“It’s on the bathroom counter, and if you’d brushed your teeth already, you would have seen it.” I eye her with a skeptical smirk.
The little devil is going to have twenty cavities her next trip to the dentist.
Her face lights up with a ‘you’re the best daddy ever smile’ and my heart melts, as it always does. And she knows it. She runs away from the banister and into the bathroom.
“Brush your teeth, Lily!” I call out after her.
I shake my head to myself as I head back to the kitchen. She’s the only kid I know that insists on brushing her teeth before she eats. After years of arguing with her every morning, I decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. If she wants to do it before breakfast, who am I to argue. But honestly, have you ever tasted fruit right after brushing your teeth? It’s fucking nasty.
As I finish buttering her toast and placing it next to her eggs and fruit, she runs into the room and hops up onto the breakfast stool.
“Eggs.” She sticks out her tongue.
“We’re out of waffles,” I say, moving from the fridge to the counter to pour her a glass of milk.
“Lily?” I question, inspecting her. “What is on your face?”
She looks up from sliding her fork around the eggs, the devil’s gleam in her eyes. “Mallory’s sister gave us some.”
There’s purple eyeshadow arched well over her eyebrows mixed with lines of hot pink. I mean, I’m not RuPaul, but I’m pretty sure lipstick isn’t supposed to be on your eyelids.
“You aren’t allowed to wear make-up.” I take a sip of my coffee and set the mug back down on the counter. Moving to the sink, I wet a paper towel and round the counter toward Lily.
“No Daddy, I’m pretty,” she whines swiveling her head to the side to dodge me.
“Lily, this is your first day of camp. How about we save this for Halloween?” I try again to clean her off, but she won’t stop wiggling. “Or wait until you’re at least twenty-one before you start wearing this crap,” I add under my breath.
“Halloween!” she screeches like a thirteen-year-old teenager.
“How about we’ll do dress-up this weekend?”
I glance at the clock. Five minutes before we need to leave if I’m going to be on time.
“Daddy, Mallory is wearing hers.”
The whine that always seems to work on me seals the deal. My little girl will attend her first day of camp looking like a clown. Wonderful.
Remember—pick your battles.
I release a breath and grab the brush off the counter. “Hair time and eat your eggs.” I use the brush to point down at her plate.
She positions herself on the chair, familiar with the drill.
“Braids, pigtails or ponytail?”
Please no braids. Please no braids.
“Braids.”
Of course. On an already stressful morning where we’re running behind, she picks the one hairstyle that’s the equivalent of asking me to crochet a blanket.
I split her long blonde hair into two and run the brush through each side. “Are you excited for camp?” I ask her, pleased to see that she’s at least eating her fruit.
“I’m kinda scared.”
I secure one side of her hair in a ponytail so I can concentrate on the braid for the other side. “Why are you nervous?” I peer over her shoulder to see her chomping on a piece of cantaloupe she’s stabbed with her fork.
Lily is one of those happy children who’s usually bouncing around in some joyful manner like in the Disney movies. That princess that lived up in a tower with long hair always reminds me of her. I forget her name. I’ve been forced to sit through so many princess movies that they all sort of run together in my mind.
“What if I don’t know anyone?” Her voice is small and scared and it tugs at the heartstrings I didn’t know I had until the first time I looked upon her angelic face when she was born.
“Don’t be. You make friends easily.” I stretch my fingers a few times after finishing one braid and squeeze her shoulder before moving to the other side.
“Mallory will be there.” Her voice doesn’t hold the excitement it once did.
“That’s good,” I say absently as I struggle to secure the second braid in place. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t give you my thick hair.” With my hands on her shoulders now I lean over and kiss her cheek.
She turns her head and smiles at me. I return her smile and round the counter to pour my coffee in a travel mug since the time to get the caffeine flowing through my veins has passed.
“Daddy?” Lily says from behind me.
I peek over my shoulder so she knows I’m listening even as I pack her bag and get my own shit together.
“I got my thick hair from you?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say absent-mindedly, glancing at my phone on the counter to see we’re now running three minutes late.
“What did I get from my mommy?” Her voice is low and unsure and despite my best efforts over the past few years I know she’s worried about my reaction to her question.
I’ve always tried to instill a certain trust between Lily and me. We’re all we have, and she needs to be secure with me, so, our conversations have always been open and honest, except for one topic—her mother.
My hands freeze on the zipper of her backpack. She’s quiet and my assumption is her eyes are on me. Waiting for an answer.
I turn around and lean against the counter. I force my lips into a smile to let her know this is a topic we can discuss. Certain information will surely be off-limits, but if she wants to discuss her mom, I can toe the line.
“I would say you got her wild streak.” I lean forward and squeeze her waist.
She giggles and her blue eyes light up for a moment before she pushes my hand away. “Wild streak?” she asks.
I rack my brain for the kid-friendly definition to clarify.
“Tell you what…I’ll explain it in the car. We’ve gotta get going. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
I let the make-up thing go, along with the fact she didn’t touch her eggs—anything to escape this conversation.
She quickly secures her bracelet to her wrist. A bracelet that is more like a security blanket than a fashion symbol. Eventually, we’re going to have to discuss her getting rid of it.
“Camp!” she yells, jumping from the stool and hoping over to me.
There’s my Rapunzel.
See? I knew the name would come to me.
Leaving my driveway, I turn my pickup truck down Greyfalls Hill and head into downtown Climax Cove. I use the word downtown lightly.
Once known for being a small fishing town, it’s grown into a heavily traveled destination during the summer. Our downtown shops and restaurants mixed with the harbor and marina is appealing to most city folk coming in from either Portland or San Francisco because they can make the trip here in less than a day. During the winter months, it’s mostly just the townies, but it’s a nice place for Lily to grow up and I like the feeling of safety and security a small town like this provides. Most of the people in Climax Cove know and love, Lily and I both.
“Hey, it’s Miss Betty,” Lily says excitedly from the back seat.
I glance to the side and see our town librarian walking along Main Street.