Dinner was finished, the dishes were washed and dried, and we all burrowed ourselves in our rooms for the rest of the evening.
It was late and as the house quieted under the weight of another Monday night, I sat alone in my bedroom. The smell of dinner still wafted through the house, drenching the fabrics with an aroma mimicking a landfill.
Posters of far-away locations littered my walls, while college catalogues were strewn across my desk. A motor kicked on and heat began radiating through my bedroom vents.
Already warm, I moved to my window and opened it to let in a bit of the winter evening air. I found myself standing before the full-length mirror, looking at my frame as the breeze swirled around the room.
Staring, I suddenly felt very curious of the girl reflected back. Slowly, I pulled up my loose, white-cotton tee to just under my bust, further exposing my pink plaid pajama bottoms and bare torso. I examined myself, noticing every flaw and freckle in my pale, eighteen-year-old body.
Deftly, my fingers rolled across my abdomen, and I silently wished I were different. My shirt dropped as my hands cupped my breasts. I was ashamed of the ’32B’ that was printed on the tags of my bras. I could remember when my chest was completely flat and I stood taller than the boys.
A soft tap at my open door startled me and I whirled around.
“Hey princess,” came a gruff voice in the darkness.
“Daddy!” I called, genuinely happy to see him. Nearly in tears at his homecoming, I ran to his side.
“Ugh,” he groaned as my arms snaked around his waist, hugging him as hard as I could. “I’m happy to see you too, Abby.”
“I didn’t know you were coming home tonight,” I murmured, burying my face in his striped button-down shirt.
He pulled me in close, his protective hands holding my head, and his fingers twisting in my long brunette strands as I quietly sank into his touch. With adoration, my blue eyes gazed up at him in the shadowed doorway.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said in a tender voice, gently pushing me to arm’s length. He leaned back into the hall and I heard a rustle from a plastic bag. “I got these for you, sweetheart,” he offered, producing a bouquet of a dozen pink roses.
I giggled at the sight, gingerly taking them from him. I hugged the flowers dearly, smelling the sweet fragrance that lifted from the velvet folds. “They’re beautiful, daddy! And they’re my favorite color! Thank you.”
He smiled warmly, watching me treat the gift as if it were a precious gem. It wasn’t until then I noticed his dark goatee was ashen and untrimmed, his brown eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were wrinkled, holding creases from the long flight he’d just experienced. His body seemed to carry the weight of the world.
“Daddy, you should head to bed,” I ordered sternly, though the command must have been amusing coming from my petite form. At six feet and one inch, dad towered over me by a solid foot and my slim structure paled in comparison to his toned, though not hulking, body.
Exhausted, he nodded. “You’re right, pumpkin. Hop into bed and I’ll tuck you in.” Noticing the flowers still in my hand, he added, “I’ll put your roses in some water for you.”