Page 72 of The Best Bad Decision

This is what was missing at Thanksgiving.

This is what’s been missing all my life.

Having a kid at Christmas puts the entire holiday into a whole new perspective. I see everything through Maisy’s eyes now: her awe when she sees the tree dominating my parents’ high-ceilinged entryway,the unbridled glee when she spots the stack of presents on Christmas morning.

Everyone has gifts under the tree but the vast majority are for Maisy, and she demands to be let down from her perch on my hip when we walk into the living room. Mom follows me, two hot cups of coffee in her hands, and she places them on the coffee table in front of me as I take a seat.

“You want some breakfast, honey?”

“Sure,” I say. “Just some toast would be great, thank you. A slice with a little honey for my Maisy Girl, too, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Mom says, ruffling my hair. “Will Amie want anything?”

“Not sure,” I say, fighting the urge to fix my hair. “She’ll be in in a minute, though. Hey, Maisy, come here, baby.”

Maisy runs back to me and leaps into my lap as Amie walks in, smiling tiredly at my mom. She has another bag of gifts in her hands and she deposits them beneath the tree before sitting beside us.

“Breakfast, honey?” Mom asks.

“Oh, no thank you, Carla. Let me grab something for Maisy though, if that’s okay?”

“You sit, honey, Cam already ordered breakfast for Mae. I’ve got it under control. Alan will be in in just a minute and we can do presents.”

“Presents!” Maisy squeaks from my lap. Roger is clutched in one hand and she has a model 747 in the other, waving it through the air like it’s flying.

“Daddy, do the radio,” she demands. How can I refuse?

“Uhhh, Maisy Air 321, ready for takeoff,” I say, distorting my voice a little. Maisy’s delighted giggle is infectious, and Amie chuckles besideme. We’re still playing with the plane when Mom and Dad come back in, and then we shift to the floor around the tree and pass around the presents.

Amie and Maisy have gone overboard with the ‘best daddy’ gifts. I have a coffee cup, a t-shirt, socks, a photo frame with a framed photo of Maisy and me, and a pen, all proclaiming me as the best daddy in the world. My heart swells to see the words printed on every gift. Amie gifts me a hand-stitched, monogrammed leather portfolio set with cases for my laptop, tablet and phone, and I give her a gold rope bracelet with birthstone charms for all three of us. Katy clued me into a coffee table book on Amie’s wish list, so I bought it and helped Maisy sign her name on the card.

I lean over Maisy’s head and kiss Amie softly. We stay close, my head resting against hers as we watch Maisy open a plethora of new planes and dinosaurs, pyjamas covered in cartoon animals, books and more.

“You’re a lucky girl, Maisy,” my dad says, and she grins up at him, scrunching her nose and showing off her teeth.

“Will you play planes with me, Grandpa?”

I feel, rather than hear Amie’s sharp intake of breath, and when I glance over at her, her hazel eyes are glossy. She offers a tight, watery smile, before smoothing a hand over Maisy’s curls.

“What do you say for all the presents, Maisy Mouse?”

“Thank you for the presents,” Maisy says. “Now can we play?”

The tension is broken and we all laugh. I settle back against the sofa with my legs outstretched and pull Amie into my arms. She sits between my legs, her back against my chest, arms wrapped around mine. I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I whisper.

“Merry Christmas, Cam.”

thirty-seven

Amie

Most of Maisy’s Christmaseshave been spent with my mum, Katy, Ruth, and Paloma; a girls’ affair with plenty of turkey, stuffing and apple juice in lieu of wine. But this year, she has Cam. This year,wehave Cam. My heart is still in overdrive. I can’t quite believe that the events of New York happened. I can’t believe I get to reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him just because he’s mine, and it blows my mind that he would want me.

After presents, Maisy plays while we watch a movie, and after lunch—with enough food to rival the Thanksgiving feast from last month—we move out to the backyard. It’s a little cooler than it was at Thanksgiving, but it’s still plenty warm, and I sit on the porch with a glass of lemonade while Maisy chases Cam around with Roger clutched close to her chest.

“So, the two of you…” Carla takes the seat next to me, gesturing with her own glass in her hand.

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