Frankie, thrilled to be included in their girl band, forgets about her tantrum. “Okay! My dad does the best braids. Do you want him to do yours, too?”
Lina’s eyes dart to me, and a part of me hopes she says yes, because I’ve been dying to grip those curls in my hands since I first saw her at Ollie’s party.
“As much as I’d love that,” Lina tells us, “I can do it myself. I’m good.” Her eyes dart to me. “I don’t think your dad wants to cross that line,” she says quietly, and this is for my ears only.
I stop myself from blurting outI can do it!
Look at your daughter. She needs you, and she only gets one of you, so you have to fill the role of two functioning parents.Which leaves no room for doing Lina’s hair or dragging my mouth across the soft skin of her stomach like I’ve wanted to do all week, despite the line drawn in the sand.That was the right decision, Dom, telling her that you can’t get involved, but instead of patting myself on the back, I’ve felt like slapping myself upside the head. Especially after each time she displays Frankie-Whisperer tendencies or organizes an entire Pirate Plunder for thirty people in under five minutes or wears another fucking crop top or when her shorts ride up her ass when she hops down from a chair.
“Okay. Are you doing one braid or two braids?” Frankie asks, oblivious.
“One,” Lina says confidently, unknowingly saving my wrists from carpal tunnel.
“French or regular?”
“Regular,” Lina answers, and I could kiss her.
* * *
Later on, work really slows down after dealing with the issue with my FinTech company.
Several customers had been reporting issues with failed transactions on the platform. An integration with one of our third-party payment processors had broken down, causing payments to hang in limbo.
After a few hours with my Head of Operations and her team and the third-party provider, we figured we needed to reset the API connection and… you know what, it doesn’t matter. We figured it out, the integration was back online, and transactions were flowing smoothly again.
I don’t have any other meetings or calls scheduled for the day, and barring any major emergency, I’m free.
I meander down the path towards the main house to see what I can scrounge up for a late lunch, surprised when I walk through the back door and see all the adults lounging in the kitchen.
“Where’s Frankie?” I ask the room.
“She’s drawing pictures of tanks in the living room,” Lina supplies.
I go to peruse the food sitting on the counter, when Tita Gloria hip checks me away and starts making me a plate herself.
“How’s work?” Oliver asks.
“It’s okay. I think it’s slowed down for the day, actually.”
“Well, this is great timing, then,” Georgia says cheerfully. “Me and Oliver and Lina were all just considering taking an edible, so you should join us.”
“We’re edible people now,” Lina tells me.
“Actually, I had one an hour ago,” Georgia grins.
“What the hell?” Oliver asks with mild outrage. “Why wouldn’t you just say that then? You were just ‘considering’ taking one with us for the last five minutes. And why wouldn’t you wait for me?”
Georgia rolls her eyes. “It’s just an edible, Oliver; it’s not like we’re dropping acid and embarking on a twelve hour psychedelic journey together. And besides, I was ‘considering’ taking another one.”
“Fine.” Oliver digs a tin of what looks like candy out of his pocket, opens it, and pops one in.
When was the last time I smoked weed? Definitely before Frankie was born. Do they even still call it weed? Does it have a new name? I’m having a heart attack just thinking about it.
“I’m having a heart attack just thinking about it,” I repeat, this time out loud. “My five-year-old daughter is here. Who’s going to take care of Frankie? What if there’s an emergency? It can significantly impair decision-making, reaction time, judgment. Or increase the risk of accidents, or?—”
“I don’t know why I ever thought you could be in a gang,” Lina mutters.
“Christ, Dom, I don’t remember you ever being this neurotic. You’re like a walking D.A.R.E. commercial,” Oliver tells me.
