Page 37 of Single Daddy To Go

Mr. Hwaung walks into the office. He’s a portly guy with a smiling, sweaty face and a very expensive suit. I shake his hand, ushering him in to sit down. “I’m so glad you could make it today,” I say.

“I squeezed you in,” he wheezes. “I have to fly back to Hong Kong in four hours, so let’s make this quick. You want to buy. I want to sell. This should be easy.”

I am grateful for the urgency. I’m not in the mood for small talk right now. The truth is, finding out what’s going on with Ally is more important to me than this meeting, but I can’t let Hwaung know that. Business has to come first, or the empire I’ve worked so hard to build over the course of my life will collapse like a fucking tower of twigs.

“Yes, Mr. Hwaung. It should be easy,” I say smoothly, spreading some papers out on the desk. “Let’s go over these figures.”

The meeting proceeds. It’s tough to focus, but I make myself hone in on these negotiations. It takes perhaps half an hour to hammer out the details of our transaction. We agree on a price of $20 million for the company, and shake hands on the deal. We put our respective signatures to some important paperwork and shake hands again after he hoists himself to his feet. Was it a good deal? A bad one? Probably something in the middle given how thoughts of Ally kept running around the back of my mind even as I crunched numbers with Hwaung.

“Would you like me to have my driver drop you off at the airport?” I offer courteously.

“No, I have my own driver,” the fat man says. “My car is waiting outside.”

I watch him walk away, escorted by my secretary. I sit back down and make like I’m going to get to work, but of course, my fingers don’t obey. Instead, to my mortification, I try calling Ally from my office phone again. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m like a fucking fifteen year old boy caught in the throes of some hopeless unrequited crush. It’s embarrassing to be honest.

And yet, as I press the phone to my ear, my heart beats with rapid thumps. I hold out hope that she will answer, but it rings straight to voicemail. Fuck! I’m so fucking pathetic! I’ve already left Ally a bunch of messages, so I just hang up. I’ve never felt so powerless as I do right now.

Viciously, I pull up a shareholders’ report from one of my investment holdings. I read the same page about five times, taking nothing in. The words crawl before my eyes like tiny ants. I tell myself to get it together and focus, but it’s no use. I can’t do this. I’m too distracted by worrying about what has happened with Ally and it’s affecting my ability to get my work done. I’d fire myself, if it was possible.

I push the button on the intercom and page my secretary. She comes rushing in, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “How can I help you, Mr. Lockhart?”

“I want you to clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” I growl.

“Are you sure, Mr. Lockhart?” Her face flashes concern. “You have several more meetings today.” Not to mention that Inevercancel work. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“It’s a family emergency, Ann. Reschedule what you can, and have Robert Johnson deal with whatever you can’t reschedule. I think he’s ready for the responsibility.” My voice is hard, my mind having already been made up.

She nods. “Of course, Sir. I’ll get right on it.”

I call up Bernard next and ask him for Ally’s address. He’s picked her up and dropped her off a couple times by now, so he rattles it off with no problem. Good. I’ve never been to her apartment before, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m not going to let the girl slip through my fingers, not without an explanation at least.

I don’t even bother with a driver. I don’t want any middle men in the way right now. This ismyproblem, and I’m going to fix it. I take the wheel of my Rolls Royce, and plot a course for Brooklyn, my hands gripping the steering wheel in frustration. Ally better be ready because a fucking monster hurricane’s coming her way, and there ain’t nothing that’s going to stop her from beingmine.

15

Ally

Iget through the next two days at work, barely conscious. The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that the children need me. Their sweet smiles and tender hearts remind me that there is still good in the world while I spend my nights despondent, trying to dodge my roommate’s attempts to get me to talk about it.

I spend the weekend holed up in my apartment, under a blanket. I watch a marathon of sad movies, one after the other, crying along with the characters which is better than crying about my own situation. I pass out on the couch on Saturday night and wake up Sunday morning to watch more sad movies. It’s pathetic honestly. There’sThe Notebook, a perennial favorite, as well asBridget Jones’s Diary. Well,Bridget Joneshas a happy ending, but it just makes memoresad because I know there will be no happy ending for me.

I buy myself three cartons of chocolate ice cream and make my way steadily through them, doing whatever I can to soothe my pain. I need more than ice cream. I need him. I need Rob’s strong hands, the wide shoulders and the broad chest to lean on. But he’s not here, and I’ve been ignoring him because what would we say to one another? Words can’t encapsulate how utterly wretched I feel. As a result, the sugar is all I’ve got. The velvety softness of the chocolate sweetness melts in my mouth, but I don’t feel better at all.

My phone rings again, and I pick it up, blinking at the screen with bleary eyes. It’s Rob. Jesus. Can’t he just leave me alone? Hasn’t he hurt me enough? I let it ring and refuse to answer. He’s called me a bunch of times and left me at least a dozen voicemails and texts. I don’t want to talk to him. Nothing he could say right now could make this better. I can’t face him, knowing what I know now.

But at the same time, I miss him desperately. I feel like there’s a hole where my heart used to be. It sounds dumb, but sometimes I literally get chest pains, I miss him so much. But I have to stay strong because the Rob I miss was nothing but a fantasy. I feel so stupid for thinking he wanted to have a family with me, when all he really wanted was to get back at his ex. All those sweet words were just that: sugar. All fluff and no filling. What a dumb, naïve girl.

I lose myself in the movies, grateful that Netflix has an unlimited supply of sad films to make me feel a little bit better about my own life because no matter how shitty I feel, it’s nothing compared to the horror in store for the characters inLife is Beautiful. My heart hurts for the little boy and for his father who does everything he can not to let his child know that they are in a concentration camp. It’s heavy stuff, and far worse than a breakup. At least that’s what I tell myself, but somehow, my heart still longs for Rob even as the characters run around on screen. When the movie finally ends, my face is streaked with tears and my nose is running, although I don’t know if it’s because of the movie, or because I feel so sorry for myself. Probably both. I wipe the snot off on the blanket, not even caring that it’s disgusting.

Suddenly, my doorbell rings. The last thing I want to do right now is talk to someone. I look like a complete mess and feel like a pile of shit. But whoever it is won’t stop.Ding ding ding!Jesus Christ, it’s so annoying! Why won’t this person just go away already?

I cover my face with the blanket, hoping whoever it is will give up and leave, but the doorbell just keeps buzzing. I sigh, forcing myself to get off the couch. I look like shit, but whatever. If this person wants a response, they’re going to deal with me in this messed up state.

I swing open the door, half-expecting to see Mr. Limey from downstairs. He’s our elderly neighbor who likes to cook, and always seems to be short a few ingredients. Sometimes it’s a cup of sugar or a splash of milk. One time, it was the steak for his steak frites. Go figure.

I’m ready to bite off Mr. Limey’s head, but my mouth falls open when I see who it is, because it’s my lover. He’s massive, dark and angry looking in a black suit. His expression is one of thunderclouds, and the man bursts through the door while letting out a growl, wild-eyed and crazy. I stare at him, gaping as he barges into my apartment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands, his imposing figure casting a shadow over me. I’m silent, merely staring at him for a few minutes before the words come rushing out.