After insisting she was starting first grade today and therefore was a big girl, Darla slopped the milk in the bowl under my watchful eye. She could pour her own milk.Sort of.
Pretending not to notice the sticky mess on the counter, I reminded her, “Your teacher is Ms. Green. She’s supposedly very nice. Be good today, Dar.”
She nodded, stuffing her cheeks full of food coloring, sugar, and corn-syrupy carbs.
“Good?”
She nodded again, then swallowed. “Do you think I’m going to have a birthday party? I know it was last month, but maybe?”
I reached across the counter and swiped her strawberry-blond bangs out of her blue eyes. Her DNA was mostly her dad’s—olive skin, light hair, and eyes as deep as the Mediterranean. Smirk and all, I loved every inch of her, but there were moments I wanted to run away.
Like now.
“I know we didn’t have one for you—yet—but we will. We were moving, remember, and I thought you’d want to meet some new friends ...”And money was tight.
I didn’t say the last part; she didn’t need to know that. It wasn’t her fault. Yeah, I’d never finished college because of my daughter, but getting knocked up was all on me. I knew the risk when I had sex without a condom, and I didn’t care in that moment.
Darla blinked, and her bangs caught her long eyelashes again. “Maybe I can have a pajama party like in the book we read last night?”
“Sure, baby. You behave at school and we’ll plan it. I know everyone is going to love you, and you’ll probably have a huge guest list by the end of the week.” I did my best to reassure her, figuring it was nerves over making friends or going to a new school causing her to focus on the party.
“Done!” She jumped up and grabbed her backpack.
“Let’s go.”
I placed the bowl in the sink and grabbed my keys after refilling my mug. I’d tossed on running shorts and a T-shirt to wear for walking Darla to the bus. My plan was to take a quick run afterward, and then a short rest before grocery shopping and paying bills, all before my little girl got home from school. Then I could spend some actual time with her. I was off on Monday nights, and I couldn’t wait to be home with Darla instead of relying on the babysitter, Molly, to put her to bed.
We walked down the steps and to the corner, Darla talking the whole way about her upcoming pajama party.
“Popcorn and the minion movie. And pancakes! Oh, I’ll need new jammies,” she said, chattering on about all her plans for her party.
For six, she was something. Smart, funny, and wise. Sometimes I worried she was too wise, having only one parent.
But I did the best I could.
The week flew by. As predicted, Darla had ten girls on her list and fifty outlandish requests for the party. She wanted a sleepover, a purple-and-pink cake, sparkly streamers, hot cocoa with pink marshmallows at bedtime, and strawberry milk and chocolate chip pancakes in the morning.
“And maybe Ms. Green could stop by?” she asked Saturday night as I got ready for work, right before I made an epic mistake.
On her actual birthday, I’d given her a manicure and pedicure at home, applying some brand-new neon-green sparkly polish while she sat curled up in my robe. I should have left it at that.
Nope, tonight I screwed up and asked what she wanted for arealgift as I secured my cranberry-red tie into place before a long night of waiting tables.
“I want a dad,” she said. “My dad. Maybe he’ll feel bad he missed my birthday and come?” Her voice started out vibrant and strong, only to be swallowed up with the threat of tears.
She’d jabbered about her dad from time to time. I never had the heart to let her know he didn’t even know she existed.
Sucking in a deep breath, I steadied my voice before I spoke. “He loved you very much, but he couldn’t stay with us. It happens sometimes to mommies and daddies. I’m sure he thinks about you all the time,” I said, reassuring her with the same sentiment I always did.
It was vague and stupid and wrong, but it was all I could muster. Saying the truth out loud hurt me too much, and I had to have some sense of self-preservation.
To my shame, I never even gave Drew a chance ... right away, I’d written him off. I’d deliberately made myself hard to be found, and I never tried to seek him out. In my heart, I knew he would have done right by us, but I was selfish. I wanted him to do right byme.
He might have changed his mind, given us a chance, but that didn’t negate him deserting me. It was immature of me to focus on that, but I was a victim of my heart.
Staring into Darla’s hopeful blue eyes, ones just like his, I almost felt like trying to find him.
But what if he rejected me? What if he’d made a life and moved on? Had other children with another woman?
