Page 46 of Baran
“Baran.” Daddy Darien’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for a while. Is something wrong?”
Baran froze, the licorice strip slipping from his hand onto the table. Daddy Darien was looking at him now, his piercing blue eyes searching, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. It was impossible to dodge the question, and maybe…maybe that was for the best.
Taking a breath, Baran forced himself to meet Daddy Darien’s gaze. “No, it’s not that something’s wrong,” he began, his voice faltering at first. “I’ve just been thinking.”
Daddy Darien tilted his head, his expression softening. “Thinking about what?”
Baran hesitated, the words lodged in his throat like a lump of cookie dough. He glanced down at the gingerbread house, then back up at Daddy Darien. “I…I don’t want to sleep in the guest room anymore,” he blurted out. “I mean, I want things to go back to how we were. I want us to go back to how we were.” His cheeks warmed as he added, “I want you to be my Daddy Darien again.”
For a moment, there was only the faint crackle of children’s merry voices in the background. Baran’s stomach churned as he watched Daddy Darien’s face, trying to read his reaction. Then, slowly, Daddy Darien’s lips curved into a smile, soft and warm.
“Baran…” Daddy Darien’s voice was full of affection. He reached out, his frosting-smeared fingers brushing against Baran’s. “I’ve been hoping you’d say that.”
Baran felt his chest unclench, a wave of relief and joy washing over him. As Daddy Darien’s hand closed around his, he let himself smile, his nerves melting away. Together, they returned to the gingerbread house, but now the air between them was different—lighter, warmer, and full of possibility.
When the house was finished—crooked in some places, with more icing on their hands than on the gingerbread—Daddy Darien leaned back and studied it with a lopsided grin. “It’s not perfect, but I like it,” he said.
Baran wiped a smear of frosting from his wrist. “It’s lovely,” he replied.
Daddy Darien’s gaze lingered on Baran. “Kind of like us, huh? Not perfect, but worth the effort.”
Baran stilled, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. He didn’t meet Daddy Darien’s eyes right away, the weight of the words settling between them. Finally, he looked up. “You think we’re worth the effort?” Baran asked, his voice even but tinged with vulnerability.
“I know we are,” Daddy Darien replied. “Look, I messed up. I know that. But I’m here now, and I want to try again—with you. If you’ll let me.”
Baran exhaled slowly, the frost of his breath visible in the cold air. He thought about their argument over his father, the silences, sleeping alone last night and questioning whether they could find their way back to each other. But he also thoughtabout this moment—Daddy Darien’s hand brushing his, the way he still made Baran’s heart beat faster even after everything.
“I want you…Be my daddy,” Baran said finally, his voice steady.
Daddy Darien’s grin widened, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes. “I never stopped being your daddy. I love spending time with you.”
They sat for a moment, the gingerbread house between them, as the noise of Gingerbread Lane faded into the background. For the first time that day, Baran felt something like hope when then got into the car.
“We’re going to stop at the bakery to pick up the cupcakes I ordered for the kids at the shelter.”
“How many?”
“There are fifty kids and ten workers. I bring cupcakes each time I visit.”
“I bet they love that.”
“They do.”
When they reached the parking area, they got out of the car. Baran followed Daddy Darien down the bustling street, the sharp December air biting at his face as they approached the bakery. Inside, the scent of freshly baked bread and sugar wafted toward them, warm and inviting against the cold. Daddy Darien picked up the large order—sixty intricately decorated Christmas cupcakes, each a tiny masterpiece of red and green frosting. They shared the job of carrying the boxes of cupcakes back to the car.
They drove in silence to the placement center, a modest two-story brick building surrounded by bare trees strung with a few faded holiday lights.
Inside, the air changed. The smell of cleaning products mingled with the faint aroma of cafeteria food. The entryway was simple but festive; a small Christmas tree adorned withmismatched ornaments stood by the reception desk, where a tired-looking receptionist greeted them with a warm smile. The walls were adorned with cheerful crayon drawings taped haphazardly, creating a collage.
Baran and Darien carried the cupcakes and gingerbread house they had built. A lady named Mary welcomed Darien as if she had known him for years. She led them through a maze of hallways until they reached the cafeteria. The room had sturdy metal tables and chairs arranged in long neat rows. The walls were painted a pale blue, scuffed in places, and dotted with posters reminding the children to “Dream Big” and “Be Kind.”
Children were everywhere—some perched on benches and others huddled in groups, their laughter and chatter filling the space. They ranged in age from toddlers to teenagers. Some wore hand-me-down clothes a size too big; others clutched stuffed animals that had seen better days. Mary blew a whistle, and everything turned quiet.
“Did you all write your Santa lists?” Daddy Darien asked the children.
A chorus of “Yes!” erupted, the enthusiasm so loud it made Baran smile despite himself.
“Great! Baran here will collect them,” Daddy Darien announced, giving him a gentle nudge forward.
