A Title to be Earned

I stand at our backyard table made of old split wood. It seems like the view from our backyard is endless as I watch Stacey dance near her mother's flowerbed. She is so young at just 5; her ideas are still so new. Stacey has on an all-white dress. I feel mildly disgusted to realize her mother has dressed her up for the day.

The child bends down to pick through her mother's vegetable garden. Just below the tomatoes are marigold flowers. She searches to find the best among the crowd and plucks it from its base. An honest smile covers her face as her eyes cross as she focuses on it.

"Daddy!" she is so excited.

Stacey gets her balance in her fancy little shoes and runs to me with her hand extended. Poised between fingertips is the orange puff of a flower.

"This is for you." She explains once she's close enough to hand it to me.

I take the flower with my lips pressed together. Stacey's face is so eager, yet I feel a flood of disappointment as I center on her. She smiles, but I can't return her expression. I sigh as I try my best to bury my feelings by knowing what I am going through isn't the child's fault.

I exhale, "Thank you, sweetie, but you know your mother doesn't want you picking her flowers. Put it back."

I watch as the girl's dreams crash when she explains, "But it was the prettiest one. Don't you want to keep it?"

I snap, "Put it back. I don't want it!"

She flinches as the words lop out of my mouth. It looks like she wants to cry when she takes the flower back. I feel bad. I didn't mean to take my aggression out on her, but I couldn't help it. The way she was looking at me, I can't continue to fall in love with this child under these circumstances.

Stacey is back at the base of the vegetable plants. She's no longer dancing, but she's hunched over. I bet she is trying to connect the damned thing back to its stem. I want to roll my eyes and tell her it's not possible, but I don't. So instead, I lean over to grab another beer.

Witnessing a child's imagination makes you want to sink in your sorrows. But, unfortunately, she has no idea what life is, living with complete and utter delusion. At the very least, maybe another beer can help me get on her level.

The can crushes by the grip of my fist as I lunge it towards a trashcan with an opened lid. I bend to grab my next when I feel Stacey's mother caresses my shoulder. Why does her mere touch still give me butterflies?

Marsha doesn't say anything. Instead, she stands there, giving me a reassuring pat. In a way, I feel like a teenager, wondering what sort of stupidity I could do to win over my wife's heart. How someone I've been married to five years still has that effect on me, I don't know.

"What time is he coming?" I ask without turning to her.

She knows I'm uncomfortable, disappointed- everything one could feel when knowing a 'real' father is about to step into the picture.

This little girl has called me "daddy" since her first sounds. It's all she's ever known. When my brother went to prison, I was under the impression none of us would ever have to see him again. What Marsha ever saw in him will forever be a mystery.

"It should be any minute." She answers nearly regretfully.

"And, so what now." I am cross. I want her to answer questions to which she doesn't have the answers.

"I don't know," She sighs, "I couldn't rob him of the chance to meet his daughter."

I laugh forcefully as she says, "daughter." It's my immediate reaction to wish to mock her for saying it. But deep down, I know she must be just as uncomfortable as I am; or at least I hope so.

There's a moment I stop my train of thought to examine my wife. Did she put on anything special as she did for my daughter? Is that a unique perfume? Is her makeup any different? The questions are killing my booze-induced mind.

"Please, try your best to stay calm." She answers.

It's as if she could read my mind. Almost as if Marsha heard my questions without ever having to speak of them.

"What is she to call him?" I ask in fear of the worse.

She pauses, "His name is Uncle Louis. He is your brother after all, and despite anything, you are and always will be her father."

There is an instance of comfort in hearing her say those words. I needed her reassurance.

I hear a car door slam coming from the front yard. It takes Marsha's attention too. Neither of us needs to announce that he is here. I'm not ready to see him. There was never a day I wanted to see him again.

Marsha kneels on the floor to open her arms to Stacey, "Honey, come on over here. We have company."

Stacey gets up from the ground to run to her mother. She doesn't look sad anymore. Our little argument seems to have faded as soon as she heard her mother's voice.

She meets her mom for a hug, and although Stacey's gotten pretty big to carry, her mom lifts her off the floor. It's their usual posture and something that brings a little more light in this darkness.

I straighten from my drunken slouch as we all watch him approach.

Through his slacks and button-up shirt, you can see the repulsion of who he is. Louis is bald, and I guess, intentionally shaven to show off a few of the new tattoos that cover his scalp. The tops of his hands also display ink where they poke out of the long sleeves. He has his collar creased down as if it would be any saving grace to his overall appearance.

The last time I saw Louis, he was much different. He was getting into some bad stuff- sure- but he didn't look the part. We had looked alike in many ways, ever since we were boys. Now along with his tattoos and shaven head, he wears bags under his eyes. I would hardly be able to pick him out of a crowd as my flesh and blood.

Louis stands before us with a pink package wrapped with a bow. It takes every last bit of self-control to keep me from swatting his gift away, from punching him square in the jaw and asking where he's been, what he intends to do now that he's here. A child takes a lifetime, and he's already missed five critical years.

Marsha bends down to put Stacey down as she introduces him, "Honey, this is your Uncle Louis."

I'm instantly satisfied by the look on his face when she introduces him as an uncle. I want to tell him that he's not worthy of any title.

He bends down to her level and asks for a hug. My girl has a big heart, she'd hug anyone, and she doesn't deny him the opportunity, although I wish she had. Tears weld in his eyes, which makes me sick.

He embraces her for a moment, then let's go to announce, "I brought you something. I- I didn't know the kind of stuff you'd like, so I did my best."

He is uncertain with every word he speaks. Then, as Stacey begins to open her gift, a card with her name falls out of the package. Louis leans down to scoop it up quickly without the child noticing. He laces his arms around his back to hide the envelop while the girl is distracted.

Stacey is impressed by this stupid doll from the gift. I roll my eyes as Marsha suggests that Stacey show her uncle around the backyard. My daughter reaches out her hand to hold her uncle with her new toy tucked safely under her arm.

Louis follows along as her squeaky voice explains the most ordinary and minuscule detail of the yard. He acts impressed every time, which quickly makes me feel bile boil up into my throat from my stomach.

"This is going better than I thought." Marsha breaks our silence.

"How many more times is this going to have to happen?" I ask.

"He needs to be able to have a relationship with her." She answers honestly, "Look at them together. She is so happy. We can't take that from either one of them."

They frolic and prance in the yard. Then, when Stacey Staceyts to dance, she takes his hands, and they twirl together. As much as I want to agree with her mother, I don't, and we both know it.

"It's a one-time thing, you'll see. Give him a week, and he will be locked back up. So how are we going to continue to explain his mistakes to a five-year-old?" I hiss.

"We don't know that." Marsha defends.

"What? You still love him?" I argue.

"Calm down. You know that isn't true!"

I take a deep breath and scrunch my nose, "Yeah? Well, it sure seems like you are more into defending this thug than supporting your husband!"

She takes a step away from me. I feel an immediate regret. Her gaze is fuming, and she has every right to feel that way. I wish I were strong enough to tell her, but I'm not.

She turns away from me to announce, "Okay, honey, why don't you guys come on back. It's time for mommy to make you lunch."

I want to beg Marsha for forgiveness, but I wouldn't dare show our upset in front of Louis.

As they make their way back, Stacey stops at the vegetable garden. She's pointing to the bottom of the plant. When Louis meets her on the floor, and they stand again, I see my marigold flower resting between his fingertips. Broken doesn't even begin to describe the emotions soiling my depth.

Marsha scoops Stacey up again, "Go on, tell your uncle goodbye."

They are face level. My daughter smiles, "Goodbye, Uncle Louie!"

He does a childish wave with his fingertips as he speaks, "Bye-bye."

It is just us standing side by side as they escape into the house. We don't want to say anything. The air between us is thick enough to slice with a knife.

I expect him to say something terrible. I'm waiting for him to snap at me, but he doesn't. Then, he drags his foot across the floor and begins, "She's beautiful."

"Umhmm." It's the only thing my being allows me to moan.

He Stacey’s towards me to say, "Thank you."

His words take me by surprise. So I answer, "Yep."

Louis looks down to his feet, twirling that damned flower between his fingertips. Then continues, "I don't know if she, or you, or Marsha will ever be ready for this, but when I got here, I didn't know how it was going to be."

He extends Stacey's fallen envelop to me, and I take it.

"Just keep that safe for whenever she might be ready." He answers before exiting the yard.

With a deep breath, I open the card. In it, it reads in print, "To the world's most wonderful daughter!"

I furrow my brow as I read the passage hand-written beside it, "I can't believe I get to meet you today. I've seen your pictures, and with every smile, it was a reminder to do better, be better. I will be the best dad I can be to make you prouder and prouder every day! I love you – Daddy."