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“What are you thinking about doing?”
“Moving out of my parent’s house, for starters. It was never meant to be a permanent move.”
“There is an apartment available next to mine,” she says excitedly.
“No… you misunderstand. I’m thinking about moving out of the city… the state… I don’t know, just somewhere new. A fresh start for Henry and me.”
“That’s the first time in three years you’ve shown any level of excitement for anything,” she says. “Glad to see some spark back in your eyes. I missed you, my friend.”
“I missed me too,” I admit. “Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to move away?”
“I think that it’s a great idea. I’ll miss you like crazy, but I think a fresh start is exactly what you need.”
“If I stay here, I’ll never get out from under my parent’s thumbs,” I rationalize. “Don’t get me wrong, they are obviously great grandparents but right now, Henry and I need time to bond again. We both need a new beginning.”
“So you move somewhere else. Nothing is holding you back.”
The more I think about it, the more it seems like the right path to take. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but I’m excited for the first time in three years, so this can’t be a bad decision.
“You’re right… now I just need to figure out where to go.”
We spend the rest of our coffee date discussing possible places to move everything from the ridiculous—Paris—to the more reasonable Chicago. I’m not sure I’m up for big city life, but I put it on my shortlist anyway.
After Henry is tucked into bed and I’m ensconced in my bedroom, I pull out my computer and start researching the best places to live. Hours later, my eyes are practically crossed from staring at the screen for too long, and I’m no closer to a decision.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” I say to the empty room.
A notification from my email box pops up on the screen, and I absently click it. I’m about to dismiss it as junk mail—it’s always junk mail—when I glance at the subject line: Membership enrollment now available for The Playground.
I’ve heard of The Playground before. Everyone in the daddy/babygirl world has heard of the exclusive club. My cursor blinks over the delete button, but something makes me steer away from it and open the email instead. I read the email twice before I decide to delete it. I’m not ready to reconnect with that side of my life.
I might never be.
William was my daddy, and I can’t envision that dynamic with anyone else. It’s too painful to even consider. So why do I find myself pulling up a search engine to find out more information about the club? I don’t have answers other than the fact that I’m curious about a club special just for daddy doms and their babygirls.
Somewhere in my research, I end up searching for the city the club is in… apparently there are two. One in Chicago and one in Monett…
I dismiss Chicago, even though I considered it while talking with Pelar. I’m not really keen on big city life. I search for Monett and find myself down a rabbit hole. I look at everything from the local parks and schools to the movie theater and grocery stores. By the time I’ve clicked through everything that the city has to offer, I’m in love. It’s got a small-town feel with big-city conveniences.
The Playground has nothing to do with it—maybe.
My search changes to apartment hunting. I find the perfect building with a nice park just around the corner. Before I can slow down and think about it, I fill out an application to rent the cute little two-bedroom apartment in an old, converted brownstone. I look through the pictures again, a smile on my face because it looks like home.
* * *
“I can’t believeyou’re doing this,” my mom spits angrily. “What about Henry? You’d rip him from everything he knows and everyone who loves him? How can you be so selfish?”
My dad stands on silently watching as mom rails at me in outrage. He’s not the most boisterous of people, but I thought he’d surely have something to say about the situation. Instead, he just stands there in silence. I want to ask him what he thinks, for his steadfast advice, but now is not the time.
“Mom, I’m doing this for Henry.” She sputters, but I go on… “It’s time for us to stand on our own two feet. Living here wasn’t supposed to be a permanent thing.”
“So rent an apartment here! You don’t have to move halfway across the country,” she argues.
Henry comes into the room, crying and sucking on his thumb—something he only does when upset. My mom instantly stops her tirade and opens her arms for him.
“Look what you’ve done. You’ve upset him,” she accuses.
“I’m not the one yelling, mom. And this is exactly why it’s time for us to move out. I should be comforting him when he’s upset, not you.”
