Page 34 of Endless Southern Love

“Long day,” I tell her. “Thank you for picking this munchkin up from school.” I run my hand down Goldie’s curls and kiss the top of her head.

“I don’t mind,” Mom says. “Have you thought about hiring some help?”

I shake my head, but then nod. “I have delegated more and with Dad’s help things are getting done on time. I just have to let go and trust that the team I have working for me is doing the job to my satisfaction.”

“Well, if they’re not, Ms. Linda will surely let you know.”

My eyes roll automatically at the mention of Ms. Linda’s name. She would surely be the first person to let me know if my business was failing.

While my mom is still at my house, I take a shower and start a load of laundry. The pile seems endless, and it might be because I refuse to wash my dirty clothes with Goldie’s. In fact, I should probably take my stuff to the laundromat with all the crap I get on them daily.

My mom leaves as soon as the timer for the lasagna buzzes with strict instructions on the pie she and Goldie made. While I plate the pasta dish, with a side salad and garlic bread, my daughter has her face almost pressed to the glass on the oven, keeping an eye on the pie.

“Come eat.”

“But the pie.”

“It’s not going anywhere, and I have the timer set.”

“But Grandma said.”

“We’ll sit right here,” I tell her as I set our plates on the island where we usually eat breakfast. For dinner, I like us to sit at the table, even though I’m far from formal. However, growing up, we always ate dinner at the dining room table. Even when my dad had to work late or my mom had a meeting, we were always at the table. It’s where my dad would hold court—his words, not mine—and we’d talk about the goods and bads of the day. It’s something I want to keep doing with Goldie.

I’m also not an ass and know how important pie is, and I know it’s more special when you make it with your grandmother. There’s no way I’m going to let the apple pie burn. I move Goldie’s stool to the other side so she can see the oven and then help her climb onto the seat even though she tells me she’s old enough to do it herself.

As her father, it’s not about her age. It’s how she’s always going to be my little girl. I’m always going to want to help her, and I don’t want to think about a time when she doesn’t need my help.

I cut Goldie’s lasagna before sitting down to eat my dinner. “What else happened at school today?”

After she takes a heaping bite, she gives me a toothy, spaghetti sauce smile. The parent in me wants to remind her to chew with her mouth closed, but the kid in me giggles and then touches her nose because she’s so damn cute.

“I take it you had a good day?”

“I made a friend.”

“What? No way. What’s their name?”

“Rosie but I don’t know her last name. She was my reading partner today and then asked me to play at recess. And we sat together at lunch.”

“Well, that’s fantastic.”

Goldie nods. “She asked me for my phone number, but I don’t have a phone.”

“No, you don’t. And you’re too young to have one. You can give her my number though, or Grandma’s.”

“Okay. Can you write Grandma’s number down for me?”

“I will and I’ll put it in your backpack.” I plan to write Goldie’s name on an index card with mine and my mother’s contact details on there so she can hand her number out at any time. Not that I have the time, but I’d figure something out if she was invited to parties or playdates. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.

A few bites into dinner, the timer goes off. Goldie’s off her stool before I can even move. She’s lightning quick with getting her stepstool in front of the oven and shutting the timer off but waits for me to open the oven.

“Step back a bit so you don’t get burned from the hot air.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

As soon as I open the door, the smell of baked apple pie wafts through the air. I inhale deeply, close my eyes, and take in the fall aroma.

“I’m ready for Halloween,” Goldie says, pulling me quickly back to the task at hand.

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