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And I wouldn’t change a second of it.
“No, Dada.” She pouted with her full, rosebud lips, and I instantly melted. Less than two years old, and the little diva already had me wrapped around her cute little finger.
“Yes, Katie. It’s time to get dressed. You have to go play with Nommy. She’ll be sad if you’re late.” I lifted her into a sitting position and pulled a yellow and green striped T-shirt over her head.
Katie pointed at the dog that was pictured on the front. “Woof!” she announced with pride. Katie had been saying simple words for months now and was consistently trying to sound out new ones. It wasn’t me being biased as a proud dad, but my girl did everything fast. She was crawling at four months, pulling herself up on the furniture at eight months, and was full-on walking at a year. Dr. Samuels, her pediatrician, was surprised at how quickly she reached all of her milestones.
“This one will be ready to run the country at ten. So, watch out,” the grizzled doctor had said, laughing as he watched Katie toddling around the examination room for her checkup.
Given how rocky her early life had been, I was relieved that it hadn’t seemed to affect Katie much at all. She was too young to know what missing her mother should feel like. Sure, the questions would come later—I only hoped I’d know how to answer them.
When she was finally dressed, I lifted her off the changing table, and she ran to her bed and pulled Fuzzles, her stuffed monkey, from his place on her pillow. “Fuss-ell!” She squished the ragged toy to her chest. She kissed it on its head and tucked it under her arm as she always did before we left the house. Katie never went anywhere without Fuzzles. It broke my heart a little every time she hugged and kissed it, not knowing that her mother had bought it for her right before leaving her behind.
Maybe the kid knew on a subconscious level that it was the only thing she had to link her to the mother who couldn’t handle being a parent. Or maybe I was putting too much thought into a fucking kid’s toy.
I lifted Katie, holding her firmly against my chest. She dropped her head to my shoulder. My heart was in danger of bursting out of my chest. Some days I could barely contain the amount of love I had for my little girl. Some days it felt like it would consume me whole. I hadn’t thought it possible to love another person the way I loved the twenty-five pounds of adorable sass in my arms.
I was a guy that loved hard. It had always been my downfall. Just ask my mother, who warned me that my idealized idea of relationships would only lead to heartache.
“You’re a good boy, Kyle. The best boy. But guard your heart against those who will only crush it,” she had intoned sagely after my first serious heartbreak at the age of twelve. Debbie Colter had been my girlfriend for an entire week. We had exchanged handmade bracelets and everything. Then Bobby Little caught her eye, and that was the end of the epic Kyle and Debbie love story.
That’s not to say I didn’t play the field. I wasn’t some whiney bitch that sobbed into my cornflakes over every female that gave me attention. Women liked me, and I liked them. As long as I kept it casual, I was okay.
It was the ones I loved that had always been the problem.
I grabbed the overloaded diaper bag from the kitchen table and slung it over my shoulder. Balancing my squirmy toddler on one hip, I deftly poured coffee into my thermos and pocketed a baggie of cut-up carrots for Katie’s snack. I was getting pretty good at multitasking. Being a single dad meant juggling a lot of balls at one time, hoping they wouldn’t crash to the floor.
Katie was babbling happily as I strapped her into her car seat. I tucked Fuzzles into her arms and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. She giggled, kissing her palms and “throwing” it at me. I pretended to catch it and kissed my palm as well.
After I checked Katie was secure and put the bag on the passenger seat, I hopped up into my Ford F-150 and pulled out of the driveway. “Octi! Octi!” Katie demanded from the backseat. I knew exactly what she wanted. I pushed a button on the stereo, and Octopus’s Garden by The Beatles came on over the speakers. Katie had been obsessed with that song ever since my dad had played it for her on the guitar a couple of months ago.
I drove the five short minutes to my parents’ ranch rambler on a quiet cul-de-sac in the center of my hometown, Southport, Pennsylvania. My dad was already up and out front watering his flowers. His garden was a thing of beauty, and he spent more time with his hands in the dirt than he did with his family. It’s because of him I had developed my own love of plants and flowers, which was why I now owned my own landscaping business—Webber’s Lawn Care.
