Page 59 of Never Yours

“Did you pack yourself lunch?”

“Not yet.”

I move her feet off my lap and press a kiss to both her and Darcy’s foreheads. Ingrid attempts to protest, but I’m already up and headed for the kitchen. After washing my hands, I portion out leftover pasta bolognaise from last night and sprinkle entirely too much parmesan on top. While I prefer a light dusting, hers is always more cheese than pasta. I cap the leftovers’ container and search for a lid that will fit the small container for her.

Why can I never find the right one?

After looking for several minutes, I give up and find another container that has a lid that fits. Then, I wash an apple and put it in her lunchbox with a cold pack. Her breast pump turns off, and I glance up—Darcy is still nursing, and Ingrid is struggling to top the bottle. I’m at her side in an instant. Once it’s sealed, I place it in the fridge and take apart the pieces of her breast pump attachment, wash them, and put them in the countertop sterilizer. I’ve only been here a few days, and it’s a stab in the gut that I haven’t been here the whole time to help her. I’m already exhausted, and I’ve done nothing. She’s been doing this on her own since Darcy was born; I’ve missed almost all of it.

Smitten comes barreling in, and Darcy pulls away from Ingrid at the sound, milk squirting onto Ingrid’s clothes and onto Darcy.

“Fuck.” I take Darcy from her, and Darcy lets out an adorable giggle. “You think that was funny?”

Ingrid chuckles, “Welcome to the shitshow, Cay.”

I get Darcy cleaned up while Ingrid changes her clothes. Then I take a seat on the couch with Darcy and we open up a board book for me to read to her. Smitten paws at me and I give her a teasing glare. “Are you going to be a good girl for me today?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to be a good fucking girl,” Ingrid laughs from behind me.

“Get over here.”

Ingrid bites her lip and circles the couch to kiss me goodbye. The moment the front door closes, Darcy lets out an obnoxious fart that ends in a gurgling sound. With a deep sigh, I take her to the bedroom to change her. Sure enough, there’s an explosion of epic proportions to clean up. It runs out of the diaper, and despite me yelling, “No, no no,” it ends up on the comforter anyway. Fuck! I forgot the changing pad! Not sure why I thought yelling at a diaper would help, but lesson learned: It does not.

I finish getting Darcy cleaned up and place her in the crib to strip the bed. I put the comforter in the washing machine, only to find we are out of laundry soap. I grab my keys to make a quick trip to the store when Smitten barks at me.

“What?” She growls and tugs at my sweatpants. “Oh, right, might not want to go out in these.”

I return to the bedroom to change to find Darcy crying. “Fuck, shit… I mean, shoot, I didn’t forget you, sweetheart.” I pick her up as guilt overcomes me. I absolutely did forget her, and she fucking knows it.

Definitely not winning ‘Dad of the Year’ over here.

“Let’s go for a ride.” Smitten’s ears perk up. “No, not you, pup. I’ll be back in a bit.”

I change into jeans, and Darcy and I head to the store. She’s just starting to sit up properly, so I don’t want to risk her toppling over in a shopping cart. I rummage in the truck for the baby carrier so I can wear her, finding it beneath one of the seats. After getting her strapped in, we head into the store.

Darcy and I only make it into one aisle when a woman coos, “Oh, look at you. You’re such a great dad!”

What the fuck?

“Uh, yeah… thanks…” I’m not a great dad, I almost left our daughter at the house!

It happens three more times before we make it to the laundry detergent aisle that I nearly forgot with all the distractions. I swear one woman was trying to flirt with me, but seeing as I don’t have a wedding ring, I can’t fault her for trying. Another said it was so great seeing a dad watching my own child. Honestly, I took offense to it. I’m not Darcy’s babysitter; she’s my daughter, for fuck’s sake.

Oh, the stories I’ll have for Ingrid later.

Darcy and I leave with detergent, beef jerky for me, puff snacks for Darcy, and dog treats for Smitten. As soon as we’re home, I breathe a sigh of relief that the worst of today is over…

What is that?

Ingrid’s underwear is torn to ribbons and strewn on the floor. Not just one pair… all of them.

“Smitten!” I yell into the house. Mid-chew, Smitten appears with a lacy black thong hanging out of her mouth. “You are not a good girl.” Darcy cries. “No, sweetheart, you’re perfect. Smitten is an ass—tronaut.”

I really need to watch my language around Darcy. Last thing I need is her first word to be ‘fuck’ or ‘asshole.’

Placing Darcy in the playpen, I give her a kiss on the cheek, then scour the house for rogue, half-eaten panties. I don’t know that I’ll be able to replace them before Ingrid’s home—she might have to go without tonight. I smile at the thought.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon is much smoother. With Darcy down for a nap, I take a few minutes to close my eyes, but it isn’t restful. Every little noise she makes, or Smitten’s tail thumping on the floor, keeps me from sleeping. Giving up, I make my way into the kitchen and pull out half a pound of ground beef from the fridge.

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