How I fell, part eleven.
The Monday following Matt’s wedding, D sent me a text saying he wanted me to meet his daughter. That night.
Considering I just met his parents a week before that, 2 things were happening in my mind. 1. Yeah, things were certainly faster than I was used to. And 2., my nerves were shot.
I was nervous to meet his parents, but even more nervous to meet his daughter. I have about ZERO experience with kids.
Considering D told me she didn’t like The Biebs (absolute bullshit), I resorted to the only other thing I had got: bribery. And I went to Justice.
D gave me about 5 hours notice on this meeting, so I ran to the mall on my lunch break, walked into Justice, bee-lining it for a sales clerk.
“I am meeting my boyfriend’s 6 year old daughter tonight and I wanted to get her a little gift and I am clueless,” I screamed.
Once we determined that I didn’t want to buy clothes, I was directed toward the accessories and told which items were “super popular.”
In the end, I purchased a wristlet (pink and white polka dot covered in glitter, complete with a hot green initial on it), purple cheetah shoelaces, and two rhinestoned pink and purple friendship bracelets. I wrapped it all in hot pink wrapping paper and brought it with me to the pizza place.
Upon arrival, she was super shy, which is out of character from what I’d been told. She didn’t want to look at me, and was asking D things to ask me.
“Why don’t you ask her, she’s right there,” he told her.
Eventually, she came around and we talked about her school and the tooth fairy (did you know when you look at the tooth fairy, she becomes invisible?).
“Holly is a rabbit, she eats salads,” D told her when our food arrived.
She was shocked to learn that rabbits eat salads.
When she was finished with her meal, I handed over the gift. I am convinced it could have been a box of turds and she would have loved it if it, as long as it had a Justice tag on it.
After dinner we walked around some, going to the bookstore. I had fun looking at Barbie books with her (we picked out the Barbies wearing the prettiest dresses). Finally, we went to see Oz.
Of course, our order at the concession stand made me laugh—she made sure she got the BLUE Sour Punch Straws. When we got to the theatre, she insisted on sitting between us, which resulted in a 2-hour long popcorn fight between D and I, behind her back.
According to his daughter, her daddy is “OBSESSED” with butter.
At the end of the night, D told me he was glad to see us get along. He seemed extra sweet, telling me he “just spent a great evening with the two most important ladies in his life.”
I enjoyed hanging out as a threesome so much, I asked D if him and her would like to come over the following Monday night to make pizzas. They said yes.
Just a few days later, D shared some bad news with me—his grandpa was dying of cancer. As he told me, his eyes filled with tears.
He didn’t have much time left.
I told him to keep me posted, and to let me know if there was anything I could do. His grandfather was diagnosed with cancer and was given a few months to live, and then two weeks later, was placed under Hospice care.
D took his daughter to visit his grandpa in Hospice, and they made it to my house for the planned pizza night.
I was excited and nervous to host what we eventually started calling “Family Night.” I had made the dough the day before (from scratch) and purchased every possible pizza topping imaginable.
I even RedBox’d a movie, got some sparkling apple cider, and some ice cream.
D and his daughter arrived late (typical and annoying), to find my dining table covered in flour, with 3 balls of dough plopped in various corners.
“We have to roll the dough?” D asked. “When we go to the restaurant, they have it rolled for us.”
“Do I look like a professional pizza chef?” I asked, handing his daughter the floured rolling-pin.
Despite the initial ‘tude from D and his skepticism of my pizza crust, the pizzas all turned out great, and we all had a great evening.
When they left for the evening, D sent me a text, “Thank you for being a wonderful woman.”
Less than a week later, D’s grandpa was given only hours to live.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Posted on August 20, 2013, in The Squeeze and tagged dating, family, heartbreak, Holly A. Phillips, How to Make Lemonade, life, love, pizza, relationships, The Bitter Lemon, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.