Page 11 of Pick-Up

11 | Pony Up DEMON DAD

She really doesn’t remember meeting when the kids were small. I can’t decide if that’s bad or good. Either way, I am clearly delusional.

Why do I care? What is happening to me? I’m never like this.

I guess, if I’m honest, all those years ago, even though we were both still married, I thought we’d connected. One parent, one person , to another. Like we could have been real friends.

Maybe.

Could I just be friends with Sasha? Sure. I’m evolved. Why the fuck not?

Because . That’s why not. Even when I talked to her now, when her brow furrowed in that adorable way, when her green eyes filled with irritation and something harder to name, I just wanted to reach out and tug her ponytail.

I shake my head, like I’m clearing an Etch A Sketch. I can’t let my brain wander beyond that. I won’t. I’m cut off.

And I have the rest of my run to try not to think about it. About her . I close my eyes against the breeze. Against the image of her scowling. Of her on top of things. Turn my podcast louder. Focus on work. Blast out the noise.

I ruined my pace. But at least I apologized.

TO-DO

Finish the run, extra fast.

Get over yourself.

Stop thinking about Sasha.

When that fails, try harder.

Try harder.

Try.

Harder.