Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50)

“Oh, I love to swim,” I say, laying the Southern accent on thick.

She laughs and wiggles her red-haired Barbie. “Me too, Hayley.”

We take our dolls to many places—the mall, a fair, and a library—before Abby comes to announce dinner will be ready.

“Okay, Miss Addison, it’s time for you to put away your toys, wash your hands, and come to the table.”

“But, Mom, we didn’t get our library books yet,” Addie whines.

“Addison.”

She sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry. We can play again another time, okay?” I say.

She nods and moves to place her dolls into the plastic Tupperware bin designated as their holding space.

“I’ll watch her, you go get cleaned up,” Abby says.

“Yes, ma’am.” I walk down the hall to the guest bathroom. The powder blue room reminds me of the ocean with its nautical theme and decorative seashell soap. I quickly wash my hands and move to the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask as Addler cuts up steak for Addison.

“Nope, we kept it pretty low-key. Steak, twice baked potatoes, roasted corn, a pecan and cranberry salad, and the perfect ending to any meal, Abby’s apple pie.”

My mouth waters as I inhale the rich smells. “We ready to set out the drinks?”

“Yeah, you can do that.”

I move to get Addie’s tumbler. “Half water, half apple juice?”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve been over enough to know how dinnertime wo

rks. I finish setting up the table and dole out cups; leaving a pitcher of water on the table for everyone, and two beers for Addler and I.

Abby and Addie resurface, and the food is set in the center of the large, rectangular oak table. They may be a small family of three, but they love to entertain.

“Are we ready to eat?” Abby asks as she sits between Addie and Addler.

“Yes, ma’am,” Addler says with a bright smile that only she can coax out of them. Being around the two made me believe in soulmates. Not to say they haven’t had their ups and downs—nothing is impeccable—but there’s a beauty in flawed things that perfect things never quite capture. Perfection is an illusion. The people who look like cookie cutter modelesque families are usually the ones neck deep in drama.

The food and the conversation are excellent as we get caught up and I marvel at how much Addie has grown. Because I don’t see her every day, each time we get together she’s learned so much. It feels like it’s all happening in the blink of an eye. Once she finishes her food, Addie is ushered off to her bath after a hug and a promise that I’ll tell her good night before bed.

“Help me with the dishes and we’ll head outside to finish our beer?” Addler asks.

“Sounds good to me,” I reply. I like their rules. The cook doesn’t have to clean. They share duties around the home and with Addie. I like the partnership concept. He rinses the plates off, and I place them into the dishwasher. We’re done in a few moments, and we step aside. I can feel the weight of his words as he takes a long pull from his bottle.

“We’re going to try for number two. We don’t want Addie to be an only child.”

So that’s what’s on his mind. “That’s great, man.”

“I’ll never tell Abby this, but I’m worried. With her age, we’re in the geriatric pregnancy zone and the chances of complication are higher. When I think of all the time I spent being not ready to settle down, and then not ready to be a father I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake we’re all going to pay for.”

“You can’t look at it like that, man. We can’t go back in time and change things for one. For another, who we are now is so different from the person we were then. Our choices helped us become this version of ourselves. Who knows what changing things would do to our current reality.”

“You went really Timey Whimy with that,” he remarks, making me chuckle at the Doctor Who reference.