I removed the card written by someone who worked at the florist and began to read it.
“Out loud, please,” Leo demanded.
I sighed.
“Pay Pay,” I turned the card around to Leo. “Spelled p-a-y p-a-y.”
I’d never warmed to that particular nickname that Trent seemed so fond of. Not like when Maddox called me Angel.
Leo rolled his eyes, and I turned the card back around to finish reading it.
“Things are crazy at work so I’m going to have to get a rain check. Hope your move goes smoothly. All my love, Trent.”
“Rain check?! Bitch, you’re moving across the country!” Leo exclaimed as he ripped the card out of my hand.
I knew that I should be disappointed, but I wasn’t. I was actually happy that I’d get to spend my final night in Brooklyn alone in my apartment. I’d be able to say a proper goodbye to the only place that had felt like home to me as an adult.
This chapter of my life was over and as far as what was to come, I had no idea. And as far as Leo’s question regarding The Elephant, my plan was to avoid him at all costs.
It should be easy. I doubted that we would run in the same circles. I was an elementary school teacher. He was a billionaire tech god. I was going to be living in a two-bedroom condo in Bayview with Nonna. He lived in a state of the art, renovated Queen Anne five thousand square foot house in Pacific Heights, which I only knew because it had been featured in Architectural Digest.
Nearly a million people lived in San Francisco, which meant the chances of running into him would be one in a million. The odds were in my favor.
15
MADDOX
What am I doing?I asked myself as I sat on a park bench with Heather Combs while Hannah and Heather’s daughter Willa played on the swing set.
The park we were at was right across the street from Hannah and Willa’s school, so when Lizzy had suggested I take Hannah there after pickup, I hadn’t given it a second thought. It wasn’t until I sat on the bench that my baby mama texted me and said that one of Hannah’s friends was going to be joining us and I knew what this really was.
A fucking playdate.
Growing up in the system, I hadn’t been familiar with the phenomenon. When I was a kid, I went to the park, the store, everywhere, by myself. I never had adult supervision.
Obviously, it was a different world now. There was no way in hell that I’d allow my six-year-old the same freedom I’d had. I just wondered if some of the parents at the school Hannah went to weren’t overly involved. I’d heard the terms helicopter parent and snowplow parents and from what I’d observed, ninety percent of them fit those descriptions to a T.
Lizzy and I were on the same page that we wanted to give Hannah as much freedom as possible to make mistakes, learn from them, and problem solve on her own, without us figuring out everything for her. We did our best to have the same set of rules at both houses: bedtimes, chores, screen time, discipline, everything. That way, Peanut’s life would be consistent.
For the most part, it worked out well. Lizzy and I agreed on the important things. And even if we didn’t, if one of us felt strongly about a situation, the other would compromise.
For instance, when she started first grade this year, Lizzy and I decided that Hannah should be responsible for picking out her clothes for school the night before and also getting her lunch from the fridge and putting it in her backpack.
Everything went fine the first two weeks of school, but then on week three Lizzy got a call that Hannah had forgotten her lunch. The school was mortified when she didn’t rush down with another lunch for Hannah. To be honest, I had wanted to take one down for her. But Lizzy insisted that if we did that, she wouldn’t learn her lesson.
Was she hungry when she got home from school? Sure. But that was months ago, and Hannah hadn’t forgotten her lunch since.
When Lizzy insisted that Hannah’s screen time be limited to one hour per day, I’d explained to her all the benefits of online learning. Just because she was on a screen, didn’t mean that she was just mindlessly being entertained. Now, Hannah had an hour a day of what we called “junk food” screen time, but she could have up to two more hours of “healthy” screen time.
So far in our co-parenting journey, the only thing we hadn’t agreed on were these fucking playdates. I didn’t think that Hannah needed them. She had Nick and Alex’s daughters Bella and Lexi, who were her best friends. They went to the same school and she got to have sleepovers with them all the time.
Why did she need a dozen other friends? I’d had two close friends growing up and I’d turned out okay. Some would argue better than okay.
I should have never agreed to these playdates. Lizzy had taken advantage of me at a very vulnerable time.
“Maddox?”
“Huh?” I’d zoned out as Heather droned on about her husband, who she was recently separated from. I didn’t have any desire to know the details of their marriage and had no clue why she was sharing them with me.
