Page 6 of Daddy's Little Drummer Boy
What wasn’t great was waiting for it to be time to go. I had originally thought it was an afternoon gig, but no—it was in the evening, running into the night. That wasn’t a problem though. It meant, in theory, I could deliver lunches, but I was so antsy that sitting in my car sounded like torture.
“Rooney, I don’t know what to do.” I grabbed my stuffed raccoon. Of course, he didn’t answer, but at least I had someone to talk to.
“What would Daddy tell me to do?” Still no answer. There had been a time when I made him talk back to me or Daddy did. That time had passed.
When I got overly anxious, Daddy usually took me someplace—the park, the zoo, somewhere with fresh air. I suppose I could do that now, but it was winter, and nothing sounded too appealing about being outside in the cold.
Chores were another option. Except my laundry was done for the week. My refrigerator was stocked. I’d cleaned the bathroom the night before. There really wasn’t anything I had to do, and the place was too small for there to be any waiting projects.
That left taking a shower and starting my day. The stall was tiny, and I never managed to wash my hair without my elbow hitting the door. Today was no exception, but the hot water felt good against my skin.
Instead of putting my regular clothes on when I got out, I opted for a fitted crop tee that saidDaddy’s Boyand my cutoff sweatpants. Some little time would do me good, and it was one of the last things Daddy gave me. It functioned as a hug in some less-than-healthy way. I tried not to think too hard on that one.
For breakfast, I filled a divided dish with sugar cereal, cheese—because Daddy always said I needed more protein—raisins, pretzels, and a cut-up banana. It was hardly the breakfast of champions, but it would do.
I plopped in my beanbag chair with Rooney and put onMarch of the Wooden Soldiersfor character inspiration. At least that was the excuse I gave.
I hadn’t seen that movie in years. It was one my grandma had watched with me every year, and I thought it might help me get into the spirit. I ate and watched as Laurel and Hardy did all the silliness they were known for. Then came the part with the wooden soldiers. I finally realized why the kids all thought I was a soldier who happened to have a drum. I looked pretty close to one—even the makeup I used at the mall matched.
After the credits rolled, I thought about watching it again but instead opted to find something new. And that was how the day went—one Christmas movie after another after another until it was time to get ready to go.
It was a pretty sluggy kind of day but snuggled up with Rooney, the mindless movies did their job. By the time I had to get ready to leave for the Christmas party, I was very much in the mood.
I got dressed at home, including my makeup. I toned it down slightly since I’d be around grown-ups, not small children, but kept it authentic to the way I looked when hired.
Miss Lily met me at the door, telling me she had changed up some of the original plan she had for me, not that I’d fully known what that was. Santa had called in sick and wasn’t able to be there. But she assured me that was fine. My job was basically to mingle, let people bang on my drum, and, if I was so inclined, read a book or two.
She was very understanding when I said that wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t a daddy type, and in a room full of littles, I wouldn’t be confident enough for that.
“Oh, I know you’re not a daddy,” she said with a smile. “But I thought I would offer, since that was one of Santa’s duties. And please don’t take offense, but I got you a better drum.”
She led me to her office, where, sitting there, was a stunning drum. She had probably paid far more for it than she was paying me. I put it on, and off to the little room I went.
The party was fun. There were crafts for the littles as well as snacks, cookie decorating, and special games. Christmas music filled the air. If it was Christmas-related and something littles would love, it was there. Some little boys and girls attended with their mommies, daddies, and caregivers. Other littles came alone or with friends.
There were some mommies and daddies wandering around, too. I knew from the rules that they had to be approved to be there. This was not a place where random caregivers could show up and try to take advantage of littles. That was one of the things Daddy had liked best about Chained when we’d researched it. Hesaid it didn’t have any of the toxicity that the club we’d gone to before we moved here had.
Mostly, I wandered around, walking like a soldier—embracing the imagery from the movie earlier—and interacting with people as they wanted. But the entire time, my eyes kept wandering to one particular daddy.
Something about him was different. He was there and paying attention, but he wasn’t really being Daddy. He was more a spectator, and that intrigued me. Was he one of those people interested in the lifestyle who hadn’t quite gotten to try it? Was he waiting for someone? Had his friends dragged him there? He was Daddy; that much was clear. But beyond that, he was a mystery.
I kind of liked that.
Miss Lily called everyone’s attention to talk about a game she had created with stickers, which, of course, got the littles all very excited. As they went about their scavenger hunt, she came up to me and told me to take a break. I agreed and decided to try and find a chair in the adjoining room.
“You can do the sticker scavenger hunt if you want,” she said.
“I’ll think about it. Thank you, Miss Lily.” It sounded fun, but I could use the time to decompress for a minute.
The next room was mostly filled with racks of chairs and some tables. It wasn’t part of the event, so I was surprised when the daddy I had noticed earlier came in with cocoa and cookies.
“Hey, I don’t want you to feel cornered, but I thought maybe you could use cookies and cocoa on your break.”
I was immediately taken by how quickly he addressed what might have been my concern, making his intentions clear. Had I been there not for work, I might have felt cornered by a daddy coming into a room I was alone in. But it wasn’t that he wasbeing pushy or trying to push his advances on me. He was being sweet and very daddy-like.
“Hi, I’m Nick. I don’t mean to step on toes if your daddy is here. I just thought…” He set the cocoa and cookies down and picked up one of the cookies.
“I’m Bobby and no daddy. I mean, no, he’s not here.” What was I doing? I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this—or anything other than thank you. But then, before I could stop myself, everything came else out. “He had cancer. He died. It was a while ago.”
