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1
JORDAN
“For the love of God, Skylar, I am not your father.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and remind the girl in a quiet but stern voice.
I don’t want her to think I don’t mean it, but I also don’t want her mother to think I’m being mean to her daughter.
There's been so much I've endured up until this point, and I'm not going to let a little girl calling me “Daddy” spoil that.
Skylar’s mother is the person we’re waiting for now. It’s a routine I would rather chew thorns than go through one more time, but each time, it happens.
And I can’t stop it.
I can't stop the fact that the little girl does make me smile. She’s genuinely funny and says silly things. It makes the fact that I'm stuck with her until I get to school not so burdensome.
For me, that's the easy part. I prefer staring into those cute, blue doe-eyes than her mother's tired, sad eyes. And my boss.
Speak of the Devil…
The clanking of Rebecca's heels on the marble floor interrupts our conversation. Skylar is about to protest againstme not wanting her to call me "Daddy," but halts when she hears her mother.
“We’re late, Hill, so you’d better look for the shortest possible route to the school,” Rebecca grunts as she passes us and zips into the kitchen before I can lay my defense.
Skylar and I share a knowing look. We're only late because Rebecca has been cooped up in her room for the past hour and a half, making sure she's spotless for whatever hypocritical meeting she's about to have at work.
I couldn't care less if we were late. My job doesn't ensure they get to where they are going on time…just that they get there safely.
"So, we can still play one more hide-and-seek. Mommy is going to be in the kitchen for a long time." the toddler stretches the word "long” just for emphasis.
“Not today, Sky.” I shake my head. “Not now, at least.”
She lets out a frustrated huff, almost like the one her mother would make when she’s pissed off.
The Skylar I know would have taken off if I wasn't holding her hands securely right now. That's how we played the first round some thirty minutes ago.
When Maria?her nanny?handed her over to me, as soon as I carelessly let go of her hands, she took off running.
And she's a good hider.
“You need to have more fun, Da…”
I interrupt her with a glare.
"?Jordan…" she corrects herself immediately. She has enough initiative to avoid the endearment when her mom is nearby.
I disapprove of it, but Skylar is a strong-willed girl who knows when to do what. She knows who to offend and who not to. She's aware that calling me “Daddy” would do nothing but piss me off...and there's nothing else I can do but steam.
The clinking of cutlery on dishes mixes with the clatter of heels echoing from the kitchen. The house is large and echoey, with many hard surfaces to bounce obnoxious sounds off. The noise annoys Skylar and me, but it's now a routine, so we pay little heed to it.
Instead, Skylar's face is in tight balls of fury, which I know perfectly well is fake.
It's just her trying to get me to give in and join her in her futile game of hide and seek.
“No," I repeat myself. Sometimes, she'd cry, but she usually saved those for the direst of situations. For now, it's just a slap on my knee and a folded arm.
“You must eat breakfast. I don’t want to be looking for you when it’s time.” I try to make her see reason, no matter how futile.
Just then, the clatter of Rebecca's heels gets closer. Skylar's long face turns to her mother, seeking justice for me denying her the right to fun.
