her heels. Charlotte looks up at the sun and squints from the brightness as she exhales a soft sigh. “Boy, you seem to have this single parent thing down pat.”
“What choice do I have?” It’s not the option I would have chosen. Ever. Watching Olive grow up without a mother, or any female influence for that matter, has made this single parent task even harder. What do I know about raising a little girl, or a teenage girl? Nothing.
“Let me take Olive home with me while you finish up at work. She and Lana can play for a bit. It’ll be a great way to finish the first day of school for both of them.”
I think about it for a brief second, but then I realize I haven’t seen my little girl in six hours and there’s no way in hell I’m not keeping her by my side for the rest of the day and night. “I appreciate the offer, but—“
“What am I saying?” she says, placing her hand up against the side of her cheek. “You haven’t seen that precious little face in hours.”
“Yes, that,” I chuckle awkwardly. Was I always this awkward around women? I can hardly remember, considering Ellie and I grew up together. We promised to marry each other when we were children.
The minutes with Charlotte pass with a series of short conversations about weather and the horrible grass seed our lawns were sodded with. The awkwardness between us begins to lessen, but with each second, as my comfort level increases, guilt seeps into to my veins—guilt for enjoying the company of another woman, and guilt for talking to a beautiful woman—which is now causing me to feel like I am somehow cheating on my dead wife. It’s okay to move on . It’s okay to do all of this. I’ve told myself this for years and through dozens of horrible first dates, but each time, I still question if it’s wrong.
Relief sets in when the bus creeps down the road. The thought of seeing Olive fills me with relief—the only little thing in this world who makes me feel like I’m alive and not walking among the dead. My daughter is the blanket I couldn’t give up as a child, and the bed I used to hide under during a thunderstorm. She’s the calm voice always telling me everything is going to be okay. Mostly, she is the voice I’ve longed to hear for five years—the voice I know I’ll never hear again. She is Ellie. Everything about her is Ellie. It’s as if Ellie created her entirely on her own without my help. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. She, alone, makes my life worth living.
As the wheels of the bus come to a screeching halt, my heart freezes. The doors crank open and I watch each child hop off the bus one by one until I see the blonde, springy ponytail I’ve been waiting for all day. “Daddy!” she yells, running toward me at warp speed. The pride highlighting her face melts everything inside of me. Her arms wrap around my legs, squeezing me as tightly as I want to squeeze her. Her embrace tells me she missed me as much as I have missed her today and I lift her up, holding her tighter, relishing in the warmth of her cheek against mine. I feel her tiny heart beating through her back as a small shudder escapes her mouth. “I missed you so much today. I was so worried about you being all alone.”
My world stops. My mind stops spinning, and my heart…my heart hurts. What have I done to her? “Why were you worried? You should never have to worry about me.” The words come out, but they feel stuck in my throat, like I’m trying to convince her of something different than what she has obviously grown accustomed to.
Pulling away, she takes my face in her hands and stares me straight in the eyes, just like Ellie always did when she wanted to get her point across. “Because you don’t like to be alone. You need me.” Her words are spoken through a wisdom no five-year-old should have. Those words define a parent who has no right taking care of a small child when he can clearly not always take care of himself.
“Olive,” I
“What choice do I have?” It’s not the option I would have chosen. Ever. Watching Olive grow up without a mother, or any female influence for that matter, has made this single parent task even harder. What do I know about raising a little girl, or a teenage girl? Nothing.
“Let me take Olive home with me while you finish up at work. She and Lana can play for a bit. It’ll be a great way to finish the first day of school for both of them.”
I think about it for a brief second, but then I realize I haven’t seen my little girl in six hours and there’s no way in hell I’m not keeping her by my side for the rest of the day and night. “I appreciate the offer, but—“
“What am I saying?” she says, placing her hand up against the side of her cheek. “You haven’t seen that precious little face in hours.”
“Yes, that,” I chuckle awkwardly. Was I always this awkward around women? I can hardly remember, considering Ellie and I grew up together. We promised to marry each other when we were children.
The minutes with Charlotte pass with a series of short conversations about weather and the horrible grass seed our lawns were sodded with. The awkwardness between us begins to lessen, but with each second, as my comfort level increases, guilt seeps into to my veins—guilt for enjoying the company of another woman, and guilt for talking to a beautiful woman—which is now causing me to feel like I am somehow cheating on my dead wife. It’s okay to move on . It’s okay to do all of this. I’ve told myself this for years and through dozens of horrible first dates, but each time, I still question if it’s wrong.
Relief sets in when the bus creeps down the road. The thought of seeing Olive fills me with relief—the only little thing in this world who makes me feel like I’m alive and not walking among the dead. My daughter is the blanket I couldn’t give up as a child, and the bed I used to hide under during a thunderstorm. She’s the calm voice always telling me everything is going to be okay. Mostly, she is the voice I’ve longed to hear for five years—the voice I know I’ll never hear again. She is Ellie. Everything about her is Ellie. It’s as if Ellie created her entirely on her own without my help. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. She, alone, makes my life worth living.
As the wheels of the bus come to a screeching halt, my heart freezes. The doors crank open and I watch each child hop off the bus one by one until I see the blonde, springy ponytail I’ve been waiting for all day. “Daddy!” she yells, running toward me at warp speed. The pride highlighting her face melts everything inside of me. Her arms wrap around my legs, squeezing me as tightly as I want to squeeze her. Her embrace tells me she missed me as much as I have missed her today and I lift her up, holding her tighter, relishing in the warmth of her cheek against mine. I feel her tiny heart beating through her back as a small shudder escapes her mouth. “I missed you so much today. I was so worried about you being all alone.”
My world stops. My mind stops spinning, and my heart…my heart hurts. What have I done to her? “Why were you worried? You should never have to worry about me.” The words come out, but they feel stuck in my throat, like I’m trying to convince her of something different than what she has obviously grown accustomed to.
Pulling away, she takes my face in her hands and stares me straight in the eyes, just like Ellie always did when she wanted to get her point across. “Because you don’t like to be alone. You need me.” Her words are spoken through a wisdom no five-year-old should have. Those words define a parent who has no right taking care of a small child when he can clearly not always take care of himself.
“Olive,” I
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