Fear Itself

“Daddy,” I called from the bottom of the steps. “Daddy, can I go into my room yet, please?” It had been at least a half hour since my father had barred me from entering my bedroom, under what premise I wasn’t quite sure. I was six years old and beginning to think that my father was either dying or throwing away all of my clothes and books. Neither was an appropriate though for Christmas eve, but it didn’t stop me from assuming the worst.

“No, Tali,” he called out from my room, out of my line of vision. He had been in there for quite some time, and I was growing rather impatient. I wasn’t used to my father not paying attention to me when I was home; he usually devoted every single second of his free time to me. I didn’t take well to have to sit around alone while my father was clearly at home; I spent enough time alone, and I didn’t think I got nearly enough time with my dad. Of course, I was going to protest this, even if it was Christmas eve.

“Daddy!” I whined, stomping my foot defiantly, sticking my bottom lip out, even though he couldn’t see me.

“What, Pumpkin?” he shouted. I could have scoffed. Hadn’t he been listening that whole time?

“Daddy, come down, now, please!” I protested, hands clutching the fabric of my red dress: an early gift from my father. I could hear him laughing, but he wasn’t answering me, and it only took me mere seconds to decide to march straight up those stairs: if he wasn’t going to let me go in my own room, I was going to force my way in.

I marched up the stairs, and my father must have heard me because as soon as I reached the top, he emerged from my room, closing the door tightly behind him. An unsatisfied pout slipped onto my face, and my father laughed. He crouched down, getting to my level. “Say, Tali,” he began to say, and I couldn’t help but lose the pouty face and look at him. “Do you happen to fancy some hot chocolate?”

My eyebrows raised eagerly, and I nodded. “Yes!” I exclaimed, a grin forcing it’s way onto my face as my father scooped me up to take me back downstairs. “Hot chocolate is my favorite,” I added, nodding, to which my father chuckled.

“I know, Pumpkin. That’s why we drink it every Christmas, remember?”

I remembered. I knew, yet somehow, I forgot every single year. Hot chocolate had become a tradition ever since last Christmas, when I had declared that hot chocolate was the best thing I had ever tasted. It was my favorite part of winter. I always looked forward to the fire place, fuzzy blankets, and hot chocolate, though the last time I had hot chocolate, I had burned the roof of my mouth something awful and cried for about twenty minutes, even as my father stuck ice cubes in my mouth trying to relieve the sting. Trying to avoid last week’s incident, I raced up to my father after receiving my mug.

“Blow on it, please,” I requested as I sat the mug in front of him. I made grabby hands at him until he picked me up and set me on his lap. I leaned back against his chest as he took my mug in his hands. I could hear his breath rushing over the liquid, and out of curiosity, I leaned forward to inspect his mug. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight, and I reached my hand back to tap him. “Daddy,” I interrupted. “Daddy, you’ve got more marshmallows than I do.”

“No, I don’t,” he retorted as he set my mug back down on the counter. “Now, will you just—“

“No, you do!” I interjected, which my father must have found hilarious because he was laughing. “No, look! You have six!” I explained adamantly, pointing to his mug, then looking to mine. “I only have… I have five, Daddy. You have one more!”

“I do not!” my father argued through a laugh.

“Nah-ah, Daddy. That’s just two melted together. That doesn’t even count!”

“Yes, it does. That mean’s they’re one marshmallow.”

I turned my head up to my father, face scrunched up, absolutely disgruntled. I just glared at him, and he laughed and patted me on the head. “Drink your hot chocolate, dear. Before it gets cold.”

“No,” I rebutted. “No, not until I have six marshmallows too.”

My father sighed. “Would you rather trade cups?”

I considered this for a moment. We wouldn’t have equal amounts of marshmallows… which I supposed was only an issue if I had less. If I had more, I didn’t necessarily care how many my father had, and as my eyes surveyed both mugs, I gave him a decisive nod. “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

So we did. We switched mugs, and everything was perfect because I had the most marshmallows, and my father didn’t mind having one less as long as I was happy. Christmas in my house was always a nice time. It was probably the one night a year I could forget about how absolutely lonely I was. My father usually pulled out all the stops for Christmas. He did this on two occasions: birthdays and Christmas. It wasn’t until later on in life that I realized he did this to make up for my lack of a family or friends. I was used to grand gestures, but when my father finally showed me my room, I didn’t expect to see the magnificent trail of fairy lights now hanging around the walls, glowing a soft white above the brand new bed now resting where my old twin bed once stood.

“Wow!” I exclaimed in absolute shock. I quickly charged in and flung myself on the bed, landing softly on the mattress. My father strode in from the doorway, grinning.

“I’d ask if you liked it, but I think I already know the answer to that,” he joked, laughing as he watched me roll around in the brand new lilac comforter, my favorite color. I lifted my head and waved him over.

“Daddy lie down!” I shouted as I scurried up to one of my two pillows.

My father scoffed. “When did you get to be so bossy? That’s not like my Thalia,” he retorted, not budging an inch, arms folded over his chest.

“Lie down, please?” I corrected myself, looking up to my father with pleading eyes until a grin cracked onto his face, and he took a seat beside me, shifting to lie down when I did. We laid there in silence for a bit as I took in the ceiling, the lights, the everything. It was still the same old room, but even the little changes made a difference. I sighed quietly and smiled. “Mommy would like this,” I mused.

“Hm?” my father asked, tilting his head toward me as though he hadn’t heard me. I rolled over on my side.

“Do you think Mommy would like this?” I asked him, gaze unwavering. I watched as his face twisted with concentration.

“Well,” he began to say, clearly thinking through what he was going to tell me. “I think she’d like it because you did, Tali. She would be happy because you are,” he said. “Just like I am.”

My smile widened, and I lurched forward to hug my father. “Thank you, Daddy,” I said softly into the fabric of his shirt. I felt his arms wrap around me tightly.

“You’re very welcome, Pumpkin,” he told me, patting my back softly. I sighed contently, and my eyes fluttered closed. Staying awake was becoming difficult. Sleep was tugging at my eyelids.

“I love you, Daddy,” I mumbled sleepily, face pressing into his chest.

“I love you more, Tali,” my father replied. I could hear the smile in his voice before he kissed the top of my head and move a hand to smooth my hair out.

Barely opening my eyes, I gave him a tired smile. I reached my hand up and pressed my index finger into the tip of his nose. “Love you most,” I muttered, just before my arm fell back against him, and his heartbeat lulled me to sleep.