Page 53 of The Family Man

“No!” I meant it. I didn’t want any sticky-face little boy named Tommy touching my girl.

“Why not!”

“Because I said so!”

“You are so mean.” She stamps her foot on the ground. Good God, save me.

“She is coming in a few. Go and draw something for her,”

“Can I make a bouquet?” she asks in excitement.

“Whatever, just go.”

She nods and skips away. Nikhil follows behind her.

Someone needs to write a manual namedThe 101 on Raising a Daughter.I will invest heavily in that book.

I walk to the kitchen, take the stuffed chicken breast out of the oven. Then I hear the knock on the door.

I set the chicken down and rush to the front door. I shake my shoulders and open it.

“I feel like every time I see you; you get more beautiful,” I pull her into me and kiss her.

There is not a trace of makeup on her face, one single plait rests on her shoulder. She looks warm and welcoming. A blue and white baseball t-shirt, dark blue pedal pushers and low cut dark blue Converse. She has a bag swinging in her hand.

“Come in.”

“It smells great in here!” she declares.

“You hungry?”

“Yes, even though my boyfriend fed me today.”

“Keep him, any man who takes care of his woman is a keeper.” I usher her into the kitchen.

“I made chicken breast stuffed with spinach and feta, on a bed of rosemary couscous.” I rub my hands together.

“I brought a bottle of Moscato. Yes, I know what you said, but I couldn’t help it.”

I reach over and take the wine from her. “Let me put it to chill.”

“Where are the kids? I have stuff for them,” Sages says.

“You didn’t have to.” Though I feel happy that she considered my children.

“Kayla’s birthday is coming up. When I brought her a present, I saw something for these two munchkins.”

The said munchkins walk into the kitchen covered in dirt. Poppy comes in holding an uprooted tulip and a pair of scissors hands.

I can feel the internal scream clawing at my gut. Poppy stretches out the limp flower to Sage waiting for her to accept it.

“Oh, thank you so much guys. I love it!” Sage stoops down. She reacts like she doesn’t know where they got the tulips from.

“Why did you pick those? I told you some days ago to leave them alone.” I grip on to the edge of the counter. She is pushing me to the edge.

Poppy looks back at me with a stinky eye and then back at Sage.

“Thank you.” Sage takes the flower away from Poppy. She is mourning the death of her plant.

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