Dear Santa,

Thank you for the best Christmas ever! The dinner was yummy! It made my tummy so full I couldn't fit any more inside. I never had that feeling before. I like that feeling. My tummy's not mad and growling at me now. It's smiling like my face. My mommy (who's helping me write this) says thank you, too. I never knew Santa could get people good jobs and health insurances and groceries every week! And the new house we're moving into isn't in a scary place anymore. It has a yard and a swing set and I won't have to take the bus on that long ride to school and back. I'll be near my friends. And Mommy can spend more time with me now, too. You must be better than a lightning strike on one hump of a two humped camel because Mommy said that was more likely to happen than ever finding my dad and making him pay for me. But, you made that happen, too. By the way, he called and says the checks will start up next week and said to tell you so the courts, the IRS (I guess he didn't report what he made and someone told) and some guy named Taylor will get off his back.

When I waked up on Christmas I had to rub my eyes over and over, 'cause I thought I was still dreaming, but I wasn't. The lights and the tree and the presents with my name on them were really real life. I never knew dreams could happen when you were awake. Now I do. I knew you were Santa right when I saw you, not because of the red suit or the white furry beard. 'Cause you have kind eyes and you listened to me.

I hope you and Mrs. Claus have a nice vacation after your business trip on your sleigh around the world. It must be tough being the most importantest guy on the earth. I don't care about all that. I'm just glad you're my friend.

Jeremiah

#######

TEN...

"Where is everybody?" I ask Taylor as he loads the SUV with seventeen bags for our four night stay in New York for New Year's. Honestly, how does a four-year-old girl have more luggage than me? How does a hamster? We were supposed to leave twenty-seven minutes ago! I've made a strict itinerary for us to follow so we get everything in—including ample mommy-and-me playtime. Not for the kids. For Ana and me. I've got some surprises in store for my wife that will knock her socks, her stilettos and her La Perla panties off.

"I think Mrs. Grey said she forgot something inside, sir."

"Forgot something inside? The whole house is packed in the back of this thing!" I point to the car. "I think inside forgot most of itself out here!"

A familiar roar steals my attention. Familiar, but smaller. Less lion, more cub.

I feel a swoosh against my pant leg and look down to see two mini Audi R8s driven by my two cubs go whizzing past my legs.

"What are you two doing?" I yell out as Teddy and Phoebe continue to do loops around me. It's like mini me car and driver.

"Races!" Phoebe says as she slams a foot on the pedal. I'm glad to see they're both wearing the helmets I've insisted upon. And so is Chester. I can see him peeking out from the pocket of Phoebe's sweater, wearing a leather bomber jacket and scarf as his fur flies dramatically in the rush of wind. He reminds me of the Red Baron. Either that or Howard Hughes in his Spruce Goose days.

"Stop!" I yell.

They bring their actions to a halt. I'm glad I still hold some authority around here.

"Daddy, I was winning!" Teddy says.

"No you wasn't!" Phoebe yells back. "You were just so far behind you thought you was."

"Kids! You're going in circles, no one is winning!" Especially me. In fact, I'm the one losing sleep and sanity ever since I gave them these things. From sun up to sun down it's like the Audi Daytona 500 around here. "Why are you in your cars right now?"

"Driving to New Yawk," Teddy says. The way he pronounces it he already sounds like a native.

"Well, first of all you're both speeding, not driving, and second of all you don't need to drive anywhere, we're taking the plane."

"But, how will I get around in the big city?" Teddy asks.

"I'll hail you a cab."

"Can I drive a cab when I grow up?" Teddy asks.

"No." He's in an R8 at six and he wants to be a Taxi driver? First a trash man, now this. Where have I gone wrong?

"Why not?"

"Because cab drivers don't drive sports cars and go to college."

"Daddy where's your hat?" Phoebe asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You said we're going to Man-hat-in. Every man's gotta have a hat or he won't get in."

"It's in the car, where we're all supposed to be. Let's go!"

"Can Boone come?" Teddy asks.

"No, we're not taking a turkey to the the Plaza!" It's bad enough we're taking Chester. Just what New York City needs—another rodent on 5th Avenue in a designer wardrobe. I better not take the kids on the subway. One look at those dog-sized rats on tracks and they'll want a new pet and Chester will have a wife.

"But he might get lonely."

"He's got cable television, an ergonomically designed massage recliner and three caretakers at his beckon call. He'll be fine. Now put the cars away and let's go."

They begrudgingly take off for the mini garages I had built by their playhouse. Chester snarls. If he had regular fingers I think he would flip me off. Instead he just raises a foot in a way that says fuck you with his claws.

"Not that fast!" I yell after them as they motor on, but they don't slow.

"I think we have everything," Ana says, coming out of the house, carrying another case. I swear four months along and you'd think she was seven. I still can hardly believe there's two in there. Every morning before she wakes up I rest my head on her belly to see if I can feel them or hear anything. Nothing much yet, but I can't wait until they both start kicking. I may never stop touching her belly then.

"Ana!" I run up to her and take it from her. "You shouldn't be carrying that in your condition."

"It's a make-up case," she says like that's an everyday occurrence or something.

"You don't need any makeup. You're beautiful without. Besides, you don't know what chemicals all this stuff has in it that could pose a threat to our unborn children."

"So you think mascara is a danger?"

"It's a risk."

"You know, we've done this twice before."

"But never twice at once!" She shakes her head like I'm silly or something. "Ana, would you rather have long dark lashes or your children have all their brain cells?"

"I'm more worried about my husband right now."

"Ha ha. Very funny. But, I don't care if you mock me. It's my job to look out for the three of you." I stroke her belly and pull her in close to kiss her head. "Which reminds me—you need three times the rest and three times the food!"

"By the end of this I'll be three times the woman!"

"From your lips to God's ears." I give her a kiss and swat her ass. If only she'd keep a little hubba-hubba on her post birth.

I take the case and hand it to Taylor and he looks for a place to put it. It's like a game of Jenga in this car—and I'm losing.

"Kids! Come on!" I yell. They're now running circles around some trees. What's this need for all this circle racing? Maybe they'll burn some energy off and sleep on the plane. Maybe Ana and I can sneak off to the bedroom mid air and burn off some energy of our own.

Finally I'm able to round everyone up and secure them inside.

"Let's go, Taylor," I say just before I climb in.

"Sir, there's a problem," he says, approaching me as he talks on his phone.

"What is it?"

'"It's the jet, sir. There's an engine issue. They don't think they can fix it it until tomorrow."

"We can't leave tomorrow! It's New Year's Eve tomorrow! I have the whole day planned!" I have to think quick. "Okay, forget the jet. Let's just get first class tickets on a flight leaving as soon as possible. There shouldn't be any problem with that."

#######

NINE...

"What do you mean first class is sold out?" I ask the woman at the desk at the airport—Betti. I don't know why it annoys me she has no y or e at the end, but it just does. Like she's trying to make regular Betty flirty and fun and eternally sixteen, when she's like sixty-two and anything but. She's got her hair teased like she's getting married in Vegas in twenty minutes and she may choose the Elvis impersonator over the groom. Whatever the case, the pain in the ass that Betti is is even bigger than her hair.

"New York City is a popular New Years destination," she snickers at me, like I'm so irresponsible to not plan ahead. It's a fucking flight! I didn't gamble away my kid's college funds on a long-shot horse.

"I realize that, that's why I'm going!"

"Hey man! Move it. I'm gonna miss my flight!" says some idiot breathing up my neck instead of down it because he's hobbit short. I choose to ignore him and the pajama jeans he's donning. Why is he already wearing his neck pillow?

"Is there a later flight?" I ask her.

"All First Class is sold out. All the flights are. There's something tomorrow—"

"If I wanted to wait until tomorrow I'd fly on my private jet!"

"Well, la-di-frickin-da," the idiot says. "Why don't you take a seat on thy throne whilst us commoners are busy not missing our flights!"

I bite my tongue. Ignore the shit.

"Who has the seats on the next flight? I'll buy them out," I turn back, asking Betti.

"I can't tell you that, sir." Betti says. "That would be compromising information."

"Believe me, with the amount of money I'm about to offer them they'll want you to compromise their privacy. In fact they'd insist on it."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"But, you have to—"

"She can't help you, so fucking get a hint and move it, Richie Rich!" the guy yells at my back. Is a man who has to stand on his tippy toes to kiss five feet really that stupid to pick a fight with guy like me? Does he not see my tris and bis and Claude perfected pecs? I think my fist is bigger than his whole head. It's certainly smarter.

I turn around and point a finger down in his face.

"Okay, I have had enough of your shit—"

"Mr. Grey!" Taylor, who's standing close by, says as he rushes over and ushers me out of the way before an altercation ensues.

"Taylor, you have to find out who's in first class and bribe them."

"How should I do that, sir?"

"You know, pull out some hundreds, the black Amex, and whatever..."

"No, I mean how should I get the information, sir?"

"How'd you get information out of people when you were in the military?"

"I don't think I could do that at an airport, sir." He looks away. Suddenly I'm disturbed and don't want to know further. I'm just glad he's on my side.

"They're not war criminals! Just ask around and flash your items. Trust me, they'll be interested!" Although Taylor flashing around his items of interest to anyone disturbs me.

Taylor goes off to do his thing and I approach Ana, who's standing with the children and Gail, and pull her into my arms.

"Don't worry, everything is going to be okay, baby."

"Christian, we can go after New Years," she says, looking up at me with those big blue eyes.

"No, I promised you guys New York and you're going to get New York."

"Maybe I shoulda brought my car and drive us," Teddy says.

"I think so, Buddy," I say to him, and ruffle his copper curls.

We have to endure thirty minutes in this dirty, germ infested terminal, waiting for Taylor to make some progress. There's a man coughing to my left. I can't tell if it's from disease or cigarettes, but I suddenly wish I would've brought masks. And a woman flipping pages of a magazine and giggling to herself. But, it's not cute Ana giggles. It's sounds like an inebriated goat trying to get away with something.

I pull out the hand sanitizer and squirt it in everyone's hands.

"We just did this," Ana says.

"Trust me, you need a reapplication."

"Sir, I just bought off a family of three," Taylor says upon return as I hop up to meet him. That woman with the magazine looks up like I'm a Mafia Don bribing jurors or something. Mind your own business, goat throat. "We need to pay for a trip to Disneyland, but—"

"In California?"

"Yes, sir."

"But, they were going to New York."

"They were going to Disney World by way of New York, sir. I sold them on Los Angeles." I'm curious as to how and why Taylor became a travel advocate for Hollywood all of a sudden, but I don't give a fuck. We have seats!

"Wait! There are six seats in first class, you only have three!"

They call our flight. We're running out of time.

"The other three seats aren't up for negotiation, sir." He looks serious about this. "But, there are three in coach—"

"No! That won't do! Who are these other three in first class?

"It's not three, it's just one man, sir.

"One man for three seats?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why the hell did he do that?"

"I don't think he likes people very much, sir." Geez, what did he say to Taylor?

"Well neither do I, so maybe we'll get along. Let me talk to this guy. I'll convince him."

#######

"You think just because you're damned rich you can buy off everyone?" an old man in a cowboy hat and boots that look like weapons that should be banned from flights, says to me as he dramatically buckles into his first class seat just to spite me. I was wrong—we don't get along.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't raise your voice in front of my children," I say as calmly as I can, but what I really want to do is wring this fucker's neck. Nothing I say is getting through. Who the hell turns down $20,000, a trip in my jet to NYC first thing tomorrow and a subsequent island vacation to sit next to some empty chairs? Heck, I even offered to buy just the two empty seats so he could still have his and Taylor could ride in coach, but that was a no-go. He apparently doesn't want people close enough to touch him. A scary thought crosses my mind—this could've been me in forty years if Ana hadn't come along.

"Well, don't harass me in from of 'em."

"He said her ass!" Teddy says and the kids giggle as Ana hushes them and pulls them away.

"Look, I need seats for my family—"

"So my family is less important than yours?"

"You don't have any family. It's just you and two empty seats."

"Who are you to judge?"

"Look, I can pay you in cash—"

"Do you think anyone who pays for two empty first class seats is hard up on cash?"

"I didn't mean to imply that. I just thought the cash would be an incentive—"

"I bought these seats so no one would surround me. I don't like to be surrounded. And right now, you and your goddamn brood are surrounding me!"

"Don't speak about my family like that—"

"Is there a problem?" a flight attendant asks on approach.

"Yeah, this guy is threatening me," the fucker says.

"Me?! I just offered you money—"

"You propositioned me!" He looks to the flight attendant. "He won't leave me alone! He keeps demanding to sit with me! I told him I'm not interested in his advances—"

"Advances?!" What the literal fuck? "I don't care anything about you as a person, all I want is your seat!" That didn't come out right.

"Sir, you need to move," the flight attendant says to me.

"Christian," Ana says, pulling me aside. "It's okay, we can sit in economy."

"No! My pregnant wife is not sitting in economy. I don't want your ankles swelling or you getting blood clots or anything. You need rest and comfort in your condition." I run a hand through my hair, trying to think. "Ana, you sit here with Gail and Phoebe. Teddy, Taylor and I will sit in the back."

"Why do I gotta go back there?" Teddy asks.

"Because you're a gentleman."

"Every time I'm a gendler-man I miss out on all the fun."

"One day you'll have all the fun because of it, trust me."

#######

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" a flight attendant bats her eyes at me, as I'm squished between my son—who instead of sitting in his seat is on my lap, kneeing my groin as he tries to get a look out the window—and a woman who keeps making the sign of the cross and mumbling prayers that we won't crash while staring out of said window. I can't see the window at all. My view is of my knees pushed nearly to my face, the cover of a complimentary High in the Sky magazine and Taylor's earphone wearing head sticking up over the seat in front of me.

"No, I'm fine." I try to wave her away, but like a gnat fueled by man-blood, she just won't go.

"It's on me," she says. More batting. Jesus, she's come over here three times since the seatbelt sign went off—and that was only five minutes ago. How many times can I tell her I don't want her liquor or other free services before she gets a hint? Doesn't she see my wedding ring? Or the fact that I have a six-year-old boy crawling on top of me? Can't she add one and one and get two? Actually, from the looks of her, probably not.

"It'll be on you courtesy of my wife in first class if you continue with this nonsense."

"I'm twenty-four, single and willing to be discreet."

"Congratulations. Speaking of first class, I hear there's a guy up there who likes his space invaded. Go be discreet with him."

She frowns. Finally she leaves me alone.

"How much longer, Daddy?" Teddy asks, plopping down in my lap with a painful thud to my nuts.

"We've only been up in the air for twenty minutes," I grimace, attempting to adjust him to a more comfortable position. Guess what?—there isn't one.

"How many hours is that?"

"None. It's only twenty minutes. You need sixty for an hour. Which is three twenties." Math lesson of the day.

"So in three twenties we'll be there?"

"No, more like eighteen."

"Eighteen twenties?!" His eyes grow wide. "Will we get there before we get old and look like the hardest raisins at the bottom of the purple bran box and die?"

"You know son, it doesn't feel like it."

Speaking of death, the woman next to me can't stop chanting about it.

I peek up over the seat in front of me to see what Taylor's up to. He's watching some documentary on a lost form of martial arts and I think it's in Russian. Boris and Banana-head are kicking the shit out of each other on train tracks in the middle of some dead grass field on screen. Does Taylor speak Russian? Odd... There's so much I don't know about that man. Whatever—he's snug as a bug up there. I guess foreign combat makes him warm and fuzzy.

I see the first class curtain move up ahead and my daughter's face peeking out. She giggles when she sees me and then quickly hides again. She repeats this action several times until I motion to her to stop and head back to her seat, which she promptly ignores and heads straight for me and mine.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she crawls up into my lap next to Teddy. Double the weight on my internal organs now.

"Coming to visit you," she says, twisting her knee into my stomach to make sure she didn't miss one.

"Does your mother know?"

She nods.

"But, you have that nice big seat up in first class."

"But, I wanted to see what the other side of the curtain was like." God, I hope that's not her rational in high school when she meets a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. "And that old man with the 'maginary friends snores!"

"Where's Chester?" The last thing I need is a rat in Versace loose on a plane.

"In his case with Mrs. Taylor."

"What do you have in your hand?" I point to the Tupperware she's carrying.

"Mrs. Taylor made me crud sticks and hummus for a snack."

"I love crud sticks!" Teddy yells, far too loudly.

"It's crudités. Why don't both of you share it." I encourage them to move to Teddy's seat, but they decide Dad's lap and shoulder make a better table. I don't know why I made so much effort to buy the first class seats. The kids and I are sharing one coach.

"Is hummus made of ham butt?" Teddy asks.

"Ham butt?" I ask. Oh, ham ass. What's his obsession with the word ass lately? Where did he even hear it? Maybe I should watch my mouth more. "No it's made of beans."

They both look at each other. "Eww."

"Billy Ruthburger says beans make you fart."

"Well, Billy Ruthburger is just like his father, he has farts for brains."

They laugh hysterically. I never thought I was a comedian until I took up potty humor.

That flight attendant is back and she's holding a glass.

Oh good God.

"I didn't ask for this," I say as she forces what looks like a rum and Coke into my hand. "In fact, I recall insisting you didn't bring it."

"I thought you might not realize how thirsty you are or how good it would taste." She winks at me and attempts to swish her hips as she walks away, before I can give it back. What the hell? This woman thinks I'll cheat on my wife for a free shot of rum, a batty lashed wink, and a swish of airline polyester? What's even worse, she sees there are two children in my lap now.

"I wanna watch a movie!" Teddy says.

"Yeah, the one about all of the cutest bugs!" Phoebe says.

"Okay! Okay!" What the fuck am I supposed to do with this drink? I can't take out my tray because my knees are slammed against it. And my kids are all over me, so I can barely move my arms.

I keep hold of it and maneuver to pull out my iPad from the seatback holder I placed it in. They grab it and turn on "A Bug's Life". I really hope they stop watching this movie or one day I'll be stuck buying designer clothes for our new pet dung beetle.

"We can't hear it!" Phoebe says. But, there's no way I can manage to find them earbuds.

"You've seen it 500 times, listen to the soundtrack in your mind."

I try to stretch my legs, but can't get them beyond ninety degrees. These seats aren't made for anyone over 5'2", let alone a man over a foot taller. I can hear Taylor laughing up ahead at his movie. What's there to laugh at in a Russian martial arts film? Anyway, he's having a jolly old time of it. I try and rest my head back and close my eyes, but all I hear are the Hail Marys in my left ear. I turn my head and look over at the perpetually terrified woman and she sees me.

"I'm a little scared to fly," she says, clutching her rosary.

I nod and give her a smile that's half empathetic and half fucking shut up.

Suddenly there's a jolt of turbulence.

"We're going down!" Hail Mary woman screams out at the top of her lungs.

The kids hear this and start screaming as well.

"Daddy! The plane's going down!" Teddy says.

"Ahhhh! Daddy, I'm scared! We're all going to die!" Phoebe yells and they both grab onto me.

"No one's dying!" I say.

The woman next to me is wailing now and the bead prayers get louder and more intense as the seatbelt sign goes on. Then, all of a sudden, she gets up and tries to take off, but she can't get past my legs. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? Is she trying to run? We're in fucking mid air!

"What are you doing?" I ask her. She doesn't answer, she just tries to force my knees out of her way. "Trust me, they're not going anywhere. I already tried." Another jolt forces her back down to sit.

"You need to get back in your seats!" I say to the kids, but they're not having it.

"No! I don't want to go!" Phoebe says. They've both got me in a death grip.

Another jolt and the fucking rum and coke I've been forced to hold onto spills all over my lap.

"Jesus!" I say as the chill of crushed ice hits my balls.

"Have you seen him? Are we dead?" the woman cries out.

"No, I spilled my drink!"

"The children need to return to their seats," a flight attendant says.

"Kids come on! You need to buckle up."

They hold to me tighter. I feel something wet and mushy being spread all over my face and hair. Oh god, it's the hummus from Phoebe's hand!

There's another jolt. Suddenly this woman next to me is grabbing onto my arm. I'm beginning to freak out. I can be touched by my loved ones now with ease, but not a complete stranger digging her fingernails in my arm.

"Get off of me!" I say to her, trying to pull my arm away, but her grip just gets stronger.

Phoebe has now completely wrapped her body around my face and is suffocating me, while Teddy is on the floor hiding, trying to pull me down.

"What are you doing, Teddy?"

"They say when you feel shakes you gotta get under something!"

"That's an earthquake, not turbulence!" Although I don't think he hears me. My words are so muffled as my nose and mouth are smashed against Phoebe's shoulder. She then kicks her knee up, hitting my chin which makes me bite my own tongue.

"Get the children in their seats!" the flight attendant says all reprimanding, like I'm a negligent father.

"I'm trying!" I say, but my tongue doesn't join in on the conversation due to the throbbing and blood. "But, I can't move!"

"We're all going down!" The woman next to me yells and holds onto me like I'm a parachute.

"Ahhhhh!" Phoebe screams.

"Taylor, do something!" I yell out, fighting to look over the seat. He doesn't answer. But, I can hear him laughing. And through the crack between the seats I see he's oblivious, still watching that fucking film.

#######

EIGHT...

"Well, that was a nice flight," Ana says as Taylor drives us through the city. He's so fucking rested. I don't think he ever even noticed there was turbulence at all.

"If you don't count the fingernail marks on my arm, my sprained tongue or my rum soaked underwear, then it was yar."

She laughs, which makes me smile, too.

"We'll get you cleaned up." And she bites her lip. My, Mrs. Grey is feeling naughty. First class must've agreed with her. The skies just got a little friendlier down below.

"Yes, maybe we can get away for a shower."

"You guys must get dirty a lot!" Phoebe says.

"Why would you say that?" I ask, horrified. How does she know about any of that?

"You're always taking showers," she shrugs. Oh good, she just thinks we're a mess.

"When I grow up I'm never taking showers!" Teddy says.

"Believe me, they'll grow on you." I take Ana's hand and bring it to my lips to kiss.

"Look, Daddy! There it is!" Phoebe squeals as she points out her window.

We've arrived at the Plaza Hotel. I've been here many times in my life and it's always stunning—it's timeless elegance edged by and overlooking the park— but somehow seeing it through my daughter's eyes, after experiencing it with her through the pages of her book, and having my family all with me, well, it's just more.

Taylor pulls up out front of the grand entrance and a valet opens our doors. Phoebe jumps out, takes hold of my hand and pulls me to follow. I hold tight to to her as she leads us through the revolving door to make sure she doesn't get away from me and also to enjoy this moment where she's taking me along for this ride. Because one day closer than I want to imagine, I'll have to let her hand go.

"You lead the way, princess," I say as I relinquish my lead to her.

She's precious in her "New York outfit"—the one she thought up and I had made for her. Like Eloise's favorite designer, it had to be Dior. I called them up and sent over a copy of her sketch, signed by Miss Phoebe Grey herself. I'm keeping the original. It's too precious to hand away. In fact, I'm framing it. The outfit is an alpine white faux fur (she made triple sure no bunnies would be harmed) trimmed coat and matching hat, polkadot galoshes and a handbag in the shape of a white Persian cat studded entirely with the finest crystals. She's like snowflake or an angel or a something of the two. Or rather she's just Phoebe, which is something all the more.

"Do you know where Eloise is?" she asks a bellman we pass.

He must get this a lot, because he handles it like a pro. "She just walked her little dog, Weenie, and I think she's inside."

"Come on, Daddy! We gotta look!" She jumps up and down and then tugs me along. "Chester wants to meet Weenie!" And of course the rodent pops his head out of the fur of her coat. I thought he was in his cage! And when did she change him into his matching coat?

"I think Weenie would rather meet Chester." As a midnight snack.

"Mr. Grey, welcome," the woman behind the front desk says upon check-in. She works at her computer to complete our reservation. A song is playing overhead—Stardust. It makes me think of that first ball—that first real date with Ana.

I look to Ana, who's standing next to me, quieting the kids as they fuss and fidget. I flash back to after the ball and that first time we checked into a hotel together in the middle of all that madness. She was wearing my denim jacket and my sweats and an old t-shirt and she was stunning. I remember thinking to myself that I was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive. How did the likes of me get someone like her? And with everything that was going on, she hadn't run. She was by my side. She was mine. That was the moment I knew—even though I didn't know what the hell it all meant or how it could possibly work— I wanted to marry her.

"Will you be needing help with your bags, Mr. Grey?" the woman asks, stealing me back from memory.

"No, Mrs. Grey and I can manage," I say and give Ana a wink.

"I'm glad I'm not "Mrs. Taylor" this time," she smiles as she whispers to me.

"So am I." I touch her belly and give her a kiss.

"But, sir," Taylor says. "There are seventeen bags!"

Oh right—Jetway Jenga. I guess I got caught up in the romance of the moment. It happens a lot with Ana.

"Of course. Have someone give Taylor a hand," I say to the woman. "Mrs. Grey and I will be up in our room." I take my wife's hand as we head with our children, both born and yet-to-be, to the gilded elevators where we press for the top floor.

The Royal Suite doesn't disappoint. It's just under 5,000 square feet overlooking the park with a chef, a library that I've had specific books delivered for Ana to enjoy, a dining room, an entertainment theatre, and three luxurious bedroom suites. It's Louis XV decor will go over the children's heads, but just watching Ana take it in when she enters ensures me it doesn't go over hers. That's my favorite view—seeing everything by the light in her eyes.

"Oh Christian, this is unreal," she says.

I move behind her and wrap her in my arms.

"Do you like it?" I whisper in her ear before kissing it.

"I love it and I love you."

And I squeeze her tighter, my hands hoffing her belly.

"Daddy, Daddy," Phoebe says, running across the room to the window and looking out over the park. "We're on the tippy top floor. Just like Eloise!"

"Yes, we are."

"But, I didn't find her yet," Phoebe says.

"She's probably asleep, as well you should be. She'll be along tomorrow for the tea!"

"We're having tea with her?" she squeals.

"Yes, we are."

"I don't want to have tea with some silly girls!" Teddy says and Phoebe sticks out her tongue to which he reciprocates.

"Hey no fighting! You're not going, Teddy. Your mother and you are having a special outing. I'm taking Phoebe to the tea. And you and I will see the dinosaurs after that. And after we all do a little shopping, we'll celebrate the New Year."

"You're going to an Eloise tea alone?" Ana looks at me like I've grown two heads.

"Of course. My daughter and I shared the book over Christmas. I want to take her and buy her every souvenir imaginable," I whisper. "Plus, I'm sure it will be a distinguished affair. It's high tea with a bunch of little girls at the Plaza. It's not like we're at Kreative Kidz with all those mothers."

#######

Seven...

It's like we're at Kreative Kidz with all those mothers. But, only if they got covered in a giant pop of bubblegum that got rained down on with pink feathers and rhinestones.

"And who might we have here?" a woman dressed as Nanny from the books says as we enter. I'm not sure if she's a member of the staff or a mental case who frequents these type of events. I assume staff, since she has a clip board to check us in. If she was mentally unstable she probably wouldn't have official paperwork. But, she's a little too into the role and I'm suddenly regretting sending Taylor with Ana and Teddy. A tea like this bodes far more risk than the streets of New York.

"Grey, Christian and Phoebe." I say.

"Ooooh," she squeals. "You're the man!" What the fuck does that mean?" She snaps her fingers and another woman in some pink frilly skirt and white apron escorts us to our table. I suddenly feel underdressed because I'm not in ruffles and bows, but I am wearing the polkadot tie Phoebe gave me. I've requested the best seat in the house and I'm afraid I got it—front and center.

I walk Phoebe to our seats and pull out her chair.

"Thank you, you a rawther kind," she says, using the line in the book.

"You're rawther welcome," I say, as she sits and I push in her chair.

As I sit down I can't help but feeling we're somewhat on display—or rather I am by simply having a penis and wearing polka dots and being here at all. There's whispering and pointing and the occasional smile. It's like all the women want a look at the mythical man who accompanies his daughter to an Eloise tea. It's disturbing on two fronts—one, that no father would attend and two, that these woman are ogling me. Oh fuck these people, I'm here for Phoebe.

I take in my candy-coated surroundings. I never remember the book being this pink. All the drawings were mostly black and white with some color splashed in. But that is the theme in here— pink striped walls and pink carpet and pink velvet upholstered seats. It's like all of a sudden I've become color blind, but instead of seeing no color, I only see one.

"Would you like some tea, princess?" I ask Phoebe.

"Yes, please," she says and I pour her some strawberry colored chamomile. She picks up the cup and lifts her pinky finger. "This is how you do it, Daddy."

"Of course," I say and pick up my own the same way.

There's really no rhyme or reason or order to this thing. A dozen or so girls run around their tea tables holding Eloise dolls and books and whatever else Eloise merchandise they can get their hands on. And their mothers—they're wearing as much or more of Eloise as their daughters. Frilly skirts and boas and hair bows. One grandmother is wearing the signature black school girl skirt with white knee-high socks and Mary Jane's. She's even carrying a stuffed pug doll and petting it like it's real, telling it how much she loves her Weenie. I've been in BDSM clubs that are less weird than this.

"Daddy, you need to wear a boa," she says picking up a pink feathered thing from the table and draping it around my neck.

"Is it my color?" I ask her, and she giggles and wraps herself in one as well.

"Daddy where's Eloise?" Phoebe asks.

"She'll be along." I, too am wondering why she's not here. Isn't she the main event? Why do we get Nanny without the kid?

A few mothers and daughters sit at our table. I'm next to Clara and her daughter Belle. Put their names together and they fittingly make a lipsticked cow. Belle is a rotten child. She scowles and complains about everything.

"Who wants cucumbers as sandwich meat?" she asks, as she takes apart a tea sandwich and licks the cream cheese off the bread.

"I've been divorced for three years now," Clara says to me as she drowns her sorrows in quiche after little spinach quiche.

"That's nice," I say, wondering if someone can spike some pink lemonade for me so I can get through listening to her shit.

"You know he'd never do to anything like this." And I'd never do anything like you. Leave me alone, woman! "He would just leave me alone to let all this waste away." She points to her body. Believe me, nothing has wasted away there. Every hunk a cheese she's ever eaten has found permanent residence.

"Yeah," is all I can say and I look away.

"I don't like fruit in my cake!" Belle yells out and tosses a strawberry on her plate. She's less like a bell and more like a clank.

A line of women comes over to talk to me. They're like fruit flies to a peeled banana. But trust me, no one's peeling my banana but Ana. I've heard more tales or heartache and cheating and divorce woe in one afternoon than in twenty-five episodes of Oprah. Since when did an Eloise tea become a therapy session with the one and only penis in the place? I can't figure out if they're trying to fuck me or just fuck with me. What do they expect me to do? Just because I come to a tea, doesn't mean I bring the fucking sympathy.

"Is Eloise coming?" Phoebe asks, after some woman in a tutu tried to get me to drink with her at the bar so she could further explain her dissatisfaction in the sack with an orthodontic assistant named Ace, who was not her husband, but rather her husband's accountant's upstairs neighbor who also played in a band. I just stuck a hunk of tea cake in my mouth and she finally walked away.

"I'll check," I say as the event is really winding down. I catch that Nanny passing by and stand to stop her.

"Where is Eloise?"

"Everywhere," she says motioning with her arms in grandiose fashion.

"No, I mean the actual girl. Where is she? When do we get to see her?" I realize a man in a boa and polkadots is asking this, but I don't fucking care.

She purses her lips and leans in like she has to break some bad news to me. "She's not really real, sir."

"Shhh!" I say. I don't want Phoebe to hear. I don't think she did. She's picking raisins out of a scone and lining then up on a saucer in the shape of a happy face. "I know this!" I whisper shout. "But, I thought you'd have an actress or something."

"We think every girl is Eloise in her own special way."

"That's nice, but my daughter wants to see her."

"Sorry." She walks away.

Fucking Nanny. I want to kick her in her horse's rear.

"Is she coming, Daddy?"

I look down to Phoebe, who has so much hope in her eyes.

"Uh, no..."

"Oh." She looks down and plays with her raisins. I hear a sniffle as she turns them into a frown.

I can't disappoint my daughter like this. Think, Grey!

"She's not coming here." I sit down beside her. "Because she doesn't want to play with these silly girls, she just wants to meet you."

"Me? Really?" The hope has returned to her face.

"Yes, so she's coming to our suite this evening."

"Yay, Daddy!" she leaps into my arms for a hug.

Oh fuck. What am I going to do?

As we get up to leave, I text Taylor: Get ready to hold a casting call.

Broadway better not let my daughter down.

#######

Six...

"I like the pterodactyls, 'cause they can fly!" Teddy tells me as we walk by the bones of the past in the museum of Natural History. It's amazing these great beasts ever roamed and even more amazing that ones so big and fierce could fall. Who am I to talk? I was once a great, fierce beast who fell hard in an instant. But, great beasts are destined to die.

"You want to fly one day?" I ask, looking at the fossils as I hold his hand and guide him along. He's taken such an interest in dinosaurs lately. I like sharing this with him. Just he and I and a million years gone by.

"Yeah, I want to fly like you."

"Like I fly in Charlie Tango?"

He nods.

"When you're older I'll teach you." I ruffle his hair, planning to teach him so much more. His hair is like mine was at his age. All floppy with copper curls. His hair is like my mother's. It's the one thing we shared together—the crack whore and I. She'd let me brush it and braid it. She'd sing in those rare moments and she'd actually like me. Just touching his hair brings that feeling back. And it's not a bad feeling as I once feared. I loved her in those moments—as Ana's had me admit—and I love Teddy more than life itself. Somehow that love connects the lost and misplaced generations.

"I want to be a pilot!" he says.

"You'd be a great one!"

"You really think so?" He beams.

"I know so."

Though he may look like me, he's so much like Ana. I see it today as he studies these bones. He doesn't barrel though like a typical boy. He measures things and notices. When he scrunches his nose, I can tell he's trying to figure something out, but he doesn't want to ask. He wants to figure it out for himself.

"Daddy, why aren't there dinosaurs anymore?"

"Well, you should be glad there aren't. They'd stomp all over us."

"No, but why? They were so big and scary. How did they die?" And it's like he's asking me to tell him why the past had to go.

"Well, sometimes those big scary things have to go away so better things can take their place." And I realize I'm not just talking about the literal old bones of prehistoric monsters. I'm talking about my own.

"What could be better than the dinosaurs?" he asks.

I look into his big blue eyes.

"You and me here right now."

We walk by the bones of a dinosaur family—mother and father and two small ones. The child is hiding beneath the father's legs as he protects. Even in the land of beasts a father protects. So does a mother. Something neither of my birth parents ever did for me, but something Ana did for Teddy, even on that very first night she knew. I look to my son. I owe her for this moment. This child. This everything. It still amazes me that a twenty-two year old girl was strong enough to stand up to me; stand up for her child. Stand up for me, when my knees were buckling to bring me to the ground. She was strong enough to carry me to a place I was afraid to go.

"I hope I'm just like you when I grow up, Daddy!" he says as he looks up to me, his eyes sparkling with pride and peeking out from underneath the shadow of dinosaur bones.

I smile and hold him close.

No son, I hope you're just like your mother.

To be continued...