He says nothing, staring at the floor.
“Maybe you don’t see it, because you walk in his shoes every day. Maybe you’re too close, but from the outside, where I am, it’s obvious. You’re two different people. You have two different lives. I share a story with one of them. And until you decide who you really are, who you want to be, nothing’s going to change.”
“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.” I push him back on the bed just enough to crawl onto his lap. My hands frame his face as I make him look at me. “I know, Jonathan. You've always wanted to make me feel good.”
“Because I love you,” he says.
“More than whiskey?” I ask.
“More than whiskey,” he agrees. “More than cocaine.”
“More than models-slash-actresses?”
“I don’t even like them most days. But I love you. I swear to fuck, I’ve loved you since before my eighteenth birthday when we sat on your father’s couch and watched me play dead on television.”
“My favorite thing you’ve ever done,” I whisper, kissing him. “You still owe me that autograph, dead kid on Law & Order.”
Chapter 24
JONATHAN
“Come on, sweetheart!” Kennedy yells, looking at her watch as she stands by the front door. “Time to go! I need to get to work.”
“I’ll take her,” I say, “if you want.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Madison comes tromping through, dragging her backpack behind her. “I want Daddy to take me to school again! Please?”
Kennedy blinks a few times, mumbling, “Or maybe you do.”
“I got it,” I say. “No problem.”
She hesitates before giving a resigned sigh when Madison grabs my hand. “You got everything you need?”
Madison nods. “Yep.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Kennedy says. “You got something for Show & Tell?”
Another nod. “Yep.”
“Breezeo?” Kennedy guesses.
A grin this time. “Yep.”
“Of course,” she mumbles, bending down to kiss Madison on the forehead. “Have a good day. Love you.”
“Love you, Mommy,” Madison says. “More than even Show & Tell.”
“More than your daddy’s burnt hot dogs,” Kennedy says playfully, standing back up. Leaning over, she kisses me, lingering there as she smiles softly, whispering, “I’ll see you after work.”
She’s gone then, out the door, as Madison tugs on my hand. “Come on, Daddy. Time to go to school.”
It’s tricky, taking this kid to school in the mornings. There’s a cop parked in front of the apartment. There will be one in front of the school, too. But the in-between is where things are a bit sketchy. It’s only a few blocks over, but in our situation it’s like playing a fucking game of Jumanji.
Roll the dice and hope the bloodsuckers don’t pop out and swarm your ass.
We got lucky yesterday, but today, not so much. A block away from the school, someone calls my name from across the street and jogs over, trying to get me to stop.
I ignore him and keep walking.
“Daddy, that guy’s talking to you,” Madison says.
“I know,” I say. “Pretend he’s not there.”
“Like he’s invisible?” she asks. “Like Breezeo?”
“Exactly like that,” I say. “No matter what he says or does, act like he’s nothing but air.”
“I can do that,” she says with a nod. “And now since I’m a snowflake, I don’t even got ears. I don’t hear nothing.”
“Good girl.”
The guy tries. Jesus, does he try.
More than once I want to haul off and punch him in the fucking mouth for what he says in front of my daughter. Are you drinking again? Still getting high? Why’d you assault that reporter? Are you pissed off the world has learned your dirty little secret? Cute kid, why’d you try to hide her? Are you ashamed of her mother or something?
My footsteps stall in front of the school, and I look down at Madison. “Go on inside.”
I try to let go of her hand, but she resists, squeezing me tighter, tugging. “No, you gotta come, too.”
“I have to come inside?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Just ‘cuz,” she says, pulling as hard as she can, trying to get me to budge. I concede, following her inside, letting her lead me to her classroom.
“Shouldn’t I have to sign in at the office or something?” I ask. “Show ID? They don’t just let adults roam the halls, do they?”
“I dunno,” she says, shrugging.
“Well, that clears that up…”
She pulls me into the classroom, stopping right at the doorway. “Ta-da!”
I glance down at her, confused, as everyone in the classroom looks at us. “Is it career day or something?”
“No, silly,” Madison says. “Show & Tell!”
“What?”
“We can bring a favorite thing so we can show each other,” she says, explaining Show & Tell to me, like she thinks I’m just not getting it. “But nothing too expensive, ‘cuz it could get stole, but I didn’t pay nothing for you.”
“You brought me for Show & Tell?” I ask incredulously. “I thought you brought Breezeo.”
The moment I say that, it clicks.
I’m the Breezeo she brought today.
“Duh,” Madison says. “Mrs. Appleton, can I do my Show & Tell now? ‘Cuz I can’t keep him in my backpack ‘till lunch.”
The teacher doesn’t seem to have any idea of what to say, so she just waves at Madison, giving her permission. Madison pulls me to the front of the classroom as the bell rings.
“This is my daddy, but he’s not just my daddy. He’s also Breezeo. The real Breezeo!”
There are a few ohhs and ahhs, but a little boy in the back scoffs. “He doesn’t look like Breezeo.”
“Well, he is,” Madison says before looking at me. “Right, Daddy?”
Talk about awkward. “Right.”
The teacher clears her throat. “Questions come afterward, guys. Not during the presentation.”
I look at the woman with disbelief. “Questions?”
She nods, mildly amused.
“First, I got my daddy… I dunno when,” Madison says, brow furrowing as she thinks about that. Guess I don’t fit into the format. “When I was a baby, I think, but I didn’t know ‘till I was five. And, uh, I think my mommy gave him to me.”
The teacher is trying very hard not to laugh.
“Second, he was made by his mommy and daddy, but I don’t know them,” Madison says. “And third, he’s one of my favorite things ‘cuz he’s my daddy. And ‘cuz he’s Breezeo. So thank you for listening and raise your hands if you have questions.”
Way too many hands shoot up, including the teacher’s aide lurking in the back of the classroom. Madison grins, bubbling with excitement from being the center of attention.
“Can I get a chair?” I ask. “I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a while.”
After my ass is planted in a seat, the questions start. Is Breezeo really real? Can he go invisible? When did he become Breezeo? How come he doesn’t look like him? Madison answers them the best she can, but I chime in occasionally to clarify that I’m, in fact, not actually a superhero.