Page 4 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"That's—" I'd started to say it was Felicity's.
"It's amazing." Her face fell. "It's sort of like one that Mom has. She always gets nice things," she said with a shrug.
That line. She always gets the nice things. Does Macy not?
I'm sure confusion is written all over my face. "Don't you get nice things too, honey? From your mom?"
"Ummm...not really." Her eyes went wide. "Is that why it's here for me? So, I can have something nice for my first day of junior high?! I KNEW you'd think of something!"
I should have said no. That was my moment. Should've told her the truth. I'd hidden it in Macy's closet, thinking there's no way Felicity would go digging there. And to be honest, the bottom of my eleven-year-old's closet is like a cesspool—unsure when her old clothes, shoes, and everything in between had last been cleaned, I thought for sure it would keep for a couple weeks. Stupid. Just stupid. Clearly.
But she looked up at me with those green eyes that kill me every time.
"I've never had anything this beautiful. Sophia has something like it—but not as beautiful. Nothing's this beautiful," the last words merely a whisper in awe as she stroked the leather.
"See how it looks," I heard myself say. What? Why did I say that?
Her squeal filled my office. She strutted around like a runway model, practicing how she'd carry it.
"This is really for me, Daddy?! Like really, really?"
And I fucking caved. Like I always cave. Macy was so young when her mom and I divorced that I've basically always been a weekend dad to her. I know it's not enough. Guilt was a difficult thing to contend with. She's such a good kid. Rarely complains. So again, I'd heard myself respond—almost like an out-of-body experience.
"Sure, sweetheart. It's for your first day. A new school can be scary, so I thought this could help."
Every word out of my mouth made it worse—I'm essentially rubbernecking at my own train wreck.
And now, here I am—sitting in a dark office alone. My wife is asleep in the guest room—definitely not speaking to me.
I don't know how to fix this.
I searched the Dior site again. That bag was a limited edition. Custom order only. I'd had to plan ahead for once.
I dropped my head to the desk—hard. Pain radiated straight through my skull. I deserved it.
I felt the buzz of my phone reverberate through my skull.
Jessica:BTW, can you do me a favor and pick up Macy tomorrow? Brad and I have something with a house showing, and I can't make it.
A week ago, I would've said yes. Would've rearranged my whole day to make it work. I only get to see Macy on the weekends, so if the chance comes up to pick her up, I take it. Even if I have to work, I've brought her back to the office—me doing work, her doing her homework.
Not now, though.
Me:No.
Jessica:WTF, Caden? Seriously? Since when do you say no?
Jessica:Well—since Macy needs things for school that you don’t cover, I have to do extra work. This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so stingy with support payments.
Me:We have a custody agreement. I pay what we agreed to.
Jessica:Required minimums don’t cover reality, Caden. Do you know what private school costs these days? Her activities? Her clothes? Brad and I are drowning here while you live in your nice house with your perfect wife.
Jessica:Plus, Brad’s business is going through a rough patch. Construction permits are taking forever and we’re carrying debt we can’t afford. I can’t keep asking him to cover Macy’s expenses when his company is struggling.
Me:If money’s that tight, maybe we should talk about adjusting support.
Jessica:Don’t patronize me. We’ll figure it out.
