A Wright Christmas

“I know,” I whispered.

“We’re going back in a week.”

“I know.”

“So…it’s just a fling?”

My wince must have told her otherwise.

Katherine reached out and touched my hand. “Your life is in New York. You’re at the top of your game. You’re a principal dancer.” Her voice held more awe than I’d heard from her before. “Are you really considering giving all that up for some high school ex?”

I didn’t know. Was I? Was I even considering that? I’d had to make the choice once before. I didn’t want to have to make it again. But I knew the day was coming up quickly, where I would have to choose…and I had no idea what I would do.18IsaacMy mom kissed me on the cheek when I came home late and only managed to cock an eyebrow but not ask any questions. “I’m glad you had a good night.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She grinned at me again and then hopped in her car.

“Aly Cat, are you ready to go to school?”

“I don’t want to go, Daddy,” she said, coming out of her bedroom with her arms crossed. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater with no shoes or jacket or gloves or anything.

I sighed. “I know you don’t want to go, but it’s only a half-day. And when I pick you up, I’ll have a surprise waiting.”

Her eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“But, Daddy, how will I know what to wait for?”

I laughed. “You’re too smart. How about this? If we get your shoes on and finish getting you ready to get to school, then I will tell you.”

“Okay!” she said and ran back to her room in a hurry.

I followed her, helping her pull on her tennis shoes and then a hat and gloves. We found her jacket in the hall closet and put that on next. Then, we grabbed her backpack and the lunch that my mom had made for her the night before. Thank God for that.

“I’m ready! Tell me now!”

“Once we’re in the car.”

She huffed exaggeratedly and flopped down on the ground. Aly was a wonderful kid, but she was still a kid. And she threw a tantrum like a pro. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she started sobbing in the middle of the floor. I checked my watch. We were going to be late if we didn’t get moving.

“One,” I said quietly but firmly.

“Daddy, no!” she cried.

“Two.”

“Don’t do it,” she said, coming up to her feet. She wiped her tears and glared at me. “Don’t say it.”

I waited, wondering if I’d have to get to three. Waiting out her tantrums was such a nightmare. I’d never been prepared for the worst parts of parenting, but it wasn’t parenting if you didn’t get the good along with the bad. I should just be thankful that, more often than not, Aly was a dream kid.

“Are you better now?” I asked her.

She crossed her arms. “You’ll tell me in the car?”

I forced down the smile threatening to take over. “Once you’re in your seat.”

She grumbled and then followed me outside.

I buckled her into her car seat in the back, and then once I was in the front—thankfully with a few minutes to spare—I told her, “Peyton is going to come over to help us bake cookies later.”

Aly’s eyes widened to saucers. “Miss Peyton is coming here? The Sugar Plum Fairy can bake?”

I laughed as I drove us to her school, only a few blocks away. “Yes. Would you like that?”

“I’d love that. I love Miss Peyton. She’s who I want to be when I grow up.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I didn’t know what else to say. I let Aly ramble the remaining few blocks. Then, I parked out front of the school and unbuckled Aly. She gave me a big hug and kiss, her tantrum forgotten, before darting toward the entrance.

“Love you, Daddy!” she cried over her shoulder.

“Love you, Aly Cat,” I yelled back, knowing, one day, she’d find that embarrassing so I’d hold on to it as long as I could.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled away from the school. She’d had bigger meltdowns. In the early days, I’d had no idea how to even deal with them, but giving in usually only made it worse. Putting my foot down was much more difficult though. We’d both learned and grown through it.* * *The Wright Construction parking lot was empty on Friday morning, save for Morgan’s black Mercedes—she never took time off—and Jordan’s sleek silver Tesla Model S. He’d let me drive it once, and it was the most beautiful, unnerving ride I’d ever taken. It sat low to the ground, made practically no sound, , and jolted forward like a bucking bronco when I barely touched the accelerator. I’d known then and there that it wasn’t for me, but it was still gorgeous.