Page 4 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

At the end of the day, I’m still coming up short.

The air is a little chilly as I begin the trek back to my apartment.

Thankfully I don’t live very far, less than a ten-minute walk.

This part of town is nice and quiet, making it easier to decompress from my awful day spent slaving over the oven and mixing bowls.

As soon as I get home, I’m crawling into a warm bath with a tall glass of wine and calling it a night.

“Thanks, mom. I appreciate you saying that. I’ll, um…try to keep looking on the bright side of things.”

“That’s the spirit. I believe in you, honey. I always have.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a pause on her end, long enough that I think she’s debating saying more about the topic before she finally clears her throat.

“Actually, now that I think about it, I wasn’t sure if I should bring this up but…maybe it’s worth mentioning.”

My brows knit together. Up ahead, the park’s trees twinkle from the Christmas lights wrapped around them. “What?”

“Well…your father and I were talking the other day.”

That has me blinking.

What?

Since when have myparentsbeen in contact?

And recently?

The last time they spoke had been at my culinary graduation, which ended in a complete disaster.

I remember that day all too well unfortunately, standing in that thick as hell polyester gown and hat under the hot June sun relentlessly beating down on me.

They’d been in the bleachers watching the procession, waiting for my turn to walk across the stage to accept my diploma to cheer.

Only, neither of them actually got the chance to do that because what started out as—according to my mom—small talk had quickly devolved into a shouting match that triggered my mom’s water bottle to be flung at my dad’s head.

It wasn’t long until they were both dragged out of the ceremony by a pair of security officers and forced to leave, leaving meflushed with embarrassment and with no one there to witness me actually accept my diploma.

Even now, those memories make my stomach clench.

As mortifying as that had been though, it never actually surprised me.

That’s just how they were together: kerosene and gasoline with a match waiting to strike them both, igniting each other and burning everything around them.

“He called a few days ago,” she continues. “Said he was looking for someone to head up to that cabin he has in the mountains and clean it up. I guess he’s hosting some boys’ weekend with his friends soon, but the place hasn’t been touched in a while. He was looking to pay someone to go do it for him. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

I let out a bitter laugh, my breath fogging in the air.

Working for my absent father as some glorified housekeeper isn’t exactly what I ever imagined myself doing.

Actually, it’s the last thing to cross my mind when thinking of ways to earn possible extra income.

Doing rideshares, running food to people for a fee, maybe even donating plasma… none of that at all is associated with my dad.

Then again Iamkind of desperate.