Page 31 of Have a Bear-y Little Christmas
Light in the Darkness
“Are we there yet?”Eva asked.
I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was leaning forward in her booster seat like that would get her to our destination faster.
“Ask me when we’re closer.”
Addy, being Addy, waited approximately thirty seconds before she cleared her throat and asked, “Are we there yet?”
Eva let out a shrill laugh like her sister was a comedy genius. Sometimes the girls tag-teamed me a bit. Thankfully, it was mostly just for funny bits, but I feared the day when they were both teenagers and I would be woefully at their mercy. When I was seventeen, I had fought hand-to-hand with an invading alpha who was harassing young, unmarried girls in our territory, but I’d rather do that another dozen times than end up on the wrong side of my daughters.
Maybe better to tuck thoughts like that away for another day when it didn’t feel like my kids were shooting up like weeds. Mytime as Daddy was limited. Eventually I would just be Dad, so I wanted to live in the moment as much as I could.
And right now, that meant having a great time seeing the lights along Main Street in the heart of the city with my daughters’ new friend.
“We’re going to arrive about fifteen minutes earlier than our agreed meeting time,” Addy said over Eva’s giggles. “Which is perfect because then we can find parking and walk to where the tour is supposed to start.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Addy,” I said as I put on my turn signal.
I already knew that, but she didn’t need to know that. I’d met enough gifted people in my life to know that it really edified them when people recognized their statements and showed appreciation when they shared information. It made them feel much more a part of a community and much less othered.
Maybe I was talking out of my ass, but I thought that was a big issue with a lot of advanced or otherwise intellectually gifted individuals; so often they were set apart, whether by focusing more on their schooling than their social skills, or even because they were neurodivergent, that it really alienated them from the people in their day-to-day lives. I would always celebrate Addy’s little Addy-isms, but I would also make sure she knewallparts of her were wonderful.
“You’re welcome.”
True to my plans and her words, we arrived fifteen minutes early, ten of which we spent trying to find a parking lot with a space open. It was paid, of course, because in our city parking spaces made more money than some humans working minimum wage, but I got our ticket then hurried to get me and my daughters to our meeting place.
I was prepared for Jeannie and her son to be a little late, because I’d learned that punctuality was fairly difficult as asingle parent, let alone a single parent with a sick kid in recovery, but I also didn’t want to risk being late myself, thus making her son wait in the cold longer than he had to. Max had seemed to do well at the ice rink, but as I had learned, ice skating was physically demanding. It was enough activity to keep him warm, but I doubted waiting around for us would be.
However, as we were walking up to the statue we’d chosen as our meeting spot—which also happened to be the starting spot for the tour—I saw Jeannie and her son approaching. I could pick them out of the crowd easily because they were both wearing the same coats they had at the ice rink. Today, however, Max was in a wheelchair.
“Hey there!” I called, waving at them. When they didn’t look my way, I remembered humans didn’t have the enhanced hearing shifters did, so I cleared my throat and raised my voice a little. This time they glanced in my direction, and Max eagerly waved while Jeannie moved a little faster.
“Why are you in a wheelchair today?” Eva asked as soon as they were within earshot. I could have sunk into the floor right then and there. I swore I’d taught my children about tact and politeness, but when they got together with kids their own age, they were especially blunt.
“Bad pain day today,” Max said, not seeming at all upset. If anything, he seemed to appreciate how direct my daughters were about everything. It was probably a nice change from always being treated with kid gloves, but still, it was a bit jarring for me.
“Bad pain day?” Addy asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means I hurt a lot of the time. I’m used to it, but today the pain is worse, so I need one of my mobility aids.”
“Mobility aids,” Eva echoed. “I remember those! They help you get around! We talked about your walker because Mommy had one too and it was pink.”
Max grinned and leaned forward a bit, extending his arm for a high five. I was surprised when Eva got a running start and actually leapt into the gesture, giggling the whole while.
I liked this Max kid, and I was completely bowled over that he and the girls got along so seamlessly. Anyone looking at them would assume they’d been best friends for ages, not that it was the second time that they were meeting. Was it a neurodivergent thing? Was it a single-parent thing? Or did our children just happen to vibrate at the same frequency?
If things went well, eventually, I would find out.
“Hey there,” Jeannie said. She lowered her face covering and revealed that sweet smile of hers. Clearly, she didn’t think anything was strange about her son’s behavior, so I guessed this was likely the norm for him and he was just a sociable little fellow.
“Can I push you?” Addy cut in without so much as acknowledging the woman. While I was fine with the kids being how they were with each other, I wasn’t about to ignore actual impoliteness.
“Addy, you know it’s rude to ignore people. Please greet Miss Jeannie appropriately, then ask your question.”
“Sorry.” She looked at Jeannie. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, Miss Jeannie. Hello! And thank you for inviting us. Can I push Max?”
“Thank you for your apology, I understand you were very excited, and I’m glad you all could come. As for whether you can push Max, you need to ask him, and then you should probably ask your dad’s permission.”
