Kiss Her Goodbye

(Abridged version)

            I was leaning over the kitchen counter, arms straight, both palms pressed down flat against it.  If I could have shoved the counter through the floor, I no doubt would have. 

            In response to Melanie, I growled, “God damn it, we’ve been through this.  You’re going back to your – HELLO! – husband of 12 years, and the father of your child, and that’s the bloody end of it.  And I have no desire to talk it to Goddamn death all night long.”

             Undeterred, she bravely (or foolishly) approached me, reaching out a hand to stroke my nearest exposed shoulder.  “If you want me to stay…”

             I snatched my drink up off the counter, and knocked about half of it back.  “Do…not…do this.”

             Changing tactics, she hung her head and mumbled, “Have you talked with Vicky? – She’s really upset about leaving.”

             I glared at her, “Victoria is a 7-year-old child who has been put through an emotional hell over the past year.  Of course she’s upset.”

             “She adores you.”

             That softened me a bit, at least momentarily, and I couldn’t keep a smile from creeping its way into my frown.  “Well, of course she does – (A) She has excellent taste, and (B), I’m adorable.”

             Melanie just looked at me.  Just…looked.

             My frown reasserted itself, and I sighed wearily, then took another drink.  “I’ll talk to her.”  Jesus, God, why do I have to fix every damn thing?

........................................................................................ 

            Victoria was sitting up in bed, scribbling away on a pad of paper resting on her knees that were drawn up under the covers.

             I sat myself down on the side of her bed, my guest room bed that is, and smiled at her – even though she was, at the moment, rather resolutely refusing to look at me.  “Hey, kiddo.”  No response, other than an increase in her rate of scribbling.  I smiled.  “What?  You’re not speaking to me?”  It began to hit me somewhere around then that I was likely going to miss Victoria even more than I’d miss her mom.  Truth be told, it was kind of nice almost having a daughter.

             Finally, she stopped scribbling, and turned a frown in my direction.  “Why don’t you want us anymore?”

             Aw, for the love o’ Jayzus.  I sighed again – I was doing a lot of that, it seemed.  “Vic – it’s not that I don’t want you here.  It’s that your mom and dad are getting back together, and hey, that’s a good thing, right?”

             She puzzled that one over for a moment, like she thought I might be trying to put something over on her, then complained, “He doesn’t read me bedtime stories like you do.”

             With a tight-lipped smile, I said, “Hey, different people are good at different things.  You know your dad loves you, Victoria.”

             Turning her head a bit, and eyeing me rather suspiciously, she flatly inquired, “What about you?”

             I reached my arms out to her and said, “Come here, you idiot.”  She let her notepad fall to the wayside, and wriggled herself into my arms.  I hugged her and said, “You know I love you, Vic.”  I squeezed her, and added, “In fact, you are pretty much my favorite person in the entire world – certainly under the age of 12 anyway.”

             I drew back just in time to catch her biting her lip thoughtfully.  Then she asked, “Can I come and visit you sometimes?”

             “Mmm…I guess you’d need to talk to your mom and dad about that one.  But listen, you can certainly call me anytime you like.”

             She had another question (girls always do).  “Do you think I could sleep with you and Mommy tonight?”

             (Hmm…Jeez, you think you could give us an hour to have wild sex first?)  I nodded.  “Absolutely.  Happy to have you aboard.”

             She wrinkled her nose and said, “You guys aren’t going to be all naked, are you?”

             “Actually, I was planning on wearing my bunny rabbit, footie pajamas to bed tonight.”

             Giggling, she said, “You don’t have footie pajamas!”

             I sighed – once more for good measure for the evening, and only inwardly this time.  That’s right, Jack…always leave ‘em laughing.

             Damn, how I hate doing the right thing sometimes.