Free Pull (Push #2) by Claire Wallis Page A

years.
    “Okay.” I make my way over to the table. He pulls a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and lights the candles on the cupcakes.
    “I see you planned ahead,” he says. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, but it doesn’t matter. Because he is here with me. On my birthday.
    “I didn’t know if you would be done with work before McMillan’s closed,” I say, slightly embarrassed to have set up my own party. “So I thought I would get them for you.”
    “Good thinking.” He puts his hand on top of my head and tousles my hair. I freeze. He’s never done that before. I think it’s a good thing, though, because he’s wearing a small smile when he does it. I smile back and drop my eyes to the floor. He tells me to take a seat at the table and then he sings the birthday song to me. His voice isn’t very loud, but the whole song comes out. Every word. I am bursting inside.
    When he is finished singing, I close my eyes to blow out the candles. My wish is that he’s changed. That the daddy I’m seeing tonight is the one that will stay forever. I open my eyes and blow both the candles out.
    After we eat the cupcakes, Daddy picks up the brown paper bag. But instead of handing it to me, he opens it up himself and reaches inside. I really hope that he got me a remote-control car. One like Jimmy has. But there’s no way that that’s what’s in the bag. It’s too small. When his hand emerges, it’s holding a six-pack of beer. Coors Light.
    Oh.
    He tears a can out of its plastic ring, cracks open the top, and puts it down in front of me. He does the same with another, taking a sip out of it and smacking his lips afterward.
    “Drink up,” he says to me, motioning with his empty hand. “It’s about time you had your first beer.”
    “I’m not old enough to drink beer,” I say quietly, wishing instead for a glass of milk.
    “You are now.” He sits forward in his chair and takes another sip. “Happy birthday, kid.” He picks up my can and holds it out in front of me until I take it. I lift it to my lips and drink a small sip. It’s bubbly and bitter. Not a bit as good as I thought it would be. I want to sour-up my face, but I know that if I do, he’ll think I’m being a sissy. He sits back in his chair and watches me as I take another sip.
    We drink our beers in silence, looking at each other across the table and thinking our own thoughts. Mine are racing about how I’m going to finish this whole can. I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want to change the way he is right now. I don’t want to upset him and turn him back into who he was before tonight. Before my birthday wish.
    A minute later his eyes leave mine, and he stands up and walks over to the sofa, bringing the rest of the six-pack with him. I follow. We sit there together, drinking beer and watching Spongebob Squarepants . He finishes three in the time it takes me to finish one. But I do it. I drink the whole thing.

Chapter 13
    David—Present Day
    The rest of the day slides by in a blur of wrenches and plungers and bitchy people, but somehow I manage to knock several repairs off Carl’s list. Unfortunately, I have to see Mr. Wiggin and his six flea-ridden cats again on Monday. I didn’t have the right-sized flange. It’s rotten as hell in his place and the clogged disposal doesn’t help. I think he’s been putting kitty shit down the thing for years. I’ve never told Carl about Mr. Wiggin and those cats, and I never will. Someday, when the dude moves out, Carl’s gonna shit himself silly over the filth and stench in there—and I’m gonna enjoy watching Carl’s face curl with revulsion. I’ll consider it revenge for having to listen to his bullshit at poker every Tuesday. The day Carl sees—and smells—all that cat piss will be the day I quit this job and walk out on him. Let some other chump rip up the carpet and replace the floors and baseboards. That’s easily worth the price of my own rent.
    Plus, maybe by then,