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She frowned and tugged at the collar of her new dress. She had insisted on wearing it on our little trip despite my aunt and me begging her not to and save it for school. But nope, she had been adamant and when my child set her mind to something it was pert near impossible to change it. I guess she took after me in that regard. Just look at how set I’d been to be a goalie, raise my child alone, and romance Baskoro, even though I knew all the above would require hard work and lots of dedication.
“Okay, I’ll listen to the book.”
I smiled sweetly and hit play once more. Actually, the story was pretty enchanting. It was a classic about training your dragon to read by a famous Scottish actor who had played a two-hearted doctor who traveled through space in a blue police box. How could you go wrong?
We’d driven about four miles and were approaching the exit for Tunkhannock, the story of young Hiccup playing away when Kyleen spoke up.
“I have to pee.”
I let a small breath pass between my lips, hit the blinker, and pulled into a local fast food parking lot. Kyleen leapt out of the car as if she had been imprisoned for years, her pretty black patent leather shoes getting soaked as she raced through puddles of melted snow before I could tug her around them. Once inside, she raced into the ladies room, and I took up a guard post outside. Two older women exited, gave me suspicious looks, and then scuttled off to whisper to their elderly friends seated nearby. Knowing that they were probably weighing if the Black man lurking outside the bathroom was a threat, I gave them a big grin just as my child burst out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to her shoe.
The tension among the silver-haired diners eased when they saw Kyleen at my side.
“Daddy, can we get nuggets and a milkshake?”
Peeling the wet toilet paper from her shoe, I wadded it up and knelt there like a damn fool, trying to decide if I should attempt to use the men’s room while we were here. If nothing else, I would like to throw this wet mess away and wash my hands.
“I think it’s only breakfast food,” I said to my daughter, then stood up with a handful of wet toilet tissue in my palm. Super.
I hated to leave her alone in a busy restaurant, but since there was no family bathroom available, it was a problem that I faced a lot as a father of a little girl. I mean come on corporate America. Gender neutral bathrooms would be incredible as would changing tables in men’s rooms. Not only moms had to tend to babies. Let’s do better, big business.
“She can sit with us while you use the bathroom,” one of the older gals nearby called over the din of diners and workers calling out orders. I glanced at the table of older women. They seemed harmless, but then again, lots of kidnappers looked like normal people before they stole your kid while you stood at a urinal. While I did have to go, it wasn’t too bad. I could hold it.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m good.” My bladder would make it for a few more hours. And just because I was a glutton for punishment, I allowed my darling child to talk me into breakfast to go, which included a large coffee for me. Once in the car, I doused my hands up to my elbows with hand sanitizer. I literally had like a dozen small bottles left in the glove box from the pandemic that we used for moments just like this.
“You smell like the doctor,” Kyleen informed me as I rubbed in between my fingers, the gel drying quickly.
“Doctor Daddy,” I quipped and got a giggle. I handed her sandwich to her but held onto her milk carton until she requested it. The child did tend to spill things frequently. “Now be careful with that, it’s hot.”
“I know,” she replied and took a big bite that was followed with yummy sounds. I dove into my food, enjoying the hell out of the takeout grub—after I peeled the ham off the egg and cheese—which I rarely ate. The team nutritionist tended to scowl at fast food of any kind for athletes but conceded that once in a while, it was fine. This was my once in a while. I’d not worry over the amount of holiday food that I had ingested and would ingest over the next few days. Baskoro had texted me last night to warn me that his mother and sister were trying to put Ooni’s spread to shame. “Do you think Aunty Zada is sad without us?”
Given that my aunt had just about pushed the two of us out the door this morning, I rather doubted she was missing us all that much just yet. She had plans to do as little as possible over the days we were gone, which I was thrilled to hear. She worked too damn hard keeping our house running while I was off making hockey happen. A few days to herself would be just what she needed, and if she snuck off to bingo or the Moose more power to her.
“I’m sure she’ll miss us, but she’ll rest with her feet up more.” I offered Kyleen some apple slices, which she stuck her nose up to, so I ate them after my sandwich was gone. When the food was finished and the trash placed in a can outside the restaurant, we were back on our way. Kyleen finally settled down to enjoy the audiobook while we made our way north through Pennsylvania into New York State. “Do you want any more milk?”
“No, thank you. It will make me pee more.”
Smart child. I should have followed suit because by the time I pulled into Baskoro’s skinny drive my back teeth were floating as Aunt Zada liked to say. Exiting the car, I breathed in fresh air, crisp as a fall apple and cold as a witch’s heart. Seneca Lake rarely froze according to Basky, but the wind that blew off the water was brutal.
Wasting no time, I hustled Kyleen along, hoisting our bags up onto my shoulder, and knocked on the door to Baskoro’s small but loved lakeside home.
It opened, a rush of heat flowing out over us, and Baskoro welcomed us inside with a hug for both of us.
“Okay, so warning you now that my mother is in full Mom mode, so be prepared for her to gush endlessly,” he whispered beside my ear as he took my coat and Kyleen’s, tossing them into a tiny closet by the front door. The house was lived in, and I liked it. Nothing extravagant, as so many of the homes along the Finger Lakes were, but nicely maintained. It was obvious two men lived here. Where my house had knick-knacks and knitted doilies, this home had hockey memorabilia on the tables, fat goalie paddles in the corners, and one skinny pine tree in the corner that appeared to be more than a little lopsided. We kicked off our shoes and then nodded in thanks at the green and red slippers Baskoro handed us.
“Noted,” I whispered back, stole a fast kiss, and then was swept up into the Huda family’s warm bosom. Mrs. Huda was in her glory, fussing over Kyleen and me while bouncing her grandson on her hip. Mr. Huda was pleasant but reserved. A slight man with glasses, he seemed happy to sit quietly in front of the Christmas tree and discuss things with his handsome son-in-law. I had no clue what they were discussing as they were speaking Thai, but I did remember to make wai to everyone that we met, as did Kyleen, who it seemed earned a cookie for everything she did that pleased Mrs. Huda. Joyo, Citra, and Banyu were delightful as well. Baskoro’s sister poked at me for all the details of our romance, which made her brother stammer and blush.
The food that was served was not at all the traditional Christmas feast that I was accustomed to, but it was filling and incredibly good. Kyleen poked at the dribbles on her plate, taking teensy no thank you bites until she found a few things that she liked such as the wide noodles in soy sauce, some fried rice, and of course the dessert of banana roti. Our skills with chopsticks left a little to be desired so we switched to flatware. Baskoro was smiling throughout the long, friendly meal, his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes brimming with emotion.
That look of utter contentment stayed with him throughout the opening of presents after the big meal. Diwa and Intan, Baskoro’s parents, who insisted I address them by their first names as Americans like to do, had bought me a bottle of aftershave and gifted Kyleen with a lovely tea set just the right size for her little hands. She was thrilled, bowing and thanking them as Baskoro had instructed us to do, before setting out to make tea for all the grown-ups. It was incredibly weak and cold, but we all sipped it and raved as if it had been tea made for a queen.
Movies on the big-screen TV came next as did more coffee, little shortbread flower cookies in various shades of pink, blue, and green, followed by yep, more coffee. I wouldn’t sleep for weeks but the coffee was robust, sweet, and the perfect accompaniment for A Muppet Christmas Carol that both kids seemed to enjoy, although Banyu fell asleep after about ten minutes, his small head resting on Baskoro’s wide shoulder. The man had not been lying when he had said he adored children. It was obvious watching how he doted on Kyleen and Banyu.
Night came early, and with it some light snow, so Citra gathered up her husband, her son, and her parents for the short ride to their new home. There were warm goodbyes and then, finally, the door was closed and silence fell over the small house overlooking the lake.
Kyleen was curled up on the sofa, her head on a throw pillow, her teapot in her arms.
“I’ll get her into her pajamas and into bed,” I whispered as I bent down to lift her from the couch. She mewled, clutched her white teapot to her chest, and yawned into my neck. “Say good night to Basky.”
