Kimmydon's Choice: Picture 2
Sarah set the bear on her bed with pride. I looked at it, a little confused.
“Jake gave it to you?” I guessed.
“Yes! Isn’t he sweet, Mom?”
“He’s very ... large,” Peter said, staring at the bear whose feet took nearly half the width of her single bed.
“Yes!” Sarah agreed. “He’s so lovable!” She bounced on the bed and hugged him. “Jake won him at the fair for me. He cost ...” Our fifteen year-old daughter did some math. “Twenty-five dollars.”
“Well, that’s not bad. What game was it?”
“Ring toss,” she said, sitting up. “He’s like my Jam!”
I smiled broadly, remembering the fair Jamie, my best friend, and I won our matching bears, Jam and Bet.
“Except, he’s Jake?” Peter asked, still a little uncomfortable and confused.
“Yes!” Sarah was so excited and happy, every sentence was an exclamation. “My best friend, Jake.” She kissed the top of the floppy bear’s head. “Do you think he’ll be my friend as long as Jamie?” she asked me.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe he’ll be a different kind of friend.” Peter glared at me, obviously not wanting to think about that. Well, he’d better think about it. Our daughter and her friend would at some point.
“Oh.” For the first time since coming home she was subdued, quiet. Then she perked up and ran past Peter out the door. “Sorry, Dad!” she called as she clipped his shoulder in passing.
She returned with Peter’s acoustic guitar. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him play it indoors. It was something he indulged when we were camping, when I indulged. She set the guitar in the bear’s lap and stepped back. The toy was large enough that the guitar didn’t look ludicrous in its paws.
“Isn’t he sweet?!”
“I wanna be you’re teddy bear,” Peter sang with twang and I had to laugh.
Sarah’s lip curled in disgust. “That was awful, Daddy. What was that?”
“Elvis,” Peter grumbled, obviously unimpressed with our daughter’s lack of recognition.
“Why don’t you take a picture and send it to Jake, to thank him?” I suggested.
“Great idea. Thank you!” She hugged me, and I chuckled at her exuberance.
Peter and I closed the door as we left. “Can I be your teddy bear?” he asked, waggling eyebrows.
I laughed. “You aren’t fluffy enough to be a teddy. I’ll wear one for you, though,” I replied, pulling from his grip to trot to our bedroom.
“Uh, thank you. Thank you very much,” he said, making me roll my eyes.