~This story was previously published in Hobart: Another Literary Journal (2011).
We see Daddy on Sundays at lunch. Sometimes Wednesdays, too, from eight until nine, if Mommy lets us watch the reruns.
This season it's harder to get her to let us watch. Last time, Mommy didn’t care. For awhile, she even thought it was funny. In the first episode, when Daddy came walking out with his new hair and his eyes with make-up like the TV ladies, Mommy yelled "ohmygod" and almost spilled her wine and then called Aunt Lisa and shouted into the phone so much I almost couldn't hear Daddy explaining how he was looking for his real, one and only Rockin’ Rockabye Baby and how he'd have to send one sexy lady home each week, and how this time he really wanted to find love.
Mommy thought that was the funniest part of all.
This year, Mommy says no way are we watching. “Why would you want to watch that?” she says.
“It’s Daddy,” I say.
She makes that huffy sound like she thinks something is funny but really she doesn’t. “You're not old enough to watch this stuff,” she says.
“Old enough like Sixx?” I say, and without trying I look toward my brother’s room.
“I shouldn’t have let you guys watch this show last year,” she says, looking at Sixx’s door and then down at the floor.
“It's Daddy,” I say.
Mommy makes the funny noise again, shakes her head and lights a cigarette right in the house. But she lets me watch.
Later that night when she thinks I’m sleeping, I can hear Mommy watching Daddy in the living room.