And he does. Lord, he does.
* * *
Knox
This is the best Christmas of my life, and not just because I gave Willa three orgasms—and had two of my own—before I’d drunk a full cup of coffee. Though that definitely lands in the pro column.
Rose is loving Christmas. She has no real clue what’s going on, but she loves playing with the paper and the bows. Willa made me promise not to go overboard. I disobeyed said promise, but she doesn’t know that yet. So far, Rose has unwrapped a bunch of those cardboard books she likes (mostly she likes to chew them) and a couple of noisy toys I now regret buying.
“Rose, give these to daddy, ok?” Willa places two shirt boxes in our little girl’s hands and Rose starts ripping the paper off.
“No, baby, those are for daddy. Give them to daddy, ok?”
Rose looks at me, then back at the boxes, then hands them over. “Thank you, baby girl. Want to help?” Before I finish my sentence, her chubby hands are tearing at the paper. In seconds, she’s made a mess, but she’s having so much fun that I can’t care. I lift the lid to reveal a wrinkled, slightly warped sheet of what used to be white paper. It has so many layers of paint on it that it must’ve taken a week to dry. “Did you make this for me?” She claps her hands and looks up at me, and I’m taking that as a yes. Lifting her into my lap, I give her kisses and she returns the favor.
Willa nudges the next box toward me. “Here’s your other gift. Rose had a little help with both of them.”
Still holding my little girl on my lap, I lift the lid of the second box. Inside is a grey t-shirt. I read the inscription across the front and laugh. “Did Uncle Whit help you make this?” Rose just drools.
“Yep,” Willa tells me. “His Best Uncle Ever shirt cracks me up so I asked him to make one for you. But yours says Best Dad Ever, of course.”
I look back at the shirt in the box. “He may have taken a little creative license,” I tell Willa, tossing the shirt in her direction. She holds it up and reads the black block letters:Call Me Daddy.
She sputters, and I laugh. “Lesson learned, baby. Whit must be supervised at all times. I’m still gonna wear the hell out of it, though.”
“Not out of the house you’re not,” she laughs.
“Deal.” We kiss again, and then I reach under the tree for the last wrapped gift. “One more gift for Rose, then I have something for you too.”
“Awesome. Ok, Rosebud, let’s see what daddy got you.”
Our daughter rips apart the paper to reveal another set of those plastic keys she loves to play with.
“Keys!” Willa says, clapping, while Rose mimics, though her babble sounds more like “eeeees!”
“Oh, and there’s a spare set, in case she loses those,” I hop up and walk to the key hook by the door to pluck a shiny set from the group and hand it to Willa.
“What are these? She can’t have real keys, Knox. They’re dirty.”
“I know. But you can. And these are not dirty. They’re brand new.” I take her hand and scoop Rose up with the other and lead my girls to the back of the house. We look out the sliding glass doors to see a shiny black SUV parked next to the deck.
“What is that?”
“A new car,” I say, stating the obvious.
“You got me a car?!”
“No,” I lie. “It’s for Rose. You said I couldn’t get her anything crazy. That I had to get her something practical. This is practical.”
“How? How is this a practical gift for a baby?” Willa’s hands are on her waist, and she looks adorable and pissed.
“Many reasons. First off, where the hell else am I going to put her new car seat? Also, it’s very practical—it’s got awesome safety ratings, and it’s a hybrid. I basically just saved the environment. You should be thanking me.”
“Knox…”
I turn to Willa and hold her close. “I knew you’d lose your mind if I tried to give you a car. But the money is literally sitting in my trust fund. Besides, it’s crazy fun to drive and really safe. And your car—”
“My car is fine. It’s ten years old and not fancy, but it’s fine.”
