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“You need a bath. You were playing outside with Fritz for an hour this afternoon. Digging up Mrs. Polenti’s flowerbeds no less.”
It wasn’t much of an admonition. Laurie and the neighbor’s cocker spaniel were so cute together. Mrs. Polenti was soft on them too, so I knew she wouldn’t mind a few trampled leaves.
Though as soon as I said mentioned the neighbor’s pup, I knew what I’d be in for.
“Daddy, I want a dog. Like Fritz.” Laurie’s big blue eyes zeroed in on mine. “I’d take care of it. Feed and walk it.”
“What about clean up after it goes on the sidewalk? You have to scoop the poop into a bag and take it home to throw it out.”
Her little nose wrinkled. “Eww.”
“Part of being a pet owner, kiddo.”
“Okay. Then I’d do that too.” She sounded decidedly less enthusiastic.
“Maybe next year,” I said
as I always did.
Someday I intended to get her a puppy, but not until she was older and more responsible. And I’d figured out juggling the whole two little kids deal.
Yeah, I’d been plotting this scenario for a few months. Shifting things around in my head until I could figure out how to make it all work.
Ally was at the center of the plan. Without her, the rest fell apart. Considering she hadn’t contacted me since our conversation at the diner, that wasn’t a good sign.
She’d made it clear by not answering any of my calls that she needed space to think. But today was her first Mother’s Day without her mom, and I couldn’t just let the day pass without her knowing I was thinking about her. So I’d sent a simple bouquet of flowers with a brief card and hoped that sufficed. Even if she hated me, at least she knew I cared.
As far as the reverse, she hadn’t come by to see Laurie today, and she always did on this day for obvious reasons. I couldn’t blame her. Much. My offer had upset the balance, but it bugged me that Laurie was paying the price.
Not that my baby girl had mentioned Ally. Not once. She barely seemed aware of the day, though it was always a big deal in her preschool class. She’d brought me home a card she’d drawn, as was standard on a parent celebration day when the parent in question wasn’t a part of the child’s life. So she knew what today was. Knew what it meant.
Maybe that had something to do with her cranky mood since waking up from her nap. She had to miss her mom, right? Even if they’d only spent a few months together while Laurie was too little to remember much, Marj had carried Laurie for nine months. That created a special bond. It had to. Not that Marj had seemed overly affected.
Yet you’re asking your best friend to bear your child then to walk away?
“Daddy, ice cream?” Laurie picked up a couple peas between her fingers, squashing them together before popping them in her mouth. Her idea of a concession in the hopes of getting dessert.
“A scoop of ice cream after your bath, then you brush your teeth.” I wasn’t above bribery.
Laurie tilted her head, her blond pigtails falling over her shoulders. Every day she looked older. The chubbiness in her cheeks was fading, and her eyes were taking on a more knowing quality I was both proud of and worried about. I didn’t want her to have to face the world. She’d never be alone—not while I had breath in my body—but there were far too many things out there that I couldn’t shield her from.
And I would be taking on a whole new set of worries with a new one. Voluntarily.
Maybe Ally was right. I had gone mad.
“Okay,” Laurie said after a moment’s thought. “Strawberry?”
“It’s Neapolitan,” I told her. “Vanilla, strawberry and chocolate.”
Again with the stubborn chin. “Just strawberry and brush my teeth for three seconds.”
“Thirty,” I corrected, grinning in spite of myself. My daughter was a negotiator to the core. Just like her daddy and Uncle Oliver and our father before us. Always wheeling and dealing.
“Thirty what?”
“Seconds.” I reached over to ruffle her cornsilk hair. She was also a con artist. “You can have a scoop of mostly strawberry and then brush your teeth for thirty seconds.” I looked at her plate. “If you eat a few more peas.”
With a loud sigh, she grabbed a couple and smashed them into her mouth, chewing and swallowing so fast I feared she would choke. Then she made a face. “I hate peas.”
