But when Bea answers on my behalf, I’m forced to get up.
“Hi, Dolly. Where’s Daddy?” my sister asks, her voice tinny.
“Pooping,” she answers as I step into the kitchen.
“I’m not poo—” I grab the phone. “I wasn’t—” I sigh, holding back the urge to glare at my daughter. “Hey, Mills. What’s up?”
“Hi, Ash. Ezra’s here too.”
My brother-in-law comes into view on the screen and waves.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“Let’s Uno-reverse that,” my sister says. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
At the same time, Bea shouts, “No. He’s a sad boy.”
“I’m not a—” But I stop myself, remembering my buddies’ advice when they encouraged me to show emotion in front of my daughter.
I squat down to her level and sigh. “You’re right. Daddy’s been sad.”
With two hands, she grabs my cheeks and stares into my eyes.
“Can I have chocolate chips in my pancakes?”
Ezra cracks a thunderous laugh, and I can’t help but chuckle too. Here I thought my child was going to say something profound.
“Sure. Why don’t you play in your room while I talk to Lee Lee and Uncle Ezra, then I’ll get started on the pancakes.”
She pecks my nose, then skips off.
“Kids, man,” I laugh, then slip outside onto the back porch.
“Did Bea tell you about school?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from landmine-type topics.
“Cut the shit,” Millie snaps. “I love my niece more than just about anybody, but that’s not why I called.”
There it is.
I’ve been avoiding her calls, texting her back with pictures and updates about Bea, praying it would suffice. But the time has come to face the music, and I don’t mean Millie on Broadway.
“Fine. Let’s talk.”
“I saw her, you know,” she says.
Slowly, I nod. “And? How’s she doing? How’s her new job?”
I immediately want to smack myself in the head. Why would I ask a question I don’t want an answer to? While I want her to be happy and I want her to thrive, I’d prefer that the process of her moving on isn’t shoved in my face. Her social media hasn’t been updated, which is probably best for my mental health. If she posted pictures of another dude, I doubt I would survive it.
“She’s still drop-dead gorgeous, if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s not doing great.”
A pit forms in my stomach. “What? Why?”
“Dude,” Ezra huffs. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s not a good look.”
“I’m not. What happened? Did something happen with her job? Don’t tell me she’s working for another asshole.”
