Page 3

Chapter two

Chris

M y worn leather recliner creaks as I pop out the footrest and settle in to eat my breakfast. Yogi sniffs the air curiously from her cat tree next to the television.

“I don’t think oatmeal is really your jam,” I tell her.

My weekends look a whole lot different since Mexico. Now I wake up in my own bed, alone . I don’t have awkward morning conversations or go to brunch. Most importantly, there are no more regrets about my behaviours the night before. It’s not like I think I’m a whole new man or anything, but I’m impressed with my willpower and self-improvement. The last few months have allowed me to dial in on work and get in the best shape of my life. A little boredom on the weekends and a lot of horniness are a small price to pay.

Yogi’s ears twitch, swivelling toward the ceiling at the sound of my friend and landlord, Berg’s, footsteps, and his little girls’ high-pitched voices. He’s a single dad. A widower, technically. But he hates that term. I don’t know much about raising kids, but those two sound barrier breakers seem to be doing great under the guidance of their dear old dad. Financially speaking, I don't have to live in my buddy's basement suite anymore, but I figure living down here is helpful to Berg, and moving is a hassle I’m not up for. Besides, this way I can send money to my sister. I rinse my oatmeal bowl and pop it in the dishwasher before grabbing a black ball cap and my earbuds. When I walk out the door for an easy jog, Berg is standing at the bottom of his curved flagstone stairs with the newspaper in hand.

He’s still in pyjama pants and a sweatshirt. “Mornin’,” he says.

“Rough night?” I note the bags beneath his eyes. “Thought I heard a car leave late.”

Berg's daughters are five and eight and it’s not often you hear a vehicle leave the house after bedtime.

“Natalie has a cough that wouldn’t quit. Hung out in emergency for a few hours. ”

Okay. Berg is a great dad. But he’s shitty at asking for help. I amble slowly down the drive, and he follows along, scanning the front-page stories.

“You didn’t have to take both of them. Next time pound on my door and I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“Didn’t think of that. Never know if you’ve got company.”

No chance of that these days.

“No company lately.”

Berg smirks, “Dry spell?”

I try not to roll my eyes. If I’m in a dry spell, then Berg is smack dab in the middle of a drought. The guy acts like he’s never heard of a babysitter.

I find the playlist I want on my phone for my run and pop one earbud in. “It was time for me to stop screwing around.”

Berg nods, raising his eyebrows.

The rest of the neighbourhood is waking up, too. Parents ushering kids into minivans for ballet and fall ball. A formation of cyclists in spandex whir by. People walking dogs in their pyjama pants. West Isle is a good place to raise a family. This part of town is close to an elementary school, forested trails, and a few stores within walking distance. I grew up not far from here, my sister and I with my mom and dad. The door opens and Berg's youngest daughter, Louisa, races down the steep driveway and launches herself at my thighs. I scoop her up, spinning her around until she’s dizzy. Natalie, the eldest, moves more slowly, wrapping her skinny arms around Berg’s midsection. She is absolutely miniature next to his huge frame. A chesty cough shaking her slight body.

“Not feeling so hot, Nat?”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Uh-uh.”

“That’s crummy, sorry,” I say.

“The oven beeped. Breakfast is ready, Daddy.” She looks up at him with green eyes, a spitting image of her father, right down to the red hair that frames her face.

“Well, we can’t be late for breakfast. Can we, Lou?” I ask Louisa, perched on my left shoulder.

“Nope!” She chirps.

“You want to join?” Berg offers.

“Nah, I’m going for a run!” I yell the last word and take off up the driveway while she giggles and bounces, screaming for me to go faster.

“Careful with my baby!” Berg calls after me.

“Precious cargo coming through!”

I set the lightweight down on the top step.

“Let me know if you need me to do some babysitting. Might do you good to have a little company .”

Berg shoves his girls inside and out of the cool morning .

“Was talking to Isaac earlier. BBQ at his place tonight.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the group chat. I’ll be there.”

“Dean can’t make it, but Ashlyn’s cousin will be there.”

Last year the mention of Anna would have had me more than excited, but aside from the odd glance my way, Anna isn’t interested in me. She’s so far from the type of girls I spend my time with. Used to spend time with. I’ve heard Anna and Isaac have a detailed discussion about payroll and employee benefits for god’s sakes. I once slept with a girl who typed the word ‘especially’ with an x. Berg goes to his breakfast, and I hit play on my music and start off on my jog. The image of Ashlyn perched on Isaac’s lap and me solo in a lawn chair pops into my mind. Before I can be jealous of my best friend, I remind myself that if I stick out this last month, I could be the guy with the devoted girlfriend on my lap. Hell, maybe one day I’ll be the guy with wild little girls.