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Gift wrap covered the living room floor, turning the rental into a multicolored fun house. Holland half expected a clown to pop out of the closet or break through the boarded up windows. Holly had more presents than one little girl could have possibly needed, which covered the kitchen table and the surrounding floor.
It was partially Healy’s fault. He’d spoiled her. Holland did too, but on her birthday. Not three weeks later.
—
That morning, when Healy showed up to pick March up for work and Holly up for school, he’d brought the packages in. And who did he think he was, bringing packages in like he lived there? Sure he had a key, but it nagged at Holland.
“Why don’t you just move in while you’re at it?” he muttered.
Healy raised an eyebrow like he was actually considering it. Did he think Holland had meant it? That would be ridiculous. Where could they even put him? Holland’s room? Holland’s bed?
Holland continued to grumble to himself as Healy moved to the kitchen to cook breakfast, like he owned the place, and Holland tore into the boxes. Inside were neatly wrapped packages and a card bearing Holly’s name, near indecipherable cursive on the envelope.
Holly, mouth full of bacon stolen straight from the pan, cheered as she spotted it. “Grandma sent presents?”
“Of course she did,” Holland said. The ‘She doesn’t trust me to do it without her daughter there,' left unspoken.
Holland was a bad parent, and a bad person, and he knew that. He was intimately familiar with how shitty he was, and how much of a crap job he did taking care of Holly the way she deserved. But he tried. He tried so damn hard, even when it hurt, even when he got it wrong. He wasn’t so much of a fuckup that he’d forget his daughter’s birthday. Even without Holly’s daily reminders leading up to the day. He bought presents. He bought lots of presents. So what if they were wrapped in newspaper the morning of Holly’s party? He didn’t need a woman who’d never even met Holly, who sniffed and sneered all through the wedding then never once deigned to leave her prissy posh “flat” to come “to the colonies” for a visit, even when Holly was a brand new baby, to step in and pretend to save the day. At least, he consoled himself, her boxes had arrived late.
Plates clattered in the kitchen as Healy dished out the bacon and eggs. He knew where the plates were. Fuck, why didn’t he just move in?
Holly tore open the envelope, tactfully pretending to read the card even while holding the fifty dollar bill that came in it.
“Go eat your breakfast,” Holland said.
Holly carefully arranged the card on the mantle, money already tucked in her pocket. “Can’t I open the rest of these first?”
“You’d be late for school.”
“Since when do you care if I’m late for school?”
“Since Healy’s being nice enough to drop you off.”
“But we were late yesterday because you couldn’t find the tie you wanted!”
Healy came in with three plates, sitting himself down at the table and carefully ignoring the fight.
“Mr. Healy, can’t we be a little extra late today.”
Holland did his best to send a telepathic absolutely not into Healy’s mind.
“Not today, kid. We’ve got a big meeting this morning. Big, important case.”
Did they? Holland didn’t remember any meeting, or any big case. They had a rich old bat with a lost dog and a huge payout, but that wasn’t until the afternoon.
“Eat your breakfast,” said Holland.
She groaned and rolled her eyes in the biting way only teenage girls were capable of, but did as she was told.
Once Holly was safely through the school gates, Healy pulled out onto the highway. He was a good driver, thought Holland. It had nothing to do with how good he looked when he did it, one confident hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the door panel and rolled down window like he didn’t have a care in the world, sharp blue eyes trained on the road ahead like he was staring down a suspect. Holland could think of someone else that Healy could stare at like that. Because fuck. He’d never imagined that someone could be an attractive driver before.
He didn’t want to dwell on Healy and his driving. He didn’t want to let the way Healy tapped along to the beat of the radio to distract him from the bad mood he deserved to be allowed to wallow in.
They pulled into the mall parking lot.
“Where are we going?” Holland asked. “We didn’t have anything planned until the afternoon.”
“Where does it look like we are?” asked Healy, shutting off the car.
“Why are we at the mall,” Holland huffed.
“To shop,” Healy said, the crinkle beside his eye giving away the fact that he was being deliberately obtuse.
Fucking obtuse. Fucking Healy and his word of the day calender. Fucking Healy making Holland learn all these fucking words with him. Fuck.
“Why?” Holland said, and definitely did not whine.
Healy got out and shut the car door with a heavy slam. “To buy a birthday gift for your daughter,” said Healy. “Sit here and pout all you want, I’ll be back when I’m done.”
“I’m not pouting!” said Holland.
“Sure you aren’t.”
“Fuck you, I’m not!”
“What do you call that expression then?”
Fucking Healy. Holland got out of the car.
The mall was crowded. Horribly, horribly crowded. Crawling with people, with teenagers, cutting class. As faulty of a parent as he was, at least Holly actually went to school. Even when he didn’t drive her there, couldn't drive her there, couldn’t get out of bed or whatever whiskey soaked stupor he was in, his resilient little girl found her own way to school. To the grocery store. To anywhere she needed to go. God, he was so proud of her. And god did he wish he could be better for her.
“So, what do I get her?” Healy asked.
“Why are you asking me?”
“I barely know the kid. Give me some ideas here. What does she like?”
“You probably know about as much as I do.”
Healy scoffed. “If you don’t want me to get her a gift just say so, don’t pull that passive aggressive shit with me.”
Holland, who hadn’t been being passive aggressive, went quiet. The badly behaved teenagers shrieked and chattered around him and the noise made him desperately want a cigarette. So, he took one out. Lit it. Passed another one to Healy before he even asked.
At least, he consoled himself, he didn’t have the panging headache of a hangover on top of the noise. He’d been trying to cut back again. He’d fail and get back to it soon enough, but for now he only had only the mild withdrawal to contend with as he tried to wean himself off the heavier drinking.
“Books. She likes to read. She’s been on a classics kick lately.”
“Alright, books. We’ll start at the bookstore.”
The bookstore had fewer delinquents than the main plaza of the mall. Holland was more than glad to be away from them. Healy was squinting at the spines of books on the shelves, small glasses perched on the end of his nose, making him look even more like the old man he was. Why was it cute? Why did Holland think it was cute? He wanted a drink, but the cigarette dangling from his lip was all he had to calm himself down at that moment. It would have to do. But the craving was making him feel snippy.
Healy pulled a book from the shelf, read the back cover, then slid it back into place.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I didn’t bring anything to the party.”
“Why,” Holland repeated, “are you doing this?”
Healy shrugged. “What’s the story with that grandma?”
Holland scowled. “Not much. Sends gifts on her birthday and Christmas. That’s about it.”
“Good gifts?”
Holland shrugged. “Expensive ones. Lots of them.”
Healy hummed.
“Why are you doing this?” Holland asked one more time.
“I want to.”
Holland narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want to! What’s so hard to believe about that?”
It wasn’t hard to believe. It wasn’t hard to love Holly. It was as easy to love Holly as it was to hate Holland. That was what Holland was worried about.
“She’s gonna read into it. It’s not her birthday party.”
Healy paused, book pulled halfway off the shelf, to raise an eyebrow at him. “So?”
Holland twitched. “So? So!” He grumbled a bit. “Look, just don’t get her hopes up.”
A present from an absent grandmother mailed halfway across the world was one thing, presents at a party was another, but a belated birthday present from a father’s… partner? Coworker that had a house key and knew the drive to her school and friends houses without even needing to check a map anymore? Person that cooked breakfast and had spare clothes folded neatly in one of Holland’s dresser drawers? Whatever Healy was, a birthday present from him would be something entirely different. It might mean something to her. Make her think Healy was planning to stick around when Holland knew damn well it was only a matter of time before Healy got sick of him.
Healy watched him for a moment. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
—
“No way!” Holly said, pulling out a heavy-looking book. “I’ve been wanting to read this one!”
The book joined the present pile alongside the other books, clothes, candies, and various trinkets Holly’s grandma had sent. All of them had been set aside without much interest, which Holland was internally glad about. She’d been much more excited about the things he’d given her weeks before, and even if she claimed to be too old for the plush bear, he’d seen it tucked beside her when he checked on her after she’d fallen asleep each night since her birthday. Take that, Grandma.
“Seriously, Mr. Healy, how’d you know?” she continued.
“I’m a detective,” he said, with an aloofness that Holland couldn’t help but find charming. “I have an eye for these things. Open the next one,” he continued, nodding to the second of the three messily wrapped parcels.
Holland and Healy had done their best but their best had included the use of an entire roll of tape.
Holly tore into the package, pulling out…
“You got her a knife?” Holland wheezed.
Healy shrugged. “It’s a good starter pocket knife. Not too big, easy to hold. It won’t pop open in her bag, I tightened the latch.”
“I love it!” said Holly, flicking the knife open and closed.
It was true, the latch was more secure than most pocket knives. But it was still a knife!
“You can’t give my daughter a knife! She’s thirteen!”
“I got my first knife at seven,” said Healy.
“Can’t I keep it? Please?”
She was pulling out the puppy eyes. Holland saw the logic in the gift. She was a young lady now, and Healy knew how much he worried about her. Holland didn’t dislike the idea of her having a way to protect herself. If anything, the gift was just as much for him as it was for her.
Holland sighed. “Fine, but only if you promise to be responsible. And you’re not taking that to school.”
Holly grinned in a way that clearly meant no promises. “Calm down, dad. Mr. Healy will teach me how to use it.”
“He will?” asked Healy.
“Oh, he will,” said Holland.
“One more from me,” said Healy, pushing the last parcel toward her.
The final present emerged from its package as Holly tore the paper, cooing in delight at the bottles inside, nail polishes in as many varying shades as Holland and Healy could find. She picked up the bottles one by one, testing the hues against the light.
“I need to try all of them! Dad, gimme your hands.”
Holland clutched his hands to his chest protectively. “No way!”
“I only have ten fingers and there’s more polishes than that. I need a canvas. Please?” She started to shake the bottles and mix up the polish.
Holland moved to hide his hands under his arms. “I have to work! What are clients going to think?”
“That you’re a cool guy who doesn’t care what people think and stuff?”
“Don’t say and stuff. Do you want me to get beat up?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please?” she asked again, drawing out the word.
Before Holland could firmly shut the idea down, Healy chucked and passed a hand over to her. “You think I’d look alright with some polish?”
She grinned, a big blinding smile. “Pick a color!”
Healy selected a frosted blue polish, and Holly’s smile remained as she finished mixing the bottle. Carefully, she started to paint Healy’s nails with smooth strokes.
Holland watched the scene. A big guy like Healy probably had nothing to worry about in terms of getting beat up. Holland sure as hell wouldn’t make any comments about painted nails on a guy like Healy. Well, he would, but he would also regret it right after. Still, he knew he’d face some judging looks over it.
“Did I tell you what my friend Janet said yesterday?” she asked.
“No, what?” Healy asked, watching his nails as the brush turned them bluer with every stroke. “She’s the one you hate, yeah?”
“Yeah, she’s the worst! Anyway, Jessica likes Scott, right?”
“Right. The boy with the long hair.”
“Exactly. Well, Janet said that Scott is a heathen, and that Jessica was an idiot for liking him! And then she said they couldn’t be friends anymore!”
“It’s not like she’s dating him.”
“Right? It’s so stupid. Anyway, then Jessica said…”
Holland tuned them out as he kept watching. Healy looked perfectly content to sit and listen to Holly’s gossip, even joining in with information he’d gleaned from past conversations. He looked so at ease. So domestic. Like sitting at Holland’s kitchen table letting Holly paint his nails was exactly where he belonged, where he wanted to be.
Holland still couldn't trust that Holly’s heart, and his own for that matter, wouldn’t end up breaking once more, but he started to relax. To accept that maybe he didn’t need to be so worried.
“Blow on them,” Holly ordered. “They need to dry before you touch anything.”
Healy obeyed.
“Dad, you’re next. You guys can match.”
Holland sighed. “Do I have to?”
“You don’t want to match?” teased Healy.
“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I want that yellow one,” said Holland.
“What if I want to match?” asked Healy.
Holland considered it, then passed his hand over. “I’ll take the blue.”
That night, Holly carefully arranged her book, pocket knife, and nail polish collection on her dresser as Holland made up a bed for Healy on the couch.
“I don’t know,” said Healy. “We’re working all day tomorrow looking for that dog.”
“Exactly, stay here and we can get an early start.”
“I don’t know if my back can take that tonight.”
Holland stood there, spare pillow in hand as Healy hovered near the door.
“You take my bed then.”
“And have you complaining about your sore back tomorrow? This couch is shit, Holland.”
“Don’t blame me, the place came furnished.” He yawned and stretched. “Come on, we can just share my bed.”
Healy thought about it, then seemed to make up his mind faster than Holland expected, toeing off his shoes by the door and following Holland back to his room.
They got ready for bed. Holland went to check on Holly one more time. She was reading the book from Healy, bedside lamp still on and plush bear tucked under her arm.
“Don’t forget to put away your presents from Grandma.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll do it later.” She didn’t even look up from her book, too into the reading.
Holland knew well by now that ‘later’ to a teenager meant ‘probably never.’ It said a lot about what Holly thought of the stuff.
“Don’t stay up too late, sweetheart. See you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
He shut the door behind him. He got into bed. The dip in the mattress and warmth radiating from the man beside him felt right.