Page 3 of Make You Stay

I wish I had a mother like Betsey, though I suppose these last few years, I did. I grew up in a funhouse of terrors, with a drunkard father and a mother too beaten down to care anymore. There wasn’t any parental influence, so I raised myself before running away to get married and start my own family.

I had one goal for my kids. They would know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their old man put them first.

Always.

“What was that?” Enid mutters, switching seats with our middle child, Emily, to sit next to me.

“What? Betsey requested I say a few words. I hadnothingto do with the Prince song.”

“Not that. Your pointed barbs at Betsey’s daughter.”

“I never mentioned her daughter.”

My ex-wife knows me far too well to buy that load of crap. “Maybe not by name, but this whole church got your innuendo. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Language, Mom.” This warning comes from our youngest daughter, Mia, as she smiles up at me with a gap-filled grin. Mia is six going on thirty. She has a neighborhood lemonade stand that pulls in thousands per summer. I’m only thankful lemonade is legal. She decided a few months ago that both her mom and dad cursed too much, so she started a curse jar, charging us every time we dared to cross her path.

At the rate we’re going, the kid will be able to afford a Mercedes by the new year.

“Your father deserved it,” Enid argues, huffing out a sigh of resignation as she glances at her husband. “Jeff, can you give Mia a dollar, please?”

Jeff smirks, pulling out his wallet. “I’m going to start adding interest to these bailouts.”

“I’ll make it up to you in other ways.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head at the bevy of information I didnotneed. Natalie, my oldest at sixteen, agrees, coughing in disgust at Enid’s flirtatious banter with her husband.

Some people might find it odd how close Enid and I are after our divorce. I find it strange how you can hate someone you once loved more than life. And I still love Enid, just not in that way. We share three daughters—beautiful terrors that we adore. When we split, we realized divorce didn’t have to be messy. That’s a choice.

We chose to be classy and gracious, giving each other the space and support we needed to begin a new life path. Funnily enough, we discovered we were better as friends, something we might have realized years ago if Enid didn’t get pregnant at twenty-two.

When Enid met Jeff, she was terrified of my reaction, but I put her mind at ease. Jeff is a hell of a good guy, and he loves our daughters. He also loves Enid. The two of us got along immediately, and by the end of our first beer, we were buddies.

Still are to this day.

We’re family, and no matter how odd the pieces fit, they still do.

Unlike Chloe, who walked away from her family.

I sure hope she’s happy with her decision.

* * *

The girlsand I return home a few hours later. Despite Betsey’s wish for an all-night party, Mother Nature has other ideas. Namely, a second helping of the snow we got earlier in the week.

Asheville gets its fair share of the white stuff, but the weather has been particularly generous this year. Emily loves it, always eager to don her snow gear and spend hours building snowmen and forts.

That is, until I haul out the snowblower, destroying her eleven-year-old dreams. She can’t comprehend why I prefer a concrete driveway to a snow-covered one.

One day, she will.

I have the girls tonight, so the four of us pile into the living room, ready to watch a movie. Tonight is Emily’s choice, and I never know what random film she’s going to request. No joke. One time she selectedTora Tora Tora—I have no clue how she evenheardof that wartime movie.

Unlike her older sister, Natalie, who’s popular and trendy, and her younger sister, Mia, who’s building an empire before the age of ten, Emily is quiet. Studious. Her eyes pierce through your skin and stare straight into your soul.

She’s my best mate on this planet, and her sisters never let her forget it.

“What’s your pick, kid?” I ask, ruffling Emily’s hair.

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