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Dani looked over at me and considered the question.
"Yes. But... They were talking about sports and building stuff. And you know how to do those things."
I internally breathed a sigh of relief.
"And fixing the internet." Makayla frowned. "That's dumb, right? Of course, moms can fix the internet." She brightened up. "I'm going to tell them that my mom has a blog on the internet,andknows how to build shelves!"
There was a sparkle in her hazel eyes when she said that, like she'd just accepted a challenge. I thought about how if her dad was in her life, she'd know where she got those eyes from—but I didn't say that out loud. Instead, I said, "Hey, you know there's lots of grownups in your life that love you, right? Me, and Miss Carol, and Aunt Dani, and..."
"I know, Mom," she said, exasperated because I'd told her so many times. "And if my daddy knew about me, he'd love me, too. You'vetoldme." How could a five-year old sound so much like a teenager? "Oh, there's Aunt Dani!" Dani saw our car and came down. She was standing in the door of the building and when Makayla saw her, she quickly unbuckled, opened the door, and jumped down. She turned back to grab her bag and blow me a kiss before shutting the door. "Bye, Mommy. I love you!"
I watched her hop up the driveway and into Dani's arms, and got overwhelmed with gratitude for the fact that yes, she truly did have people in her life that loved her. I waved at Dani and shouted a thank you to her before driving off.
I checked the time. It was the start of evening rush hour, and I just barely had enough time to get to my next job. I'd been working there for three years, but they still glared at me if I clocked in even a minute late. I checked the traffic on my phone and changed my route. Even with worries about the traffic, my mind couldn't help but wander back to that conversation with Makayla.
It wasn't technically speaking a lie to tell her that her father would love her if he knew about her. After all, there was no reason he shouldn't. True, I knew nothing about him but what he was like in bed—surprisingly, not a very helpful thing if you're trying to track down the father of your unplanned baby. But even without knowing his name, I felt confident that he'd love Makayla. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at me right before he fell asleep that night.
His face and the feel of his hand in mine were imprinted on my memory. I still thought of it sometimes when I was trying to fall asleep. Lying alone in the dark, I remembered what it was like to lie next to him, his steady breathing and body heat a comfort even though he was basically a stranger. I never talked about him to anyone, not even Dani. It was kind of embarrassing to think that just one night from years ago still had such a grip on me. It didn't help that Makayla sometimes looked like him, that she definitely had his eyes. Every once in a while, I couldn't stop myself from imagining a world in which he was around, taking care of us, taking care of me.
That kind of thinking was pointless, though. And what he was or wasn't to me, or to Makayla, didn't matter. No matter what he'd been like, I would have lied to Makayla and told her that he would have loved her. She only deserves good things as far as I was concerned. That was part of why I was working my ass off, bouncing between two jobs. That was why, despite the fact that Makayla would proudly tell anyone that listened about my blog, I hadn't written a post in almost a year. Life was too hard right now; finances were too tight. If I had to choose between my dreams and my kid, she won every time, no question.
I couldn't help but feel a little twinge though, when she talked about my blog. I wanted to be a good example for her, to show her that even if you were alone, you could go after your dreams. But there wasno time.
Speaking of which, I just barely avoided being late for work. My shift started at four, and the clock literally switched over to a minute past four right after I punched in. I rushed to the locker room to change and get out front. Not only would my boss notice if I wasn't out there, but it was the busiest time of night, and the more tables I could get to, the more tips I got. The restaurant was already full, the Italian-themed dining room packed with customers of all kinds. There were noisy families, old married couples, and young kids on what looked like their first date. In the back a group of high school kids had pushed a bunch of tables together so they could all sit in the same place. I paused to look at them, remembering a time when the biggest problem I had was how to sit at the same table with all my friends.
"Earth to Deira," a voice behind me said, and I turned to see one of my fellow waitresses balancing two trays full of food.
"Sorry, sorry," I mumbled and jumped out of her way before following her out onto the floor.
The night passed in a blur, full of people shouting for me over the din of the restaurant or waving wildly to call me over, even if I wasn't assigned to their table. No one screamed at me, though, and I was getting great tips, so it was shaping up to be an okay night. I made it to the end of my four-hour shift, and was headed for the back when I heard my manager call my name. I turned back wearily.
"Can you just bus those two tables for me over there?" she asked.
"It's late, I've got to go pick up my kid," I replied.
"I know, I know. Just really quick, as a favor? I'll try to look into getting you that shift change you asked about." That was too enticing of an offer to pass up, so I sighed and headed over to the table. Bussing tables wasn't even technically my job, but we were short two people at the moment. And I could spare ten minutes if it helped me get a better schedule.
I filled the trays with all the dishes and set them carefully on an empty table so I could wipe down the dirty ones. I was bent all the way over, trying to scrub some sticky substance off the back of the table, when I heard some shouts of laughter, the sound of someone stumbling, and then a horrible crash.
I froze, and stood up, not wanting to turn around but already knowing what I would see. Sure enough, all those dishes I had just cleared were now on the floor in pieces. I looked up at the culprit, a couple in designer clothes who had apparently bumped into the table. The woman looked ashamed, but the man was already getting a defiant look on his face.
"Sir, are you all right?" My boss, the owner of the restaurant, had rushed over and was now fawning over the man.
"Yes, I'm fine, it's fine. Just have your staff be a little more careful in the future."
"Of course, sir."
I stared at the man, unable to believe what I was hearing. The couple started to move away, but I heard my own voice say, quite loudly, "I didn't knock those dishes off."
The man stopped and turned around. My boss suddenly looked nervous.
"Are you implying that I did?" the man said. The woman next to him tugged on his arm. "Let's just go," she said, but he shook her off.
"I'm just saying it wasn't me." I stuck my chin out defiantly.
He turned to my boss with his nose in the air and his entitlement on full display.
"What kind of rude staff do you employ that speak to customers this way?"
