Mack Daddy(88)

As I sit here writing this, I’m preparing to marry her tomorrow in a small ceremony with just our closest family and friends. You won’t be there to walk her down the aisle. Instead, she’s going to be walking toward me alone. That’s her choice and representative of the strong, independent spirit she’s always had.

I’m not sure if writing this letter is a mistake or not. I’m not even sure what has prompted me to write you tonight. Maybe it’s because, as a father, I truly understand that no matter how many times we fuck up, the one constant is our love for our children.

I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about your daughter’s well-being. She will always be taken care of and will never want for anything ever again—especially love from a man.

Take care of yourself, and I hope this letter brings you even an ounce of the peace that your daughter has brought to me.



Sincerely, M.M.





THREE YEARS LATER

“Remember those stories you used to tell…the ones about Frankie? How come you don’t write those anymore?”

I love that my son called her Frankie, too.

“I guess real life is more exciting than any adventures that Frankie Four Eyes could possibly have. Frankie Four Eyes married Mackenzie Magic, and they lived happily ever after. The End.”

“You should dig them up and read them to Joy when she can understand,” Jonah said.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe we can bring them back when she’s old enough to comprehend.”

Despite my having boasted about my plans to knock Frankie up, it took us a while to actually conceive. I was scared that it wouldn’t be in the cards for us. But our little miracle was born a little over two years after we got married.

I’d always dreamt that I’d have a daughter with the same red hair as her mother. Turned out, my beautiful baby girl was meant to look just like me instead. She did have Frankie’s pudgy nose, though. It made me laugh to see my wife’s cute nose on a little human who otherwise looked like me. It was like our own special version of Face Swap.

Joy Elena had just turned one and was starting to walk. Jonah was holding his sister’s hands and stood behind her to make sure she wouldn’t fall. Having a little sister to watch over and protect had given my son a new purpose and helped take his mind off of himself. Jonah still struggled with his anxiety disorder but had made a lot of progress in the past few years.

I’d come up with the name Joy for obvious reasons. I would always thank Frankie for bringing Joy into my life, and having our daughter gave new meaning to that. Her middle name, Elena, was after Mrs. Migillicutty, who’d passed away suddenly around the time Joy was born. My former neighbor had elected to have her ashes distributed amongst the various people she cared about. Some time after her death, we received a notice from her family that we were one of the recipients of some of those ashes. When the small urn was delivered to our house, it was clear that even in death, Mrs. M. could manage to make us laugh. There was a note included that said, Keep me somewhere at the bar. Just don’t mistake me for margarita salt. We decided to keep her ashes inside a bottle of her favorite rum in a special spot.

On this particular night, I was in my glory. I had my wife, mother, son, and daughter with me. We were celebrating Joy’s first birthday. Earlier, we’d watched as she smashed her little chubby hand repeatedly into her very own special cake, making a huge mess.

Frankie was loving being a stay-at-home mother. Even though she never returned to teaching full-time, she tutored on the side in the evenings and planned to go back to graduate school eventually to become an OCD therapist.

We were still estranged from my father, who’d just been re-elected to public office. While his political career thrived, his personal life remained a mess as we continued to live our lives separated from him. To the best of my knowledge, he’d followed through with all of his promises, including discreetly seeking therapy. Torrie still worked for him, but overall, my relationship with her had turned into a cordial but distant one. After the intervention at my father’s office, the question of Jonah’s paternity was never brought up again.

Joy inched her way toward me with wobbly legs. Jonah was right behind her every step of the way, leading his sister straight into my arms. I lifted my daughter up and kissed her chubby, rosy cheeks that still smelled like sugary frosting. She’d taught me that I had an even greater capacity to love than I’d ever thought possible.

Frankie plopped down onto the couch next to us. She looked over at my mother. “Did you notice that Joy has the same twin toes as Jonah?”