Page 6 of Single Daddy To Go

We ride the elevator up to the top floor. Katie sheds her backpack at the door like a lizard wiggling out of its skin, dropping it on the ground and running to her bedroom. I follow her at a far more leisurely pace. I peek in the door, watching Katie play.

It’s a sweet scene. I’ve had her room done up to be the envy of any princess. Her room features a four-poster bed with a pink canopy, equine-themed wall paper, and lush carpet. She has a huge dollhouse and a toy collection worthy of a magazine spread. As was obvious in the car, she’s in a plastic pony mood today.

I stay by the door for a while, watching her play with the brightly colored horses. She’s lost in her own world, imagining stories for her toys and doing different voices while neighing and snorting. I can’t quite follow the action, but I know my daughter is happy and that’s all that matters.

Before too long, she’ll take a nap. I leave her to her own devices, trusting that she’s safe in her room, and wander back to the entrance to retrieve her backpack. I like my apartment to stay as tidy as possible.

Shit. It’s wet. I recoil as I touch it, surprised by the water. Her water bottle must have spilled. Never a dull moment with a kid. I open theFrozen-themed sack and confirm that her water bottle is indeed leaking. I withdraw the thermos and place it on the marble counter. Stuck to it is a piece of paper.

Peeling off the orange slip, I notice that it’s a flyer for something called “The Annual Fair.” I read it, taking it all in. It seems to be some kind of family fundraiser for Ladybug Tots.

I feel myself making a face, grimacing at the flyer. I hate this kind of thing. It’s bad enough that I have to attend fundraising events for work, but I didn’t realize having a child came with its own set of such events. I’ve never done anything like this before. Before the divorce, I was a pretty hands-off dad. If I’d known about the annual fair at all, I would have just sent my wife and some money.

I sigh. Oh well. I guess this is what it means to step up to the plate. I’m probably going to have to hob-knob with teachers and parents and listen to some speeches. Or maybe I’ll just write a check and skip the bullshit. Whatever. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve certainly done worse things for less important people than my own child.

I feel my pocket buzzing. I pull out my cell and see the hard eyed smile of my ex, staring back at me from her profile picture. I told myself I was going to change the pic to one of Cruella DeVille, but never got around to doing it. I steel myself, and answer.

“Hello, Lindsay,” I say, trying my best to sound civil.She’s the mother of your child, I remind myself.

“Hello, Rob. Did you pick Katie up from daycare?” Lindsay’s voice is like nails on a chalk board, high and shrill. I must have liked it years ago, somehow, but now it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She always sounds like she’s trying to pick a fight with me. Even though we’ve settled our custody issues, she justhasto needle me.

I take a deep breath, resolving to remain calm no matter how much she irritates me.

“Yes, Lindsay. I picked her up right on time. You can call the day care if you don’t believe me.”

There’s a small pause, as if my ex expected the worst from me and doesn’t know how to respond.

“Well, that’s good,” she says eventually, in a tone that makes it seems like she doesn’t think anything I do could possibly be good. I am so fuckingsickof this tone. I have heard so much of it from her over the years.

“So,” I say, flatly. “What’s up?”

Her shrill voice taunts me. I know she’s just trying to get under my skin, and it’s working, even though I know what she’s doing. I hate that she has this effect on me.

“So, will you be going to the preschool’s Annual Fair? I trust you know about it. It’s next week.”

Speak of the devil. I’m holding the flyer in my hand, and Lindsay is needling me like a fucking mosquito in my ear.

“Yes,” I say, in a tight voice. “Of course I know about it. I was already planning on going next week.” Well, damn. Now I’m stuck.

Lindsay’s laugh is like a hyena: chortling, sinister and sharp.

“Oh, good!” she makes an exaggerated show of saying, her tone smarmy. “I’ll be there too. Me and Sheldon wouldn’t miss it for the world! It will be so good to see you.”

She’s lying. She doesn’t think it will be good to see me and neither do I. I can’t dignify her behavior with an agreement.

“Great,” I say flatly, lying through my teeth.

“Bye now!” she sings in her most cloying voice.

“Bye,” I grunt, hanging up the phone. My back teeth grind together. I think about throwing the phone across the room, but it’s not the phone’s fault. Instead, I just grip it, letting my rage flow through me.

Somehow, I used to love this woman. It seems so far away now, but a long time ago, I thought she was the love of my life. She was different then, or at least I thought she was: kinder and softer, seemingly always up for a good time, interested in my work and my hobbies. I knew Lindsay was ambitious, but I thought she’d use it to create some kind of success for herself. Instead, the focus of her ambition has been entrapping men, chiefly me.

Even now, I recognize that my ex is a conventionally attractive woman with luxurious golden locks and a tight, toned body that’s never without a perfect tan. Maybe I was just mesmerized by her body. Maybe I didn’t notice how grating her voice was. Maybe she used to be different, or maybe she was just really good at playing the game and pretending to be someone she’s not so I’d get hooked like a hapless trout.

I guess I should have been more careful, but when Lindsay got pregnant I did the right thing and married her. It was all downhill from there. Once the woman had the ring and the baby, she stopped being the darling girl I had come to love, and revealed herself to be a social climbing harpy.

Lindsay told me she wanted a large family, which was important to me. But as soon as we had Katie, she announced that she was done. What could I do? It’s not like I could force her to have more kids. As soon as Katie was weaned, my ex hired nannies and staff to take care of the child and spent most of her time going to parties and getting in good with other socialites. Pretty soon, it seemed like whatever I did and whatever I said was wrong.