Daddy walks into the bathroom and I guess He sees something off on my face because He asks if I’m okay. That’s when I lose it. I start crying and He looks at me, confused. Worry in His eyes. I blubber through an explanation. I don’t feel well, I tell Him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel sick. I’ve felt sick all morning and I’m sick of feeling sick. I bury my face in my hands, too exhausted to be embarrassed by my outburst. I feel Him move around the bathroom, but only look up when I hear Him set the water running.
“I’m gonna run you a bath,” He tells me.
I try to argue against it. We were watching a game on TV, and I don’t want to interrupt. But He’s not having it. So I stand in the corner, useless, watching as Daddy sets everything up. He checks the temperature of the water before He helps me climb in and sits at the edge of the tub.
He stays with me for what feels like forever. Makes me laugh in that way that only He can. He splashes water at me and helps me make a beard for myself with the bubbles. I tell Him a story about a circus and a hippo. He tells me about that time with His dog and the thunderstorm. We go back and forth, sharing our favorite memories. That time at summer camp, in the office, on vacation. That time with the curry and an old friend. That time before class, that time at the gym. It’s special in a way I can’t describe, that time we spent in the bathtub with the football faintly playing in the background. Laughing our way through story after story until all the bubbles had popped and I started to feel better. Eventually, Daddy drains the tub, helps me up, and tells me to shower while He cooks something for us.
I come out of the bathroom, wearing my warmest pajamas and fuzziest socks. He has dinner ready and the newest Sherlock episode loaded, so we settle in for the evening. I make it through most of the show before I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. My eyelids begin to flutter shut on their own, and eventually they stay closed.
I must have nodded off on Daddy’s shoulder because the next thing I know, He’s picking me up off the couch and carrying me to His bed. I don’t have the energy to protest, so instead I wrap my arms around His neck as best I can and try to hold on. He lays me down gently, tucks me in tightly. Daddy sits next to me, trailing His fingertips up and down my arm with the lightest touch. If He says anything, my brain doesn’t register it. I’m in a sleep trance, halfway between dreams and consciousness. Some time goes by – a minute, an hour, I don’t know – and I feel Him brush the hair out of my face, kiss my forehead, and get up. My hands instinctively reach out to Him. I think I mumble the word stay, but He reassures me He’ll be back soon.
Hours later, He comes back. I wake up to soft baby kisses on my hand. “Sorry for waking you up, sweetheart,” He says. “Go back to bed.” I roll over and melt into His open arms. “Daddy loves you,” He whispers, as we drift off, together.
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