Page 22 of Daddy's Muse
“Wish I could be you right now,” I whispered.
I picked the crayon back up and colored for another fifteen minutes before finally setting everything aside and curling beneath the covers, Steve tucked under my chin.
As I started to drift off, I whispered softly to the empty room, “Goodnight…”
And for just a second—barely audible—I thought I heard something in the dark reply, “Good boy.”
My eyes flew open, but nothing moved. Nothing was out of place. No one was in the room except me.
There was only silence and the gentle hum of the heater.
Mr. Ghost… Daddy?
* * *
I made it through class, but only just. My thoughts weren’t on The Odyssey or the professor’s dry commentary about heroic archetypes—I was too busy thinking about what had happened the night before.
That voice.
I kept trying to convince myself it hadn’t been real. Maybe I’d been half-asleep and imagined it. Maybe I’d heard something from the hallway or another dorm. Hell, maybe I’d mumbled to myself and startled my own half-conscious brain. There were a million logical explanations. And still, none of them made me feel any better.
After class, I walked a few extra blocks out of my way, taking a longer route to avoid seeing too many familiar faces. My hoodie was pulled up over my head, and my hands stayed shoved deep in my coat pockets, fingers curling and uncurling like I could squeeze the anxiety out of them.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t like anyone wouldknow. It wasn’t like buying a sippy cup meant I was going to be outed or arrested or anything ridiculous like that.
Still, as I approached the dull beige entrance of the dollar store, my heart started hammering in my chest. It wasn’t eventhatcrowded—just a bored-looking teenager behind the counter scrolling on his phone, a middle-aged woman rifling through plastic Tupperware, and an older man examining gift bags.
Totally normal.Normal, normal, normal.I was here practically every other day. This was just a normal, completely routine stop.
I swallowed hard and headed toward the baby aisle like I was on a mission.
In, out, survive.
There was a small section of baby bottles, bibs, tiny socks, and sippy cups. I reached out with shaking hands and picked up a pastel yellow one with cute bees on the side. The second Itouched it, something in my heart soared. The cup felt familiar in a way I could never quite explain to anyone else—and not just the cup, but all of my little stuff. It just… felt like home.
I clutched it to my chest and turned quickly for the front, hardly giving myself time to second-guess.
The bored guy at the register didn’t even blink when I set it down.
“That all?” he mumbled, not looking up.
I nodded quickly, eyes focused on my cup.
“Cool. $1.25.”
I placed a dollar and a quarter on the counter, pushing it towards him. The receipt printed, he bagged my prize, and just like that, it was over.
No judgment, or questions, or sneer of“Is this for your baby brother?”or“Aw, buying gifts?”
He didn’t care.
He probably wouldn’t have cared even if I’d bought three pounds of glitter, adult diapers, and a fake mustache. I was just another customer whom he couldn’t care less about.
Still, I didn’t exhale until I’d crossed the street and ducked into a quiet patch of trees between two campus buildings. I sat down on a low stone wall, gripping the little bag in my lap like it might float away if I let go.
I peeked inside at the cup.
It was soperfect.
