his knees to kiss my knuckles while declaring to whomever was behind me, “Excuse me, but have you met the most beautiful and interesting,” he added, smirking, “woman in the world?”
“Well, seeing as she is my best friend in the whole world, yes,” Raven said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Bee would like to know if she can have that lobster stuffed animal thing from The Little Mermaid.”
My stomach, even all these years later, twisted at the mention of lobster. Yes, even a stuffed fictional lobster from a movie.
“Don’t even start,” I told Fenway, pointing at him. “We had a deal.”
“I know. We did. But we forgot to include Bee in the discussion. Which is utterly bad business on our part, don’t you think?” he asked, releasing my hand, getting to his feet, and taking Bee out of Raven’s hands, raising her above his head until she giggled, then settling her on his hip. “You want all the stuffed animals, don’t you, angel?”
