they came in waves. Tonight, it had been about eighteen hours since the pain had throttled back to something bearable, and usually once that much time had passed, she felt better and stayed that way. At least until the next one came along.
“You feel like eating anything?”
Her eyes lost focus as she seemed to consider it. Maybe because she was still queasy, maybe because the hangover left her feeling like her brain was barely running on two cylinders. Maybe both. Finally, she nodded. “Something light, I guess?”
“Okay.” I pushed myself up. “Cold or hot?”
Another long silence. “Cold. Cereal sounds good.”
“Good thing I bought milk yesterday.”
She smiled faintly. While she took a seat at the kitchen table, I poured us both a couple of bowls of Cheerios. Wasn’t her favorite thing or mine, but it was one of the least offensive things for her to eat or smell when she was recuperating.
We didn’t talk much while we ate. That was to be expected. By tomorrow, she’d probably be back to normal, so I wasn’t worried. I was relieved, in fact, especially because she was eating like she had a real appetite. That was always a good sign.
“Do you think you’ll be okay to go to school tomorrow?” I asked.
She swallowed a spoonful of cereal. “I think so.”
I nodded. “Okay. In the morning, if you’re not, then don’t push it, but for now I’ll assume you’re going.”
She nodded too.
After we’d finished eating, she went back to bed while I cleaned up our handful of dishes. Then I returned to the couch, and I sent my boss an email saying I would most likely be in, but there was a chance I’d have to either work from home or take another day. Just depended on how Dallas felt.
Before I’d even hit send, I could already hear him grumbling and complaining about me being “unreliable” and how difficult it was to deal with my “unpredictable schedule.” Ugh. Today was yet another one of those days when I wished I could walk into my boss’s office, tell him what a piece shit he was, and walk out without looking back. I’d fantasized about it millions of times, and nothing made those fantasies more vivid or tempting than the asshole’s guilt trippy responses whenever I had to call in.
“We’ve all got families to take care of, but we need you here at the office.”
“This many sick days aren’t going to look good on your annual review.”
Or, as he’d said this morning, “We’ve got clients coming in today. Can’t her mother look after her?”
Ugh. Fuck him. Haley or Nick would have loved to take care of Dallas today, but none of our companies had particularly generous policies for taking time off, and we were doing the best we could. None of us ever called in sick for ourselves unless we were on death’s door (something our coworkers understandably resented), but Nick had burned several days with a nasty case of the flu earlier this year. Haley’s company was even more draconian about taking sick leave, and she was out of PTO until the next fiscal year. That meant that for the next few months, I was the only one with any flexibility to stay home with Dallas, and my boss made sure to remind me at every turn how inconvenient that was.
Yeah, sorry I have a kid who’s chronically ill, asshat. Can’t imagine how difficult that must be for you.
I glanced at my phone, and my stomach twisted as I recalled my earlier FaceTime conversation with Jase. I’d loved it, and it felt like we’d broken a lot of ice and gotten to know each other, but now… Fuck.
My boss barely tolerated the realities of me being a parent to a child who needed extra care, and the fact was, potential partners weren’t much better. I’d dated people before who’d jumped ship once they realized I wasn’t just an every-other-weekend single dad. Those who could handle dating a guy with fifty percent custody always seemed to bail once the rubber met the road and they understood that my daughter’s medical issues were a bigger deal than “she gets headaches sometimes.” My relationships rarely lasted long enough for us to torpedo things for the usual reasons, like incompatibility or a wandering eye. All it usually took was one or two dates being interrupted or some plans being derailed for them to decide this was more than they bargained for, and they’d be gone.
There were days when I understood,