Tea Party

“No!” Julia cried, pulling me with surprising strength out of one of the pillow chairs. “Mr. Wiggles sits there.” She pointed defiantly with a miniature finger to the opposite side of the table. “Daddy, you sit over there.” 

Acquiescing to her demands, I seated myself between Miss Pink-Hair Barbie and Theodore the stuffed bear. There were six total guests my daughter had invited: me, the aforementioned Barbie and bear, Mr. Wiggles (a miniature car sales balloon figure from whom the quiet hum emanated), an ostentatious Build-A-Bear named Jules she had dressed in 18th century aristocratic attire, and a sagging rag doll that Julia’s mother had handed down to her. Then there was Julia herself, muttering as she shuffled all her guests into the right order and adjusted Theodore to sit up properly. Once everything was to her satisfaction, she took a step back to admire her handiwork, and I felt her critical eye survey my overlarge size for her regular affairs. I must have looked very out of place: I was a middle-aged man with dark hair graying early, knees towering over the low wooden table, and back hunched over to accommodate the hanging sheets overhead. It was certainly uncomfortable. But it seemed like I saw her less and less those days, and with the news of Emily… I wanted to make my daughter happy, and I was willing to suffer the awkward way that I fit into her tea time picture. 

With a huff, Julia began distributing the plates. They were paper, since I wouldn’t let her climb onto the counters to reach the real plates, and when I offered to get them for her she shot me down, saying, “It’s my party. I get the plates.” So she settled on the paper plates that Emily kept on the bottom shelf of the cupboard, easily accessible. Once each of us had a plate, she placed mugs and cups in front of us, varying in shape, size, and color. I peered into mine, then glanced around. There were no tea bags anywhere to be seen. Did we even own any tea bags? 

“Dearly beloved,” Julia started, her voice gravely serious. She stood at the head of the table, eyes half closed, hands steepled in front of her chest. One eye peeked open to see me staring at her and she pouted. She motioned for me to copy her and waited until I reluctantly put the palms of my hands together in front of me, just like her. “Dearly beloved,” she tried again. “Thank you for this food.” I suppose she was trying to pray. “Thank you for this tea.” I didn’t know where she got the idea from, seen as Emily and I both didn’t think or talk much about faith. We had certainly never gone to church together as a family. “Thank you for Daddy…” Maybe she had seen it on television. Or maybe the neighbor girl had prayed before a meal while babysitting her. “...And thank you for Mommy.” I didn’t even know if Julia knew about the concept of a God. “I love them forever like they love me too.” My stomach turned and I let my eyelids flutter open to glance at my daughter again. Even with her face completely focused on the task at hand, her youth betrayed her innocence. I closed my eyes again. “The end.” I may not have been a religious person, but I figured Julia had done well in her prayer to whomever. She may have gotten some things wrong, but she had the spirit. For half a second, I stayed where I was, eyes closed, head bowed. If there was a God, it was worth a try. Please don’t let this hurt her too much. 

Julia clapped her hands together once after her makeshift prayer. “Okay! Are you ready for the tea party?”

I grinned at her widely. “Of course! And I think Mr. Wiggles is too. Look, he’s practically dancing in anticipation!”

My daughter stared at the machine, then at me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t make fun of Mr. Wiggles. He can’t help it.”

After letting my scolding set in, Julia returned to her cheery self, lifting her sippy cup in a toast before pretending to slurp down the imaginary tea stored within it. I followed suit with my plastic cup before making a show of a satisfied burp. Julia’s giggles brought a smile to my lips as I set the drink back on the table. But the glee I reciprocated quickly faded as I noticed Emily’s old rag doll next to my daughter. Its beaded eyes bore into me, strings fraying from them like black tears. Its braided, wiry pigtails drooped over its shoulders, pulling its head down into a glare. I swallowed. 

“Julia,” I finally said, interrupting her snorting chuckles. She took a moment to calm herself, but my tone must have conveyed some sort of urgency, because she did so quickly. Silence followed, narrated by the constant hum of Mr. Wiggles. I took a deep breath to order my thoughts. I had to tell her, and I had to tell her the right way. Play it too easily, and she would misunderstand. Deliver the cold, hard truth to her, and who knows how that would affect her psychologically in the long run? 

“Julia,” I said again, as a final effort to compose myself. “I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes widened with a hint of fear. 

“You’re not in trouble,” I assured her. “It’s just… Well, it’s about your mother.”

Mr. Wiggles hummed. The rag doll watched me.

“...Do you ever get really mad? Or annoyed, or sad, or anything like that? And you want to do something that you know isn’t right. You want to yell at me or your mom, or throw one of your toys, or scream at the top of your lungs until everything works out again.”

My daughter stared at me with the same bewildered eyes, and I doubted whether I was doing the right thing. I could lie. I could say it was a vacation. I could say there was an accident. I could say that fairies kidnapped her overnight. 

I sighed. “Julia, sometimes people ignore the part of them that says they shouldn’t do something. Sometimes you do. Sometimes I do. And what happens then? It hurts the people around us. The people we love. The people that love us.” I grabbed my plastic cup and stared into the bottom of it, searching for the right words. I took another breath, but it came shakily. When I continued speaking, my voice wavered. “Your mother chose to ignore that little voice that tells her when something is wrong. Like you and I sometimes do. And, well… She left.” I looked back up at Julia to see if she was understanding. 

She hugged herself tightly, her fingers digging into her arms. “What do you mean?”

“Mommy’s gone, sweetie. She packed her stuff and left a note and said she wasn’t coming back. It’s just you and me now.”

Julia’s gaze diverted to the table with its plates and cups. “I’ll clean this up now.”

“Things will be different for a while,” I said as she started gathering everything. “But we’ll get used to it. I’m going to work less hours so I can be with you after school, and I’ll need you to be cooperative. That means cleaning up after yourself, okay? This is a good start.”

She started to walk away, the plates piled under her arm and the cups balanced in her hands. 

“Julia. Julia, look at me.” I waited for her to turn around. “This doesn’t mean that Mommy doesn’t love you. She’s just… confused. Do you understand?” I asked again, with a more serious tone. “Do you understand?”

She nodded. 

I tried to give her an encouraging smile. “And I hope you’ll invite me back to one of your tea parties. The food was delicious.”

She nodded again and I let her walk away. When I was certain she was gone, I let my head sink into my hands with defeat. But even then, I felt the eyes of the ragdoll staring at me. 

Emily… I found myself praying. Please don’t hurt her too much.