Page 7 of Strictly the Worst

The paint samples for the living room walls have arrived. I need to choose the color before we refinish the floor, which will happen after the electrics are rewired. Trying to juggle everything at the house is a full-time job.

“Because it’s your dad’s week,” I remind her.

“He’s never home. I have to sit with Melissa and we have nothing to talk about.” Zoe frowns at me. “Did you know she’s only eleven years older than me?”

“Yes,” I say patiently.

“She’s almost twenty years younger than Dad,” Zoe continues. “Isn’t that weird? That she’s much closer to my age than his?”

“Very weird,” I agree, motioning to the waitress to get the check.

Ten minutes later we’re at Jared’s apartment. It’s a four-bed condo with a view over the river. Zoe hits the buzzer at the entrance and the door opens and we head toward the elevator, pressing the eleventh floor.

Jared is waiting for us as soon as we get there. He pulls the door open and motions Zoe inside. Then he looks at me.

“Go on then,” he says. “Tell me what a terrible father I am.”

I let out a low breath. So today he’s playing the martyr.

“Anything could have happened,” I tell him. “She’s a kid alone in the city. If you couldn’t make it to her appointment, why didn’t you call me?”

“I thought I had it covered,” he says, looking petulant. “I don’t understand why you keep criticizing me. I’m doing my best here.”

Melissa comes to the door, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She’s not wearing any makeup – her face is glowing and I assume she’s just had a facial. Either way, she looks absolutely gorgeous.

“Hi Tessa,” she says. “Sorry about Zoe.”

I give her a tight smile. “Not your fault,” I say.

“It’s my fault,” Jared tells her, his voice saying the opposite. “The man who can’t do right for doing wrong.”

I’m exhausted. I haven’t even thought about the Exuma project since leaving the office. I need to go home, drown my sorrows in a home that’s full of holes and life-endangering bare wires, then work out what I’m going to do about my career.

“Just call me next time,” I say.

He opens his mouth to say something, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be salty bullshit, but then he closes it, saying nothing. Sensing conflict, Melissa wisely lifts her hand in a goodbye and walks back inside the apartment.

“Whatever.” Jared shrugs.

“I’m going, Zoe,” I call out. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

She runs to the door and hugs me. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear.

“Any time.” I kiss her soft cheek, and revel in the smell of my only child. It’s funny, no matter how old she is, she still smells the same way she did as a baby. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I whisper. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She walks back into Jared’s apartment and I try not to feel sad. Every time she’s gone I miss her. It’s like my right arm has been cut off.

“Goodnight Jared,” I say.

“Yeah.” His eyes won’t quite catch mine. “See you around.”

Even though it's half falling apart and half put back together, I absolutely adore the condo Zoe and I chose after the divorce was finalized. It’s tiny, set in the lower floor of a larger house with four stories, each with a condo inside it. But it’s mine, or at least it’s mine and the mortgage company’s.

When we heard our offer was accepted, Zoe and I did a happy dance. Her room is the only one that’s fully decorated. Not that you can see much of the pale blue walls beneath all her manga and Kpop posters.

Our next big job is tackling the living room. And right now I’m standing in front of the fireplace wall with Angela, my best friend, who arrived at my door carrying a bottle of wine and three giant size bars of chocolate after I told her about the shit show at work.

“This Salinger guy sounds like an asshole,” Angela says. “I can’t believe he stole your project.”

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