we’ve settled into a polite relationship that usually revolves around picking up and dropping off Lucy as she bounces between our homes. However, I continue to help Ella out with the house as needed, and luckily for me, her garbage disposal is clogged. It means I’ll have an opportunity for conversation rather than just the normal polite greetings during a Lucy exchange.
I park behind Ella’s Cadillac Escalade, which is parked in front of the two-car garage. She’s had it for almost five years and even though we could afford to buy her a new one every year if she desired, she just doesn’t. She’s never been one to be flashy with our money as evidenced by the fairly modest house we live in—at least by professional athlete standards. I’m not flashy, either. While I do drive a Range Rover, it’s four years old and I don’t have any plans to give it up.
What we do have to show for my paychecks is a fully-funded college investment account for Lucy. She can afford to go to the most expensive college if she chooses, and there’s enough for her to pursue post-graduate education if she wants. Ella and I also invested heavily in our early years of marriage—thanks to the fact her father is a financial planner—and we could retire happily right now if we wanted to.
And it never mattered I made way more than Ella. Both our salaries went into the joint account, and we were a team in every sense of the financial word.
After I exit my vehicle, I trot up to the front door. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect this is Ella’s sanctuary now. Pocketing my keys, I ring the doorbell, but the wait isn’t long. Ella’s there, opening it and looking like a breath of fresh air. She has on an old Quebec Royals t-shirt, a pair of white shorts that aren’t indecent but show a good amount of tanned legs and her feet are bare. Her face is devoid of any makeup, blue eyes sparkling, and her blond hair is up in a ponytail.
“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded as it always is. “Thanks for coming over to look at this thing.”
“Not a problem,” I say as I step over the threshold. My gaze, as usual, goes to the row of shelves in the living room that are stuffed with photos and knickknacks. Like I do every time, I slowly let out a sigh of relief to see Ella hasn’t removed all of our family photos she had framed and put on display there over the years.
Ella turns, then walks through the living room into the kitchen. I follow and I’d be dead not to check out her ass in those not-quite-indecent but still-sexy shorts. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realize Lucy is sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal.
As I move to my daughter, I ruffle her hair—blond like her mom’s—and say, “Morning, my Lucy Goosey.”
It’s a nickname I started calling her when she was about four, and she’d always respond by calling me “Baddy Daddy”.
She ignores me, hunches over her bowl, and shoves another spoonful into her mouth. Leaning to the side, I bend to put my face close to hers. Pointedly, I say, “Good morning, Lucy.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of Lucky Charms.
“Lucy,” Ella growls, her tone filled with warning.
It’s one of the reasons I respect Ella so much. She’s suffered pain and heartbreak at my hands, and it would have been so easy for her to use Lucy as a pawn. To turn my child against me. But every step of the way, if Ella’s present, she refuses to let Lucy be disrespectful to me in any way.
My gaze moves to Ella, and she gives me an apologetic look. I slightly shake my head, telling her silently to let it go. I’m not up for Lucy getting dramatic on us.
Ella holds her tongue from further rebuking her, but she says, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for school?”
“Gladly,” Lucy says, beaming a sarcastic smile at her mom, then at me. After picking up her bowl of cereal, she moves to the staircase.
“Remember, I’m picking you up tomorrow morning,” I remind her as she starts up the stairs. She doesn’t respond, so I yell, “Be ready at nine.”
It’s my day to spend with Lucy, one of the few I have completely off from my job and