Well good on Katie’s mom. I’m sure she baked cupcakes and spent her free time making cutesy little rhinestone-encrusted trinkets with her hot glue gun too.
“Right, shoes on then breakfast,” I reminded her as Isla slid off the stool and went running through the apartment.
I swear she waited until she was as far away from me as possible before calling out, “Can we have pancakes?”
Pancakes? Pancakes? On a Wednesday. No freaking way. I had to be at work soon and Isla had to get to Mrs. Neal’s.
Ignoring my shower, I headed straight for the kitchen before filling a bowl with Cheerios and grabbing the carton of milk, sitting it on the bench. Last week I’d made the mistake of adding the milk to the bowl which caused a melt-down to rival Chernobyl. I’d be letting the little miss independent take care of that this morning.
Opening the dishwasher, I began unpacking it but really I was searching for my coffee mug. My day didn’t start until there was more caffeine in my bloodstream than A positive and the only way to drink it was from my favorite ‘world’s best dad’ mug. Coffee any other way was just wrong. Finding it, I shoved it under the faucet, popped a pod in the machine, and waited for heaven to brew.
“Isla!” I called out again, checking the time.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” she chanted, sauntering back into the kitchen with her backpack on her shoulders.
Isla was a beautiful kid. She was smart, funny, loved to read, tried to bring home every animal she found, and used her manners. At least, she used them in public. Somewhere in the last six months though, my beautiful, sweet little girl had found a pair of sassy pants and hadn't taken them off since—six going on sixteen. God help me.
“Cheerios again?” she complained as she sloshed milk on it, ignoring the bit that splashed over the side of the bowl. “Can’t I have Lucky Charms?”
“Not today. Now eat up. Mrs. Neal is waiting for you.”
“Mrs. Neal again?”
“Isla.” My voice was full of warning.
“But, Dad. She makes me brush my teeth and go to bed at seven-thirty. And she only lets me read one book.” My daughter was scandalized and I was impressed. Seems Mrs. Neal had more willpower than I did when it came to Isla. All it took was a flutter of her long lashes, the promise of good behavior, and a simple, “I love you, Daddy,” and we were reading book three.
“Sweetheart, you know I’d love to be there. But I’m working tonight.”
“How many nights?”
“Tonight, and two more.”
“Promise?” Isla asked, extending her pinkie finger toward me, waiting for my promise.
I didn’t leave my girl hanging. I never would. “Promise,” I agreed, linking my finger with hers before blowing her a kiss across the island bench. “Now, come on. Eat up. I have to pack your lunch.”
“Can I have an apple today?” Isla asked with a mouthful that had me throwing a disappointed look in her direction. She knew better than to talk with a mouthful.
Grabbing an apple from the bowl, I washed it and sat it next to her pink sparkly lunchbox while I got the rest of her food ready. Once the PB&J sandwich was made, crusts cut off and cut in triangles, not squares, I packed her lunch box before checking everything she needed was in her backpack. Why there was a pair of ballet slippers in the bottom I had no idea, but we were already running late this morning and I was picking my battles so they could stay.
Taking a sip of my coffee, I felt myself starting to come to life. Popping a slice of bread in the toaster, I hurried around trying to clean and get organized all at the same time. Multitasking wasn’t something I was good at, but I never gave up trying. I never had a chance. There was always so much to do.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, jellybean?”
Isla screwed up her nose at the nickname. It was one she’d had even before she’d been born and one I’d never let go of. I might have to one day walk her down the aisle, but she’d always be my little jellybean.
“Why don’t I have a mom?” she asked, pushing the last of her Cheerios around the bowl.
I went to open my mouth when my phone on the counter rang, saving me from the one question I knew I’d have to answer one day but had no fucking idea how to.
“Steele.”
“Oh, good morning, Luke. It’s Mrs. Neal here. From down the hall,” she introduced. How she thought I could forget who she was astounded me. Every time it was the same, and every time I smiled and played along.
“Good morning Mrs. Neal. How are you this morning?” I asked, mentally crossing everything. If she couldn’t take Isla today, I was totally screwed.
