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Chapter Eight
Dean
“Remember to brush your teeth before bed, and make sure you listen and are a good girl for Mimi, okay?”
Bri rolls her eyes at me, something she’s recently picked up from one of the older kids at the sitter’s. I give her a stern look, letting her know I’m not a fan of her eye roll. “Sorry,” she says sweetly with a shy smile. “I’m always a good girl for Mimi.”
“I know,” I say, kissing the top of her forehead. “I just have to remind you every once in a while.”
“You’re gonna be gone three whole nights?” she asks while pouring water into her Hello Kitty watering can.
“Three whole nights, sweetheart. I’ll be here Friday when you get home from school. My sessions are supposed to end at noon, so I’ll drive back as soon as I’m done and pick you up from Miss Nancy’s, okay?”
“Otay! Mimi is gonna sleep in your bed, Daddy. She said I can have Frosted Flakes for breakfast, too. And pancakes! She’ll make me pancakes or maybe waffles. Do you think she’ll bring her waffle eye-ron?”
“It’s an iron, and I’m sure she can grab it if you want.” I pour clean water over the top of her head, rinsing the remainder of the suds clean.
“Can you text her tonight? This way she doesn’t forget to bring it tomorrow?”
“I’ll call her when I get you in bed, okay?”
“And tell her that I have Home Alone that we can watch on Blue Ray.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her ability to bounce from subject to subject so quickly. If only I were able to do the same; maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last week thinking about the noises Payton made while she came on my cock.
“I’ll tell her,” I tell my daughter.
“Oh! And tell her that I’m going to have Edward sleep in bed with her so she doesn’t get scared ‘cause she’s in a new place.”
Laughing, I say, “I’m sure she’ll be grateful to have your stuffed cat sleeping in bed with her.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m tucking her into bed after drying her hair and reading her a bedtime story. If you would have asked me ten, twelve, hell, even six years ago, I would have thought you’d be full of shit at the idea of being a single dad, doing this twenty-four seven. Sure, I’ve always wanted kids, but I never thought this was how I’d do it.
I shake my head, gazing down at Brielle, and mentally chastise Brooke and curse her for what she’s missing. She’ll never know how amazing her daughter is. She’ll never know that her favorite cereal is Frosted Flakes or that her favorite color is orange, and it’s even better with pink polka dots. She missed her first words, the first time she rolled over, her first steps. Not to mention her first Christmas, first birthday, and every one in between.
Bri seems content, though. She rarely asks about her mom. I wouldn’t say that I’ve lied to her, per se, but I don’t tell her the complete truth. She knows Brooke wasn’t part of her life, so God gave her a dad who would move mountains for her. All she needs to know is that I was there for her, always.
The truth is Brooke wasn’t cut out to be a mother. I realized it about halfway through her pregnancy. The rounder she got with our daughter, the more miserable she was, and the more excited I became. We had dated for six months before the condom mishap that resulted in Brielle. I vowed the moment we saw the plus sign on the pregnancy test that I would do everything I could to protect her.
Unfortunately, Brooke didn’t see the pregnancy as anything but a nuisance. I know she tried, she really did, in the beginning, but she just wasn’t cut out for the road we were heading down. She was always larger than life, with big dreams and a big checking account. And being saddled to a baby and a boyfriend that she tolerated wasn’t what she pictured for herself.
So she left.
I was understandably upset, but only for a minute. I had a three-month-old baby to raise, so there was no time for wallowing in self-pity. My days consisted of poopy diapers, dirty, spit-up clothes, and falling asleep sitting up. I worked full-time from home and the office, and had my mom to help me in between. We made it work because that was our only option.
I dial the familiar number after making sure Bri is settled into bed for the night. She’ll be up once or twice to get a drink or use the bathroom, anything she can use as a stall tactic. I’m onto her game, but still let her get away with it for a bit before I pull the plug. A little girl can only go to the bathroom so many times in a thirty minute time period.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, I have an important message for you from your granddaughter.”
She chuckles as she says, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”
“First off, please bring your waffle iron.”
“Already have it sitting on the table by my bag,” she says, the sound of the television filtering through the phone.
“And you’re sleeping with Edward.”
