Gay Daddies

A Present for Daddy-3

After dinner, I help my mom take the dishes into the kitchen. Jenna’s still in the dining room, finishing her peas, and my dad has the television blaring in the living room, but I keep my voice low just in case. “Can you watch the Bean tonight?” I ask my mother. “I need to do a little Santa shopping, if you know what I mean.”

“I’d love to.” My mother gives me a wide grin and winks. “I think Beanie has a few gifts she wants to wrap out of her father’s sight, anyway. We can get those under the tree while you’re gone.”

I place the dirty dishes in the sink and run the water to wash them off. “Great. I have a few things in mind I want to pick up, but was there anything in her letter I should know about?”

From amid the clutter on the counter, my mother plucks a small, folded note written on the tablet she uses for her grocery list. “Here’s what she put down. Little stuff, mostly. You already know about the B-I-K-E.”

I glance at the doorway to the dining room, but it’s still empty. Nevertheless, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Mom, she’s seven. She can spell.”

In the other room, Jenna calls out, “I hear you whispering! Are you talking about me?”

“No, honey!” my mother responds with a wink. “We’re talking about Pop-pop in here, not you.”

Giggles erupt in the dining room, and my father turns down the volume on the television long enough to grouse, “All right, stop it, will you, Rhonda? I’m trying to watch the news.”

I hear a chair scrape on the dining room’s wooden floor, then Jenna appears in the doorway with her plate in her hands. There are still a number of peas rolling around in the gravy on her plate, but she gives me her patented blinky eye look, the one where she bats her eyelashes in an innocent, puppy-dog way, and asks, “Is this good enough, Daddy?”

“It’s fine, dear,” my mother says, reaching for the plate.

I groan. “Mom! We talked about this. You can’t undermine me as a parent.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bobby. I’m not.” To Jenna, she says, “Good job, Beanie. Go pick out a pop.”

Jenna races for the refrigerator and tugs open the freezer door to get a Popsicle. “No running in the house,” I tell her.

“I’m just walking fast,” she says, throwing me a dimpled smile. “Can I have two pops?”

“One.” I lean back against the counter as my mother dumps Jenna’s plate in the sink and watch my daughter pout. Just in case she didn’t hear me the first time—or rather, in case she plans to ignore me—I reiterate. “One. Jenna…”

She huffs and slams the freezer door shut, but there’s only one Popsicle in her hands, thank goodness. “I wanted two,” she complains.

“You should’ve eaten all your peas then,” I point out. “Go watch TV with Pop-pop.”

“It’s boring,” she says. “What are you guys talking about?”

Before my mother can answer, I say, “You. Now go.”

“Daddy!” Jenna whines.

I give her my sternest face, though I know it isn’t as effective as it should be. “We’re talking about Christmas, okay? You want surprises under the tree, don’t you? So go in the living room with Pop-pop. Maybe he’ll change the channel for you.”

“There aren’t any cartoons on at this time of the night,” she mumbles, but the thought of our talking about what she’s getting for Christmas brings the smile back to her face and she disappears around the corner.

I wait until I hear her clamber into my father’s lap—he lets out a small “oof!” as she settles into place—then open the note my mother gave me. I glance over it and nod. The bike’s on there, as well as a Barbie doll I hope I can find, some Legos, a Nintendo DS game I should be able to find used, and a few articles of clothing I suspect my mother added to the list herself. I can’t imagine Jenna asking for new underwear from Santa. “Good. This will get me started. Are you going to be okay putting her to bed if I’m not back in time?”

My mother gives me a sardonic look. “Honey, please. I managed to raise you all right, didn’t I?”

Still, I don’t like leaving Jenna alone for too long, even if it is with my parents. She’s all I have. “No later than 8:30,” I say. “The mall closes at nine so I should be home in time, but if I’m not—”

“Bath, then a story, then her prayers, then bed,” my mother says. “I know, Bobby. I’ve done this once or twice before. I think I can manage it.”

I fold up the note and tuck it into the front pocket of my jeans. In the other room, Jenna’s laughing at something Pop-pop has said, but a loud commercial on the TV almost drowns them out. Leaning closer to my mother, who’s filling the sink up with sudsy water, I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper and ask, “Was there anything in Jenna’s letter about…”

“About what, dear?” My mother fiddles with the stopper in the sink and doesn’t look at me.

I try to think of a way to phrase what I want to ask. About Julia, is what I want to say, but mentioning my soon-to-be ex-wife’s name around my mother is one sure way to ruin her night. Instead, I try, “You know. Did she ask for anything I might not be able to get her?”

Either my mother doesn’t pick up on what I’m not saying, or she ignores the message beneath my words, because she shakes her head. “Oh no, she’s going to be very happy come Christmas day. I’ve bought a few things for her myself—”

“Mom!” I cry, exasperated. “I told you about that! She doesn’t need a lot.”

“She’s my only grand-daughter,” my mother replies. “I didn’t buy her a lot. Just some things…”

I sigh. “I’ve seen your idea of some things.”

“You’re getting her the bike,” she says, trying to placate me. “That’s the biggest thing she’s getting. I just picked up a few little items, stocking stuffers, really. Nothing much.”

I’ll have to look through this nothing much later, after Jenna’s in bed. “I don’t want you spending a lot on us,” I tell my mother. “We’ll be fine, really. Once I start this job, we’ll get a place of our own and be out of your hair.”

“You’re no bother,” she says. “We like having you here. Jenna’s had a rough year, Bobby. Let us spoil her a little.”

I give her a kiss on the cheek, then pull on my jacket as I slip out the back door. If I leave by the front door, Jenna will see me and want to come along, but I need to do my Christmas shopping for her and it’ll be easier alone.

Maybe my mother’s right. I know things have been tough on Jenna—hell, on me, too. I never asked to be a single parent, but my wife walked out six months ago, and I lost my job just before the holidays. Hopefully we really will be able to get back on our feet soon. With any luck, Jenna will be overwhelmed by her gifts and not realize her mother isn’t around to share them with her.

Damn Julia. Not so much for leaving me—things started out great between us, but that was a long time ago, and the longer we stayed together, the more we fell apart. But for leaving Jenna. How could someone look into those deep, dark, blinky eyes of hers and not want to stay forever?