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“Daddy, why don’t I have a mommy?”
My heart instantly drops to my stomach. When Bailey was younger, her mother’s absence wasn’t as noticeable, but now that she’s in kindergarten, making friends with children who have traditional two-parent families, she’s starting to notice a difference.
I can’t exactly give her the brutal honesty that roils in my mind. Well, honey, after you were born, your mother decided she wasn’t ready to be a parent, so she served me with divorce papers, signed over her rights, and booked a one-way ticket to Nepal to live in a commune.
Instead, I say, “It takes a special person to be a mommy, peanut. And she just hasn’t found us yet.” I wince, because I know the truth—she doesn’t exist for us.
Her brown eyes light up and I wince at the hope I see there, knowing whatever she’s thinking won’t be compatible with the solitary future I envision for myself. “What about Mrs. Wilson?” she whispers. “She’s nice.”
“Well, now, peanut, nice is fine. But unfortunately, she’s a bit older than me.” By about thirty years… “Plus, there’s already a Mr. Wilson.”
“I guess,” she nods slowly, contemplating.
“What about Avie’s mom? She’s so pretty!”
“There has to be a spark, peanut.”
“Does the spark hurt?” she asks, her eyes wide.
You have no idea, kiddo.
“Sometimes. That’s when you know it’s right. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. But for now, let’s go get some ice cream and head home. Yeah?”
“Yeah!” she shrieks, jumping up and waiting for me to open the door for her.
Bailey talks about her day while I make the drive across town. She’s never expressed much curiosity about her mother, and definitely has never tried to steer me toward certain women. But, before I can question what brought this on, we’re pulling up to the speaker.
She’s bouncing in her booster seat in the back seat of my truck when she decides it’s my time to die of embarrassment. As the teenager passes a chocolate cone with sprinkles and a cherry through the window, Bailey politely says, “I don’t have a mommy.”
The teenager looks at me with wide eyes before looking into the back seat. “I—I’m s-sorry. That must suck.”
Bailey just nods, and without missing a beat asks, “Would you marry my daddy and be my new mommy?”
“Have a good day,” I shout, horrified, tossing a twenty through the window and driving off, realizing I’ll never be able to show my face at the restaurant again.
“What the hell, Bails?” I ask, glancing between my maniac daughter in the back seat and the road as I drive us toward the house, ready to pack up and move to some remote mountain with no women for my daughter to proposition on my behalf.
“Well, if I want a mommy, I’ve got to take matters into my own hands,” she says, with a duh expression on her face.
*****
“I’ll get it!” Bailey shouts when the doorbell rings as I’m loading the dishwasher after dinner.
“Wait—“ I run after her, but she’s already pulling the door open.
“Uncle Pete!” she yells, flinging herself into my best friend’s arms as he bends down to scoop her up.
“Hey there, little lady,” he says, kissing both of her cheeks before setting her back on the ground. “You remember Alyssa?” he asks, gesturing to the woman beside him, standing silently, watching their interaction warily.
“Hey guys,” I say, moving into the foyer to greet them. “What brings you by on a school night?”
Pete rolls his eyes at me before pulling me in for a quick hug. “Just had a quick question to ask my best girl, here,” he says vaguely.
I chuckle when I see Bailey’s jaw drop when she realizes that Uncle Pete is here for her. “Come into the living room, then, so you can ask whatever it is.”
Bailey climbs onto my large, leather armchair, sitting so far back that her legs stick straight out in front of her. She wiggles around to get comfortable and then pulls the cashmere throw from the back, growling in protest when it lands on her head. We exchange amused glances as she settles it onto her lap, looking between us, waiting for someone to speak.
“I’m ready now,” she says, folding her hands over the blanket, twisting her fingers impatiently.
