J A M E S

 

The doubt that had started as a sapling in midsummer had since found purchase in the fertile soil of his gloomy intestines. As the days passed it grew wildly, like Lilly, developing roots and branches and solidifying his sense of having lost control of fatherhood. Now he relished all the more the simple chores of preparing the façade, the orderly appearance of a home where nothing was overtly amiss.

He didn’t understand why other men shirked their domestic tasks when they were the clearest evidence of being a capable, caring provider. He’d already vacuumed the living room in preparation for Kendra’s arrival, and now slid a lasagna into the oven.

Lilly sat on the sofa with her math book, though her fidgety foot and pencil tapping betrayed her lack of concentration.

The doorbell rang and she sprang up. James caught his breath; soon she would be in danger of denting the ceiling—hurting herself—by such an outburst of excitement.

Fearing how the sight of Lilly looming in the doorway might overwhelm their guest, he hurried to let her in himself.

“Kendra, hi—thank you so much for coming.” He was amazed by how well she matched the image he’d formed in his head. Pear-shaped; colorful; coffee hair neatly coiffed; nails sharp and shiny pink. She carried the strong scent of a flowering garden.

“My pleasure! Sorry I’m a few minutes late.” Her bags, one over each shoulder, were stuffed with neatly rolled fabric samples and binders bulging with swatches and patterns.

“And you must be Lilly!”

Of course, the towering, grinning girl was his daughter.

“Hi!” Lilly was aglow, and James was relieved that Kendra hadn’t missed a beat, hadn’t reacted in any way that indicated shock or judgement.

“I am so glad to make your acquaintance, sweetheart—now where should we set up shop?”

As James guided her in, Lilly scooped up her schoolbooks and backpack, diminutive on her frame, and quickly ferried everything to her room. The seamstress took over the couch and started laying out fabrics. The second Lilly returned she knelt on the floor, in awe of the Kendra’s wares.

Kendra held up a swatch of red ripstop nylon. “This would be perfect for a new schoolbag—a backpack, or a messenger bag, whatever you like.”

Lilly fingered the fabric, beaming. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You’re gonna feel so much better when everything you have is proportional to you, it’s the key to being tall or short, big-boned or small—you get the proportions right and everything just looks good.” Lilly nearly squirmed with delight.

James couldn’t help but smile even as he hovered over the proceedings, still concerned that it might go sideways.

“This is just like the TV show Rain and I were watching—I wish she could’ve come.”

“Is Rain your friend?”

“My best friend.”

“Aw, that’s nice, well you can surprise her with all your new garments. What should we start with, what are your must-haves?”

“Blue jeans,” said Lilly.

“All her basics, socks—”

“Now what is our girl going to do about shoes?” Kendra asked, averting her gaze from the submarine-sized sneakers.

“Are you getting those custom too? In other words, what types of socks will you be needing? Thick, thin? Crew-length, knee socks?”

Lilly looked at her dad, eyes wide with longing. He knew she missed her glittery silver high-tops, and the flowered Mary Janes. She’d probably never wear flip-flops again (her toenails, unfortunately, matched the scab-like nails on her fingers), and would never wear high heels (with her height already so intimidating). But Kendra was right—she deserved to have something she liked, that made her feel good about herself.

“We’re still working on that,” he said gently, looking at his daughter, passing her a silent promise. He felt stupid. It was a lot easier to find a seamstress than a cobbler. The very word—cobbler—made him think of fairytales: puppets come to life, beanstalks, mean stepsisters, poisonous apples.

If this were a fairytale, as it sometimes seemed, Lilly would meet a deformed old woman who would tell her the answers could be found if she crossed six oceans, or plucked a golden leaf from the garland of an albino giraffe. If only a solution were so simple; if only Kendra were that mythological godmother.

Realizing they were both still looking to him for direction, he rearranged his face, hoping they hadn’t seen his hopelessness. “We don’t need to focus on the feet first. I’m sure Kendra can make you some beautiful clothes. Should we start with shirts?”

“Oh yes—I’m sure you need quite a few shirts, and do you like skirts?” Kendra’s easy manner and enthusiasm saved the day.

Lilly nodded, shifting to a more comfortable position, the shoes momentarily forgotten. “Maybe knee-length? And I need some short-sleeved shirts, and some long-sleeved for when it gets cooler. Pullover kind, and maybe some buttoned ones.”

“Absolutely. And do you like hoodies?”

“I love hoodies! Anything with a hood. And pockets. Lots of pockets.”

“What about leggings? All the girls are wearing them.”

Lilly emphatically shook her head, an appalled grimace on her face. All the girls were wearing them and James thought they were entirely too revealing—the full silhouette of the lower female body on display for all to see. He wasn’t a perv, but sometimes it was hard not to notice a particularly nice bottom or a shapely pair of legs. Or wonder about The Triangle, barely hidden by the thin stretchy fabric (there was so much variety in genitalia). Nobody needed to be looking at his daughter that way, especially at her age, and in her condition. It was a relief that Lilly thought the idea more abhorrent than he did.

“So I think our plan should be: get the jeans and a few shirts made first. And my girls and I will work on more pieces and deliver them every few days, until you have a good inventory. Does that sound good?”

Lilly nodded like mad. “That sounds amazing!”

“So I’ll just have you stand up straight and I’ll take a few pictures.”

This was what James had been anticipating. Lilly was unaware of how many phone calls he fielded, how many emails from news outlets and gossip rags and TV talk shows, all wanting to see his daughter, The Giant. The kids at school were sneaking pictures of her—he’d seen them on the internet. The word of her existence was spreading by the day.

Lilly unfolded to her full height while Kendra opened her camera app. James jumped in between them.

“I’m sorry, I can’t allow you to take Lilly’s picture.”

“It’s just so I have a visual for my measurements.”

“I’m sure, but…” He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care if he was assuming the worst. Their home was going to remain a Safe Place, maybe the only place where Lilly wouldn’t be leered or jeered at. Or photographed.

“Daddy?”

He probably looked insane with his arms outstretched, as if Kendra couldn’t see Lilly skyscraping behind him. Kendra’s mouth softened from a questioning pucker to a conciliatory smile.

“Of course, I understand—I’m sorry, I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay, it’s just…People everywhere are taking pictures of her.”

“They are?” Lilly sounded so innocent and baffled.

“Yes, Lil—it’s an invasion of her privacy,” he said, turning back to Kendra.

Poor Lilly still looked perplexed, but Kendra, thank goodness, tucked the phone back in her purse.

“I can only imagine. I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Why don’t we just take measurements the old-fashioned way and leave it at that. Will that be okay?” she asked James.

He nodded, relieved, and retreated to the kitchen entryway so Kendra could finish her work. She tucked a pencil behind her ear and took out a notepad and a measuring tape. Lilly knelt awkwardly, following the directions to hold out one arm, and then the other, as Kendra unspooled the tape from shoulder to elbow to hand, and around her wrist, around her bicep. The inch-marks stretched across her upper back and Kendra, expressionless, jotted down the numbers.

When Kendra wrapped the tape around Lilly’s chest the girl pinkened and tilted her face toward the ceiling.

Then Lilly stood and Kendra reached around her waist, her hips. She measured each of Lilly’s legs.

James felt voyeuristic, watching this necessary dance play out. Well-practiced, Kendra moved from limb to limb without preamble or apology.

 

 

When they were finished, Lilly lowered herself onto the carpeted floor. She’d always liked to sit there, leaning against the couch, though James doubted it was still comfortable for her. Lilly remained at heart a child, accustomed to the habits and tendencies of children. But if her bones kept growing, putting such demands on her circulatory system…. He tried to remember how long the giants in the Guinness Book of World Records had lived—into their twenties? Thirties? Was his precious girl already middle-aged?

“Mm, something smells good,” Kendra said as she double- checked her to-do list.

“Lasagne.”

“That’s nice.” She flashed him a warm smile, as if aware of their limited time, the dinners he would never get to make.

Though everything she did was straightforward, James couldn’t banish the fear of a hidden intent behind every gesture, every word—something that might yet come back to haunt him if he couldn’t decipher this seemingly kind woman’s true nature. Lilly remained blissfully unconcerned, flipping through the fabrics and identifying the ones she liked. Or perhaps what was really bothering him was the way he stood there, on the outside, not quite a participant, not quite useful. He felt that way a lot now, removed from everything, and hated the sensation that his daughter wasn’t growing but disappearing. There she was, larger than life, but James saw her as if in a dream, floating off into the vacuum of space. Oblivion. Where it was cold and dark and he couldn’t accompany her.

It triggered a recollection—inexplicably and regrettably— of his own childhood. The golden light of his family home. His rosy-cheeked mother who always wore hot mitts, always (in his memory) in front of the oven, pulling out fresh

cookies. And his father, with his brown sensible shoes, never exhausted from a day at the office, sitting in the kitchen, reading aloud from a newspaper or book that had sparked his interest.

“Isn’t that something,” his father would say, amazed by the world, while James savored the melting chocolate of his mother’s love.

It had all been too good; he believed that now. Maybe in his selfish childhood he consumed the reservoir of goodness.

Or maybe, as a selfish adult, he’d grown lazy, expectant, entitled. And while he was distracted by the goodness of his own past, the darkness snuck up behind him. The darkness had waited until he was sated with sugar, and then the claws dug in, drawing marks in his own blood. He hadn’t turned around soon enough to counter the attack. Even after Daphne died—he should have sensed it then!—he still believed in the perfect, golden light that had accompanied him through life.

This was his fault.

He’d done something wrong. Made a mess of gratitude.

And now the darkness was oozing in from all corners. Leaving him with one insufficient prayer:

Don’t let her heart stop beating.

After Kendra left, Lilly, more jovial than she’d been in weeks, bent over to embrace him.

“Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, thank you!”

James felt triumphant for making her so happy, but he also felt his young daughter crushing him—his face smooshed against her collarbone, her arms like a vice. If she held him much longer he’d suffocate, or the girl would break his bones. A panic started to bubble in him and he wriggled away, trying to laugh it off.

“Careful of those strong arms, Lillypod.”

He took a few awkward steps away from her, masking what he truly felt. Unable to scream. Or run.