Father of the Year

Gunk clung to the faucet. Reddish-brown globs dripped onto the paper towels lying over the sink drain. Ander wasn't expecting company, but the place still needed to be ready before the weekend when his kids moved in. Lidia took the house in the divorce but left him the money and the Corvette. Miles had taken the news well for a twelve-year-old. Atlas was a different story. But neither of them seemed remotely surprised. Like her mother, Atlas was intelligent and high-strung. They had expected her to panic when it was time to break the news. She just nodded quietly.

Ander traded the Corvette for a practical car and invested in fixing his grandfather's farmhouse. It was abandoned after the funeral, where Lidia suggested they sell it and start a college fund. Wonderful childhood memories still ran through the halls and weaved between the gruesome secrets. He couldn't bring himself to do it but tried to meet Lidia halfway by offering the house to relatives. It was pointless; his own dad didn't even reply.

At least he got to say, "I told you so." That sparked a fight, one that should have ended their marriage. But it hadn't. They didn't yell insults or throw each other's belongings. Lidia apologized for trying to profit off his family's history. They were good together. They never had a problem they couldn't talk through, not until Ivy.

Ander wanted to turn back the clock to a time before that woman arrived. Miles used to be a hot mess covered in pastels and charcoal. He loved that; it gave them something to bond over. Atlas and himself still made a good team; they were both perfectionists and organized.

Ander planned to let her have the master bedroom. She would be the only girl in the house and deserved her own bathroom. Tomorrow, three new mattresses and a smart TV will arrive. That was all he could afford until he sold a few more paintings. Ivy visited that morning to help sweep and take out the trash. It had given him enough time to set up his art studio in the attic.

He had expected his art to look angry and reveal betrayal. But it didn't. Ander remembered the radiant glow Lidia had with Ivy. Forgiving wasn't hard at all, but a lot changed. Lidia loved their kids but couldn't watch them endure being tormented for having a bisexual mother. Humble was a small but progressive town. Their plenty for him and the kids to enjoy between Lidia's visits. Humble would have an art festival in three days; it was a lucrative opportunity to perform some self-marketing. Ander didn't believe in being a starving artist. That was a fool's ambition.

However, he did believe in overworked and sleep-deprived artists. He sat down in front of a partially filled canvas. Streaks of red and yellow danced around the edges. He dipped a brush in a dark maroon color. Reds were his favorite, and he used them in everything. It had taken him an hour to grind the ingredients to make it. Even after he sold the piece, the homemade paints still connected him to the artwork. They were his signature.

He had developed a bit of a fanbase that ensured his financial independence. Yesterday he finished a commission for a young woman who gushed over it, and it was like he had a piece of him in it. Ander agreed, and she took that in the most poetic way. It would've been wrong to correct her.

This piece was meant to be a wishful vision. Ander envisioned the smiling faces of his kids filling the white canvas. Shades of red highlighted details of their hair and noses. They both had Lidia's hair, but Miles had his father's nose and grandmother's eyes. He never planned to sell this piece; it would hang in Lidia's dining room.

It wasn't until his brush hit the pan that he realized what time it was. Ander checked the pan; they were all either empty or almost empty. If he made more now, he could finish two more paintings tomorrow. Most artists used water or oil, but Ander had a secret ingredient. Once he started using it, his career took off. The money flooded his bank accounts, which Lidia left alone. She did love him in a way, just not in the same way he loved her. Lidia didn't love him the way she loved Ivy. Ander was determined to put everything she loved into this piece.

He turned around to face Ivy. It wasn't his favorite image; he'd have to clean it up before the weekend. Her ankles started to slip through the rope knots, even after he tightened it. Ivy's once tan skin paled to a dull gray. Her stomach was bloated, but there wasn't any other swelling. Her head was set aside so it wouldn't get in the way. Blood dripped from her neck like a broken faucet. A steel bowl collected all of it and was only filled halfway this time. He had emptied it earlier and was starting to think Ivy wasn't going to him so much more pigment. 

That was a shame; he explained to Ivy how this painting was a peace offering. It was a gift meant to show that he really didn't hate or resent Lidia. That he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. Lidia was still the mother of his children, and she was an incredible mother. Their kids would always be at the center of their bond so that she could love anyone she wanted, in any way she wanted. A good father always provides for his children and appreciates the woman who made him a father.