1

 I'm surrounded by a psychedelic swathe of colors. Every which way I look there's a candy rainbow. I don't shop for toys very often. But today is a special occasion. Lucy arrives in less than twenty four hours. My beautiful wonderful daughter Lucy. It's been four months since I've seen her in the flesh. We video call pretty much every day. This is a more recent thing, the video calling. It's not always been like this. There was a long time there when I didn't talk to my daughter at all. But let's not dwell on that for now. For now, I'm shopping for toys for Lucy's arrival, and if I'm going toe perfectly honest, I have no idea what to buy her. As I mentioned, Lucy and I talk. Daily. But somehow, it doesn't really feel like I know her. A phone call, be it by video or voice is not your true self. It's not your quiet, everyday self. It's a projection of how you want to be perceived in that moment. This is the Lucy I have come to know over the last year. It's taken that long for us to get reacquainted. But I still don't feel like I know her. Not truly. Not in the way I should. Not in the way I'm sure her father knows her. He sees her everyday. He's there for the little moments. The hours where there's not a word spoken. Where you're just living, existing, being. That is how you truly know someone. I pick up a multicolored spaceship and compare the label with the name of the spaceship that Lucy asked me to buy her for Christmas. Or rather, Santa to buy her for Christmas. We played the Santa game this year, Lucy pretending to believe, but really I know she's far too wise to truly think Santa exists. We played the game. The spaceship I hold is called the Centurion, that's the same as the one I have written in the presents list app on my cell. I put it into the shopping cart I have alongside the other twenty or so presents Santa will be delivering to Lucy this year. Don't judge me. I know that twenty presents is a lot. A pop psychologist would scream overcompensating at me if they saw me now. But the thing is, I'm aware, I know I'm over compensating. But I have a lot to make up for. Five years to be precise. Five years of being an absent mother. As I push my trolly of repentent toys towards the checkout my cell rings. Even before I see the caller ID I know that it's Lucy calling. I know this because the ringtone is a metallic version of the famous kids song Mares Eat Oats And Does Eat Oats And Little Lambs Eat Ivy. Lucy set it as her personalised ringtone when she was last visiting with me. I grab my cell from my jacket pocket and answer the video call. It takes a second for the connection to buffer, but when it does Lucy appears on my screen in all her pixelated wonderful glory. I'm old enough to still be blown away by the advancement of technology in my lifetime every time I use it. When I was a kid I had to memorise phone numbers of my friends. And if I wanted to know something, I had to ask my parents, and if they didn't know, I didn't know. Simpler times. Lucy is in her bedroom a mountain of clothes spread out on her bed behind her. 

'There she is, how's my girl doing?' 

A very serious expression sets on Lucy's face as she says, 'Your girl is stressed. Who made travel cases so small? And why is there a weight restriction on how much stuff I can take on a plane?'

This makes me smile. I know I probably shouldn't right now as Lucy asked that question without a hint of irony. She really wants to know. 

'I'm no rocket surgeon but I think it's something to do with gravity and flying.' I say.

'I thought of that and it makes no sense, planes weight, like, a trillion tonnes. What's a dozen more outfits gonna do?'

'You're bringing a dozen outfits for a one week stay?'

'A dozen more, mom.'

'You have more than twelve outfits?'

Lucy looks genuinely confused by that question as she replies, 'You don't?'

'Wow, okay, life advice time. Try prioritising.'

Lucy gestures to her bed covered with enough clothes to dress an army as she says, 'This is my short list.'

I genuinely have no reply to this other than to think what a wonderful first world problem. At this precise moment Vincent, Lucy's father, knocks on the open door to Lucy's bedroom and asks, 'Are you ready for dinner?' 

'Mom, I gotta go, Dad's taking me out somewhere fancy for dinner before my flight and I've still gotta pack.' 

'Okay, go. But when you're flying alone remember stranger-danger. What do you do if a strange man approaches you?'

'I kick him in the nuts.'

'That's my girl. Love you loads Lucy, can't wait to see you.'

'Me too mom.'

We're about to end the call when that smile on Lucy's face is replaced by a look of concern. 

'You okay?' I ask.

'Yeah, I'm fine, I just...' Lucy trails off, does not finish her sentence. 

'It's okay, you can ask me anything.' I try to reassure her. Our bond is not what it should be. Our trust is not what I'd like it to be. 

Lucy waivers another second, then asks, 'You are gonna be there, right? To pick me up? At the airport.'

That hurts. That Lucy should even think that, let alone have a genuine reason to say that sums up just how unreliable I have been in my past. 

I lower my tone, speak softly, sincerely, 'I'm not how I used to be, okay? That's all behind me.' And to reassure her, I recite from memory, 'American Airlines flight 221 from Vegas arriving at five-thirty-four am. Come hell or high water, I'll be there.'

Lucy gives me a half-smile. She wants to believe me, but once bitten as they say. I know I'll be there. I know there's not a hound in hell that could stop me from collecting my daughter from the airport in the morning, but there's no use in trying to convince Lucy any further. I've said I'll be there, now it's up to me to make it happen. 

'Travel safe, beautiful one. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Bye mom.'

The call ends and I stand in silence for a moment. I stare down at the shopping cart full of presents and realise that they're not presents, they're apologies. Each and every one of them is essentially me saying, I'm sorry Lucy, I know I fucked up, but that's not me now. I am changed. 

My cell phone rings, snapping me back to reality from that thought. This ringtone is not personalised as Lucy's ringtone is. The caller ID says My Asshole Boss. I can't help but smile when I see this come up. Again, it was Lucy that changed his name. I know I should change it back, but somehow it makes me smile every time I see it. I guess it reminds me of her. Normally, I'd answer straight away, but today is my day off and there's no good reason why my boss would call me on my day off. No good ever came from answering a call from your employer on your day off. But if I don't answer I know it's only going to make him madder, and this guy is not someone I want mad at me. unfortunately, he's the puppet-master of my pay-check. I draw a deep breath and answer, knowing somehow, deep down in my gut, that this phone call is not going to go well.