By Tessa Aldridge

My daughter comes home with two lopsided pigtails and a scraped-up knee. She’s an active girl, so typically I’d assume she just got a little rough with soccer, but the tears in her chocolate brown eyes tell a different story.

“What is it, Pen?” My girl comes racing over and hugs my legs so tightly, the way she used to as a toddler.

“I embarrassed myself in front of Olivia. I told her I thought she was pretty and she said that only gay girls say that. I said, ‘Well, what’s wrong with being a gay girl?’ and then a bunch of kids laughed at me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking girls. You know that. Otherwise, why would Mama and I be married?”

“I know, mommy, but it still hurts my feelings. I thought maybe she would like me back.” I pout my bottom lip and scoop my daughter up into my arms. I release the Barbie pink scrunchies from her strawberry blonde hair and comb the tangles with my fingers. 

“Why don’t we get you all cleaned up with a nice bath, and then we can cuddle in bed, okay?” I ask, and she nods at me. 

I load up the bath with lukewarm water (Pen’s preference… which she once cried over us judging her for) and cotton candy scented bubble bath. When the tub is filled, I throw in a few vibrant rubber ducks, the color of a beautiful childhood. Once she’s all settled, I leave the bathroom door open so she can holler if she needs me, and get some laundry started. My wife always references me as a clean freak, but someone has to get all the stains out of our child’s clothes. 

She wore one of her least favorite dresses today, a pungent orchid with sparkles that enchant one’s vision, but for my girl, the lack of “fluff” makes it “no fun.” Ever since she started first grade this year, she decided she doesn’t like flat dresses. She says it reminds her too much of her mama’s clothes… which are a routine of pencil skirts and button ups.

I hear the drain running by the time I head back to the bathroom, and Pen is shivering in the water. I get her all wrapped up in a neon yellow bathrobe, then carry her to my room so she can lie in the king size bed. She often sleeps with her mama and me in here, so we had to upgrade from a queen to a king once we realized this sleeping arrangement was not temporary. Of course, maybe it would’ve been better to swap our crisp white duvet for something darker, now that we have stains from chocolate muddy buddies and grape juice.

I thought the bath would calm my girl down, but her sobs begin as she lays her head on my stomach. Her little hands wipe at loose boogers, so I grab a few tissues to blow her nose and clean her up. I cradle her head as I lift her up to lay her head on my chest.

“How did you get so lucky?” Pen cries as her choked sobs continue. Her tears stain my ‘Proud Mom’ grey hoodie as she digs her head further into me.

“What do you mean?”

“With mama, you just got it right on the first try.” Her statement causes me to wheeze. My laughter hits me so hard that my stomach hurts more than when my daughter kicked my ribs from the womb. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Sorry baby, I’m not laughing at you… but no, I didn’t get it right on the first try.”

“You cheated on mama?”

“What? No!”

“Mama cheated on you?”

“No one cheated, honey.” I laugh again as I realize her comprehension skills make sense for her age. “Mama dated girls before me. And I dated other girls too.”

There were lots of girls before her mama. There was my Olivia, who I tried to kiss during Spin the Bottle and called me the f slur in front of all our friends. Then there was Rachel, who liked me and was sweet but never was going to come out. Then Maggie, Lucy, and Lainey. Pen doesn’t need to know all those names, just that the first try isn’t the only one that counts.

“But why?” she asks.

“Because it took some time to figure it out, girl! Mama and I both had our own Olivia’s, but you might be unlucky that you got yours a little younger than us.”

“I hate being young.”

“Don’t, darling. There is plenty of time for heartbreak, and it comes at all ages.”

Pen sits up now, her breathing regulated and calm. She tilts her head at me and looks side to side. 

“What, what is it?”

She gnaws on her bottom lip, a habit she got from me, as she says, “so, I still have to go to school tomorrow?”

I chuckle before replying. “Yes baby, heartbreak isn’t an excused absence.”

                                                             *   *   *

Tessa Aldridge is the author of The Psycho in my Heart and The Ones in the Background. She lives in New Jersey, where she just completed her Masters of Fine Arts at William Paterson University.