Page 14 of I'm Yours

Iwalk down the stairs of my childhood home, the scent of bacon, cinnamon rolls, and coffee calling to me.

“You’re trying to get me to stay here forever, aren’t you?”

“That’d be nice.” My mom gives me her cheek so I can give her a kiss while she’s standing at the stove, flipping bacon.

“I thought parents looked forward to their empty nest years.”

My dad grunts from his place at the table, sipping coffee, leaning back in his chair with his phone in his hand, reading something. At fifty-five, Dad has embraced technology as much as he can. He reads through the cattle markets and a little bit of news on his phone, but that’s about the extent of it. He’s old school down to his bones. I look a lot like him, with the exception of how many tattoos cover the top half of my body. He’s ink-free, dark hair that’s had some salt thrown in over the years and a full beard. I don’t remember the last time I saw his face bare. He’s not in perfect shape, a little bit of a belly on him now, but he’s still strong as an ox and can keep up with his young ranch hands, even making them look like they’re out of shape.

“What’s wrong, Dad? You don’t want us here?” I tease. I know better than that. He wants us here as much as he wants his next cup of black coffee that’s as strong as his next bull is.

“Leave the girl, you can go away.”

“You’ve got jokes,” I say, smiling and shaking my head as I sip at my own coffee. I learned how to drink it from him. If he ever saw me put cream or sugar in my cup he’d never let me live it down.

The object of his affection comes running in from outside, her new black lab puppy, Bandit, hot on her heels, clumsily running after her. I hadn’t planned to get one so soon, but a friend of Dad’s had a litter of puppies and offered one to us. We had planned to go to the shelter, but I saw the pictures he’d sent to Dad and knew one of them would be perfect. Plenty of energy for my little spitfire of a daughter, but would grow into its paws one day, and protect her while being her friend. She’s only had him three days and it was an instant love connection between Emmy and Bandit. He won’t leave her side, not that she’d let him.

“You ready for your first day of kindergarten, baby?”

“I’m going to miss Bandit,” she says quietly.

Dad bends over and picks up the puppy, settling him in on his lap, playing with his ears. “Bandit and I will miss you, too. But think of all the stories you’ll be able to come home and tell us.”

That helps her perk up. Two nights ago, we met her teacher at a Meet the Teacher night the school puts on. While we were there, she met a few of her classmates. A little girl with dark hair and dark eyes named Erica. The two connected immediately because they claimed they looked alike and both have names that start with E. To them, that meant they had to be friends and could even tell people they were sisters. Not sure where that logic came from. The other, a boy named Carter, who looked at Emmy like she hung the moon. Maybe I was reading into it, but either way, I don’t trust the kid. Not that I’d trust any boy around my daughter.

Luckily, her teacher, Mrs. Jansen, was welcoming and sweet. Gave Emmy a couple hugs and held her hand as she walked her around the classroom. Mrs. Jansen listened intently as Emmy gave her the three minute version of her life story, ending with her amazingly cute new puppy who Emmy made sure to ask if he could just come sit with her during school and swore that he wouldn’t be any trouble. She gave her a smile and a hug then, letting her know that maybe once the puppy was a little older, she could bring him in for show and tell if it was okay with me. That pacified her enough for the time being, but I’m sure she’ll think he’s old enough in about a week and start asking if she can bring him to school with her.

“Mrs. Jansen is probably so excited to see you today.” Mom places the pan of cinnamon rolls on the table along with a plate of bacon.

“I bet she is,” Emmy agrees and my parents and I smile.

After my dad says grace, we all dig in before getting Emmy ready for her first day of school. This is the day I’ve been dreading since we moved back to Lakeside. Katherine should be here, braiding her hair and helping her get into her first day outfit, walking into the classroom with me and hugging our daughter goodbye, wishing her good luck on her first day. We’d leave together, Katherine with tears streaking down her cheeks, and we’d bond over the way our daughter is growing up without our permission. It hurts knowing all the things she’s missing. All the moments Emmy will experience without her mother. It sucks. Plain and simple.

Once we’re finished eating, Emmy and I disappear to her bedroom and I help her into the little jean overall shorts and striped shirt she picked out for her first day. She puts on her new bright purple sneakers and stares at them while I help secure the Velcro tightly.

“How do you want your hair?”

“Two braids, Daddy.”

I figured as much. I’ve become pretty good with doing French braids on her. It took watching four hours of YouTube videos to learn, but I finally got it down.

She grabs her comb and two ties from her dresser and we get to work, her standing in front of me while I sit on the edge of her bed. She sits patiently when I mess up one braid and have to start over. Mom offered to help, but it’s not her job. And besides, I like doing it for my daughter. My parents might be here now, but it’s not their job to parent. It’s their job to spoil her and play with her and feed her enough sugar that I have to deal with her being hyper at night.

Once I get her hair braided, she springs up from the floor, wraps her arms around me. “Thank you, Daddy! They’re perfect!”

She hasn’t even seen them yet and they’re far from perfect, but they’ll keep her long thick hair out of her face while she plays today.

“Brush your teeth, pumpkin. Then grandma wants to take a million pictures before I take you to school.”

“Yay!”

She heads to the bathroom we share and I peek around the corner to make sure she uses toothpaste, her signature move when it comes to getting her teeth brushed quickly. Once I see that she’s squirted some on her toothbrush, I make my way to my room to grab my phone, wallet, and keys.

I’m back in the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee in a travel mug and lean against the counter, taking a drink.

“She ready?” Mom asks.

“Just brushing her teeth now.”

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