Page 91 of Better Daddy

“Might not be a bad idea. Burn off some of his energy?” Sloane suggests.

The indoor playground with the ninja warrior course is on the way home and does wonders for wearing him out. So I begrudgingly agree. This way, at least one of us will be happy.

We’re hardly in the door before T.J. is scampering up the rope nets hanging above the ball pit. Less enthusiastically, Sloane and I make our way to a table and I help her sit.

“I’m sorry today didn’t go the way you wanted.” Sloane rubs her round tummy as she watches the throng of kids playing in front of us. “Your efforts didn’t go unnoticed, and I’m stillexcited.”

“Sloane.” I place my hand over hers. “I wanted today to be special. I wanted you to know how much you and our family mean to me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not over the moon about our little girl.”

That image from this morning reappears, and a lump lodges itself in my throat.

“A little girl with your eyes, and your sense of humor and your smile.”

Sloane’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “As long as she has your heart.”

I give her hand a squeeze.

“I do like the name Tia,” she muses.

“Tia Hope.” I nod. “Because this little girl is the reason I finally have hope. Hope for myself. Hope for us. Hope for our future.”

With a dip of her chin, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Tia Hope Murphy.”

She leans toward me but just as our lips meet, our son screams. “Help me, Daddy!”

I yank back and scan the room. When I don’t find him immediately, I jump out of the chair and rush toward the climbing area.

“I’m up here!” he announces from somewhere above me.

I tip my head up toward the top of the structure but I don’t see him. Frantically, I look a bit higher on the poles that hold the ropes.

“No, I’m up here,” T. J. repeats.

I look higher into the rafters and find him sitting far above the nets, on what looks like an AC vent.

“How in the bloody hell…” I scan the room, finding the yellow ladder-like structures that lead up to metal scaffolding that probably holds the entire climbing gym together. Above that are the rafters and the vents. My son, who never thinks anything through, clearly just kept climbing.

I shake my head.

“I’ll get the little Superman,” I assure Sloane.

“Of course you will. You’re Super Daddy,” she says.

“Not super but trying,” I remind her.

“Better Daddy.”

Her words bring back that lump in my throat. That’s what I’m desperate to be. Better for her. Better for our kids.

Since I’m quite a bit larger than my six-year-old, it takes time and maneuvering to fit myself up through the ropes and rafters to get to him. It takes twice as long to get down with him clinging to me like a baby monkey. Add in the traffic getting back over the bridge into Jersey, and it’s dinnertime by the time we make it back to the flat.

“Where have you all been?” Cal asks the second we’re through the door.

“We were at Extreme Energy,” T.J. explains, conveniently leaving out his adventure into the rafters.

“That’s it.” Cal snaps his fingers. “It’s the perfect place for Murphy’s party. Come celebrate Murphy turning seven with the best climby timey ever!”

Sloane groans, though the sound is cut off when she notices the massive bouquet of pink flowers on the Ping-Pong table.