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“I’ll buy her teacher some chocolates or something to say sorry,” he murmured, thinking out loud.
“Presley.” There she went, telling him off again.
“What? What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Not be late.” His mom sounded frustrated. And he got it, he did. When Jade died three years ago he’d been a mess. She and his dad had stepped in and taken care of him and Delilah.
But things were better now. They have a house, he has a job, and Delilah’s thriving at school. She loved unicorns and giraffes and dance class.
She was a normal little kid, and he was so thankful for that. She laughed, and she cried and she snuggled up to him when they watched movies together.
“I’ll sort it out,” he promised. “I’ll send flowers.”
“That’s better,” his mom said warmly. “You’re a good boy at heart.”
He laughed at the term boy. He hadn’t been that for a long time. By the age of thirteen he and Marley had been taller than their mom. By sixteen they were a full foot higher. Wherever they went, the two of them dominated the room.
The Heartbreak Boys, people in the town would whisper as they walked through the square. As handsome as their daddy, but twice as dangerous.
“You having a good time?” he asked his mom, loading a soap pod into the dishwasher and flicking it on. Once Delilah was in bed, he’d put in a load of laundry and attack some invoices. He had little time to sit around and do nothing, but that was mostly the way he liked it.
He liked being busy. Building things, making things. It beat thinking about how lonely you were in the middle of the night.
His mom was telling him about the party they were about to head to. He listened as he cleaned up the counters, humoring her.
“I guess I’d better go,” she finally said. “We’ll be home tomorrow to pick Delilah up from school.”
“You sure?” he asked. He hated taking advantage of his parents. But they’d had this conversation enough times – they loved having Delilah around. They wouldn’t hear of him getting a nanny or putting Delilah in after-school care.
His kid was lucky to have so many people who loved her.
“I’m sure. Now sleep tight. And don’t forget to send the flowers.”
“I won’t.” He disconnected the call and slid his phone in his pocket.
“Daddy?” Delilah called out. “Come watch with me.”
He dried his hands on a towel and walked into the living room where his daughter was curled up on the sofa, Lola the giraffe wrapped tight in her arms. The stuffie was getting threadbare now, the fur on the ears had been rubbed away by her fingers over the years, and his mom had sewn the poor giraffe’s eyes back on.
“Okay.” He sat on the sofa next to her and she immediately climbed into his lap. She smelled of flowers and fresh showers and he breathed her in.
“Miss Cassie says I’m good at dancing,” Delilah told him, her eyes still glued to the television screen.
“Yeah, you are.”
Delilah preened like a cat. “And she says I have pretty hair.”
“That’s because I put it in such a great pony tail,” he teased.
Delilah sighed. “No, she had to re-do it for me. She can do French braids too, but she didn’t have time before class.”
Of course she could. He got the feeling his kid thought this new teacher was some kind of superhero.
“She’s pretty,” Delilah continued. “Isn’t she?”
Pres blew out a mouthful of air. Yeah, she was, if you liked that kind of thing. Which apparently he did.
Or his libido, if it still existed, did.
