a “click.” But I’ve never seen her completely, truly in love.
I don’t think she’s been in love since Michael.
I look down at Hope. She’s watching Mom dancing around too, and she’s sort of smiling. I wonder if she’s old enough to find things funny.
Mom looks up then and sees us standing there. “Hey, buddy,” she says, dumping a handful of weeds in a pile on the side of the driveway and wiping her hands on her jeans. She takes out her earbuds. “Where you off to?”
Anywhere that will distract me from obsessing over Meg’s journals. “Dunno. Just need to get out of the house.”
She nods. “Well, can we talk tonight? I’ll make eggplant parm.”
That’s my favorite. She only makes it on special occasions or when she’s trying to butter me up. I know what this “talk” is going to be about—the same thing she’s been trying to get me to talk about seriously for the whole summer. The Great Day Care Dilemma.
“All right,” I say. “When do you need me home?”
“Seven-ish?”
“’Kay.”
“Have fun!”
I walk past my car, which Mom moved from the driveway to the street to free up space for her weeding, and head out on foot. It’s really nice out—not too hot, sunny, quiet, with a little breeze. I kick a rock ahead of me, meet up with it, and kick it again. The continuous impact of the rock against my sneaker is oddly soothing.
Hope’s arms and legs dangle from the openings in her carrier, and her head falls against me as she starts to nod off, her little head snuggling into my chest. She’s like a miniature space heater, warming up my middle. Tentatively, I lift a hand and brush it lightly across her head, being careful to not press too hard on the soft spot. But then she pulls away and starts whimpering again, her face all scrunched up and cranky.
Fine. Whatever.
As I get to the end of the street and need to make a decision—right toward the lake or left toward downtown—my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Joni: What r u doing?
Oh, just walking down the street with my daughter, whom you know nothing about.
Nothin much, I text back. Chillin. You?
Same. Want to do something?
It’s been a long time since anyone’s texted me to hang out.
I turn toward the lake and look down at Hope. Even if I could concentrate on anything besides whether Mabel’s making progress on the storage unit, and even if I didn’t have a date with doom scheduled with Mom tonight, I still wouldn’t be able to hang out with Joni today. Because I have a kid. How fucking crazy is that? I say the words out loud. Maybe they’ll make more sense that way. “I am a parent. I’m a father.”
The whole thing makes me want to dive in the lake and never come up for air.
I really need to find those journals. Or Michael. Or both.
Not really having the best day, I type. Not a lie. Need to be alone, I think.
:-( Need me to bring you some candy?
LOL. Noooo. I’m gonna get fat, hanging out with you.
Ummm have you seen you? I think it’s genetically impossible for you to get fat.
I pause, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. This is all getting a little too close to flirting. Need to rein it in. Gotta go. See you at work tomorrow. I type a smiley face but delete it before I hit send.
A few moments later, my feet hit grass and I’m walking directly toward the water. This isn’t my favorite part of the lake—it’s grassy and there are trees everywhere, not beachy at all—but it’s close to home and better than nothing. It’s pretty hot out today, probably one of the last summery days of the year. Before long, it will be winter again, and Hope will be too big to carry in the sling, and it’ll be like when she was first born and I had to push her around in a stroller through a foot of snow. Uphill both ways.
I sit on the grass, take my shirt off, and lay it on the ground for Hope to lie on. She’s sturdier now than she used to be but still all floppy, so I have to be careful whenever I put her down to make sure her head doesn’t snap back or anything. I’m not sure what would happen if it did, but it seems like we’re better off not finding out. She fusses, making little ehhhh