Shame on You

Heading over to the fridge, I grab a much-needed bottle of beer and before I can take my first sip, I’m interrupted by a sigh behind me.

Turning around, I see my youngest daughter, Livia, staring up at me with the same annoyed look on her face that I’m sure I have. Yes, I named my daughters after characters on The Sopranos. It’s in my blood to name my offspring after famous people.

“Meadow is in her room screaming about how much her life sucks. Can we trade her in for a new sister?”

Livia is nine and so much like me it’s scary. Everyone calls her my mini-me. Not only does she look exactly like me with long, wavy auburn hair, but she also hates the color pink, her favorite movie is Full Metal Jacket, and on her Christmas list last year, she asked Santa for a Wenger Ueli Steck Special Edition Swiss Army knife.

I’m not gonna lie; I cried a few tears when I saw that at the top of the list.

“No, we cannot trade your sister in for a new model. It’s just a phase. She’ll get over it.”

I hope.

“Why does she want to go to a party with boys anyway? Boys are dumb. And gross,” Livia replies.

Amen, sister.

Boys are definitely dumb. Especially Alex. He was supposed to pick up the girls tonight and take them to dinner but cancelled at the last minute. Via text. He couldn’t even be decent enough to call and tell me, the rat bastard. Meadow immediately tried to take advantage of the situation by telling me that the only thing that would fix her devastation at being stood up by her father was to go to a party. It was a nice try on her part, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Livia, never one to let something like that ruin her day, just shrugged and asked what was for dinner.

Before I can sit Livia down and explain to her all the reasons that boys suck and why she should stay away from them forever, the doorbell rings. For a second as I leave Livia in the kitchen to go answer the door, I actually think it’s Alex, coming over to beg forgiveness from the girls and trying to be a stand-up guy.

I should have known better.

Checking the peephole, I groan when I see Griffin standing on the front porch and fling the door open.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand as Livia comes up behind me and shoves me out of the way to go barreling into his arms.

“Uncle Griffin!”

He scoops her up with ease and swings her around in circles on the front porch.

“Look at how big you’ve gotten. You’re going to be taller than me soon,” he tells her before setting her back down on her feet. “I told you we’d talk later, Kennedy. It’s later.”

Why? Why does he choose now to be a man of his word?

“Liv, why don’t you go into your room and look through that new Soldier of Fortune magazine I got you?” I step aside so Griffin can come into the house, closing the door behind him. I’d really much rather slam the door in his face, but I’d never do that in front of Livia.

Griffin has always been amazing with my girls and they adore him. I feel a twinge of guilt over the fact that I shut him out of their lives as well. They’ve had a hard enough time dealing with the divorce ever since it was finalized a few weeks ago and their father being so self-absorbed that he can’t even spend an hour with them every couple of weeks. Maybe I can try to be the bigger person here for their sakes.

Livia throws her arms around Griffin’s waist and squeezes tight before racing off down the hall to her room.

“Soldier of Fortune?” Griffin asks me with a smile and a raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh, please. Don’t act like that’s a surprise. You’re the one who bought her a camo bed set and all eleven seasons of M*A*S*H on DVD for her birthday last month,” I remind him, my heart constricting at the fact that even during our estrangement he still remembered my daughter’s birthday.

We stand there in the foyer staring at each other for a few minutes and the silence grows uncomfortable. Griffin and I have never been at a loss for words around each other. Even in the past when I’ve been irritated with him and his blatant, flirty comments or annoyed when he acts like a typical, self-absorbed guy, I had a lot to say.