I rubbed my eyes and blinked at the clock. 10:32. Yes, I had definitely overslept. I’d intended to wake up two hours earlier and make breakfast for my daughter, something I hadn’t done in years. It was a part of her formative years, part of our family tradition that I would wake up early on weekend mornings and make breakfast for my family. Pancakes and sausage and eggs and toast- a full, hearty breakfast that any family would be able to enjoy some time around the table with. Lots of laughter had been had during our morning family breakfasts, back when Amity was younger and Mother Rose was alive. I’d decided to resurrect the tradition as a way to kick off her special day. When I realized how badly I’d overslept, I felt like a heel. Amity tapped on my door and repeated my name again. More aware of myself now, I answered her. “Sorry, sweetheart! Dad’s getting up! Sorry!”
“No worries,” she said pleasantly through the door as I scrambled to put on some pants and a t-shirt. “The box just arrived a few minutes ago. It’s too heavy this time and I was wondering if you would mind bringing it in for me?”
“Absolutely!” I called back as I glanced around for a pair of shoes. “I’ll be right out!”
Minutes later I was outside, lugging the big tough box into the house by way of our garage, which had a direct entrance to the kitchen and pantry. Amity waited in the doorway and stepped aside while I struggled to drag it into the kitchen proper. “Be careful, Dad,” she admonished. “You’re not the young buck you used to be.”
“I’m plenty young,” I retorted. “I just need to get back to the weights and into shape again.” With a final surge of strength, I left the box in place and regarded it with scorn. “I’m almost tempted to make dragging THIS thing in the only birthday present you get this year. Happy birthday, by the way, sweetie. I’m sorry for oversleeping. I was gonna make breakfast for you and everything.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” she said happily. “It’s the thought that counts. Maybe I’ll hold you to that breakfast tomorrow.”
Then I kicked the side of the box. “Okay. So what the hell is in there, anyway? That’s got to be the heaviest one yet!”
“Oh, nothing much,” she answered breezily as she grabbed a small pair of bolt cutters with which she could snap the seal-ties on the box, “just some bricks and a few bags of concrete.”
“What?”
My daughter giggled. “Not really, Dad. Sheesh, you’re so gullible sometimes. It’s just some books that I’ve been wanting to read. Out-of-print stuff that I couldn’t find online. Sort of a birthday present to myself.”
“Must be some really old stuff,” I mused.
Amity shrugged. “Old enough for the Internet to not get around to digitizing it yet.” She applied the business end of the bolt cutters and, with two solid snips, kicked the box’s lid open. Inside was a wide assortment of items, but I could plainly see some thick-looking books at the bottom. My eyes, however, were drawn to a couple boxes of tampons. Amity followed my gaze and blushed. “And now you know why I prefer to unpack these things alone…”
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