Page 84 of Dr. Single Dad

“And you know what?” I ask. “This is good for you too. You can figure out how to be a father without me. It will be different with the new nanny. You’ll feel more confident to do things your way. That will make you powerful. Or so Eddie tells me.”

He gazes at me thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

Maybeindeed. At the moment, nothing is definite. I can’t see anything clearly at all. I have to trust that whatever happens, I’ll be able to deal with it. History tells me that I’ll figure it out. I just hope that when I do, Dax will still be here.

THIRTY-TWO

Eira

I carry the last of my boxes into our new rented flat and dump it in the middle of the living room floor. The pale gray and cream rug that came with the place is mostly obscured under the mountain of our belongings.

“I can’t believe I’m moving you again so quickly,” Callie says.

“But you’re moving meinwith you, so this is better, no?” Callie and I will be true flatmates for the first time.

“I thought you’d be alive-infor the rest of time,” she says.

“I thought so too. It’s certainly better financially,” I say, grinning like I just won the lottery instead of taking a huge back step in my savings. I’ve never had to worry about my own bills before. Eddie’s bills, Dylan’s bills—they were my responsibility. Now, I have my own rent and electricity payments. It feels pretty exciting.

“You can stop that incessant smiling,” Callie says. “Paying a gas bill isn’t fun.”

“It kind of is to me.”

“Says the nanny with a load of savings.”

Because of my complete fixation on the inevitability of stormy skies ahead, I have a comfortable safety net. Especially as Dylan and Eddie are both refusing to take my money and Eddie is insisting I take the scholarship money she got from the university. I still have to work, but Callie is right—I don’t have to worry about this month’s gas bill.

“Let’s have some wine,” Callie says. “I can’t face unpacking any of this without alcohol.”

We scurry about, hunting down Callie’s wine glasses and corkscrew—there’s so much I don’t own that most people do at my age. It’s a good job I have a flatmate who’s done this living-on-her-own thing. We flop on the sofa that I used to sleep on before I moved in to Dax and Guinevere’s place.

“Cheers,” Callie says.

We clink glasses.

“Flatmates,” she says. “Have you spoken to the agency?”

“Yeah. I’m going to do some temporary work.”

“What, like maternity nursing?”

I shake my head. “Definitely not.” It’s hard to say no maternity nursing when the money is so good, but to earn it, you work around the clock.

“Good. Because that requires you giving yourself up for weeks at a time.”

“Exactly. It’s not what I want for myself.”

A smile unfurls on Callie’s face. “I’m so proud of you. I thought you were always going to be the girl who worked relentlessly for your employer and Dylan and Eddie. It’s nice to see you thinking about yourself. For once.”

“It still doesn’t feel natural?—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence because Callie starts screaming. She spills wine as she leaps on the sofa.

“It’s a fucking rat! Did you see that?”

I put my wine down on the floor and stand. “Where?”

She points at the floorboard over by the old sash window. “There. It went behind the box.”

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