My heart breaks a little bit hearing that.
“No. I don’t think I could ever be mad at your dad.” I will myself not to tear up. “He’s the best man. The best dad. I know kids hate hearing that about their parents—”
“No, my dadisthe best.” She says it so matter-of-factly. Themy-parents-are-so-cringestage must not hit until around fifth grade at her school. “Do you miss us?”
Do not cryin front of a child.
“For sure. There was no one to teach me about dragons and YouTube trends.”
“Are you living next to us again?”
“Actually, I’m living with Romily for now,” I say. “While I figure out what to do next. I should find a job first. And then I’ll figure everything out.” I nod, like I’m giving myself a pep talk. “After the holidays.”
“Dad and I are going out for a fancy dinner on Christmas Eve,” she tells me. “It’s a seafood place, but he said they’ll make me a hot dog. And we went to get a tree and new ornaments, so now I have two Christmas trees.”
“That sounds really fun.”
“I think my dad was really sad when you left.” My breathing gets loud and a little unstable. There’s this ugly gray metal barrier between us, but I feel like Kira can perceive my messy emotions right through it. “When I’m with my mom, he’s probably lonely.”
My nostrils flare and I’m clenching my jaw so hard trying not to let out the sob that’s ready to burst out of my throat.
“Sam? What do I do with the wrapper and stuff?”
“Oh.” I sniffle and collect myself. “You can throw away the wrapper in the little trash can with the lid. Just try not to touch anything in there.”
“Ohhh. I always wondered what these things were for.”
“Actually, tell your dad to get a trash can with a lid for your bathroom at the apartment. And in a few hours, when you’re home, replace that pad with a new one, okay?”
“Okay.” Her little hand reaches under the divider with my phone open to one of those games where she creates little characters. “I’m gonna go back to parkour until my dad gets here.”
“Sure. Sounds like a good plan.” I take the phone back and her pinkie fingernail scratches me. “See you later, Kira.”
“See you.” The stall door slams unceremoniously. I hear the faucet, no hand dryer, and then the swinging door as she exits the restroom.
There’s a family on my phone. Kira created them in the game while we were talking. There are ten family members and about half of them appear to be human-fox hybrids. Total chaos.
I swipe out of the game and something catches my eye. The next app underneath isn’t Messages. It’s Notes, which I definitely didn’t have open today. I tap on the screen and see a short sentence there, all in bold font.
My dad really loves you.
I blink a couple of times, testing to see if the message will go away because I’ve invented it in my own delusional head.
The words persist.
I was right. Bathroom stalls are the best place to cry.
The part that rips my heart out is the punctuation. Fitting that it’s a period.
42
In my rush to leave,I didn’t put on my coat and now I’m shivering in my T-shirt, holding the Target shopping bag with a balled-up pair of kids’ leggings in my hand. Waiting.
At least this time I’m waiting for someone I’m certain will actually showup.
Of course, I’ve been wrong a thousand times before. I might be wrong about this, too.
When his car turns into the parking lot, my stomach becomes a ball of nerves. I wonder if he’ll notice me right away. Maybe from a distance I look like an unkempt teenage slacker and his eyes just skip overme.
