I married a woman with a baby. Eighteen years later, she left me. But her daughter chose to spend the holidays with me.
It was three in the afternoon on December 22nd. There I was, still in my pyjamas, eating cornflakes straight out of the box, when I heard a key turning in the front door.
Oh, hell. Kate still had a key.
But it wasnt Kate. It was Emilywith two massive suitcases and her battered university rucksack.
Hi, Dad.
I fumbled the cereal box, sending a shower of cornflakes across the sofa.
Emily? What?
Im moving in. She thudded the cases down. Well, if youre alright with that. If not, things could get a bit awkward because Ive already dragged all my stuff here.
I shot off the sofa so suddenly my head spun.
Moving in? Does your mum know?
Of course. We had the talk. She did air quotes, smirking. I told her I want to live here. Because this has always felt like home to me. Kate cried, I cried, it was a mess, but she understood.
But
Dad. She fixed me with the look she reserved for moments of utmost seriousness. Mums got her shiny new flatminimalist, all white, like youre trespassing in a display home if you set down a cup. Here, I can put my coffee down wherever and nobody has a meltdown.
Oi, I do clean you know.
Of course you do. Thats exactly why there are three mugs in the lounge.
She had a point. There were at least six more in the kitchen.
Besides she continued, shrugging off her coat, someones got to make sure you dont subsist entirely on takeaway curries and loneliness.
I laughed, though my throat tightened.
I eat with chopsticks sometimes. That must count for something.
That counts as basic survival, not living.
Emily was already inspecting the kitchen.
Oh, Dad, its worse than I thought. She opened the fridge. Soy sauce, three lagers, and is that out-of-date yoghurt? Honestly, Dad, thats tragic.
Its only been there a couple of weeks.
It says March.
March was, okay, youve got a point.
She turned to me arms akimbo, just like when she was eight and bossing me about her plaits.
Right. Tomorrow were off to Sainsburys. Tonight, we order a proper pizza, like civilised people. You still got the number for that place with the extra cheese?
On speed dial.
Knew it.
As we waited for the pizza, she paraded around the house like an estate agent.
Your room is a tip, Dad, but mine looks just the same. She grinned, standing in the doorway to her old bedroom. You even left my embarrassing old posters up.
You put them there, love. I wouldnt dare touch your stuff.
She paused, taking in the wonky posters, the photos, the desk cluttered with battered paperbacks.
You know whats funny? Mum offered to let me arrange the new flat however I wanted, she said. But she sat on the bed, its already the way I want it here. This is mine.
I joined her.
Emily, you dont have to stay out of pity. Honestly, Im alright.
Dont be daft. This isnt pity. She gave me a gentle shove. Its because when I took my first steps, you had your arms open. When I got nightmares, you let me curl up in your bed. When I finished sixth form, you were the one sobbing buckets, not me.
Wasnt that bad.
Dad, you went through an entire box of tissues.
I had hay fever.
Thats not even a plausible lie.
She smiled and rested her head on my shoulder.
Youre my dadnot the bloke who happened to contribute half my DNA, but the man who gave me everything else. Now that youre rattling around this big old house, eating sad cereal in your pyjamas, did you really think I was going to leave you like that? Not a chance.
My voice caught.
I love you, kid.
Love you too, old man. But seriously, were cleaning the house tomorrow. It smells weird in here.
Christmas Eve arrived and Emily made good on her threat, dragging me out to Sainsburys.
Were having a proper dinner. No takeaway boxes tonight.
But its tradition
The new tradition is real food. Come on.
We loaded up the trolley with enthusiasmto the point of mild panic on my part.
Are we sure we actually know how to cook all this? I asked.
Of course not. But weve got the internet, and weve got courage. Thats plenty.
It wasnt.
The turkey was raw in the middle and scorched on the outside. The mash could have passed for wallpaper paste. The vegetables had the textureand tasteof burnt toast.
We stared in silence at the disaster zone that was our Christmas Eve dinner.
Well, Emily said, theres always
Takeaway?
Takeaway.
We ate straight out of the boxes, laughing over our culinary fiasco, and honestly, it was the best Christmas Eve Id had in months.
You know what? I said. I think weve started a new tradition.
We attempt to cook something fancy, produce a total disaster, and end up ordering takeaway.
Perfect.
After dinner, she handed me a tiny box.
Go on, open it. Your present.
Inside was a house key, attached to a lopsided, handmade keyring that read Home.
My spare key. So its officialI live here now. She grinned. Its a bit bent, but it was made with love.
I hugged her fiercely.
Its perfect.
Oi, youre crushing me.
Shush and let me enjoy the moment.
She laughed and hugged me back.
Thanks for everything, Dad. For all these eighteen years. For never leaving. For just being you.
Thank you for choosing to stay.
Always.
That night, I lay awake turning the new key over in my hand.
Kate had goneand that still hurt.
But Emily stayed.
And that that meant everything.
