Page 12 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

Whatis she doing here?

I didn’t get a chance to ask her before she ran away yesterday. At least, not properly.Why aren’t you in Chicago?isn’t exactly the friendliest or most polite way to inquire after a former classmate’s well-being. Not that I care about being friendly to Alina. It’s never been something I’ve bothered to do before.

Obviously, she still hates me just as much as she always has. The years and the distance haven’t cooled that ire. Which is baffling, honestly, considering thatshewon.

Of course she won. She’s the daughter of a celebrated cellist. I’m just an ordinary guy from the middle of nowhere.

Idly, I play a few notes on the piano. They come out sounding discordant and strange, like the opening tune to a horror film.

Really, Alina should be in Chicago right now. The CSO’s summer season is usually incredible, second only to their holiday season performances.

Pushing away from the piano, I head downstairs. Peering out one of the back windows, I see Wren curled up in a deck chair on the patio, tapping away on her child-locked iPad. I don’t care ifthe prevailing opinion is that parents should severely limit their kids’ screen time. I challenge everyone to have a daughter as hyperactive as Wren andnotbe grateful for a device that can get her to sit still for at least a little while.

I’m not sure what to do with myself. I meant to spend the morning working on a composition that came to me out of nowhere—just a simple melody that could have some serious potential.

Unfortunately, my mind is plagued by Alina.

With a resigned sigh, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the search engine.

Chicago Symphony Orchestra members, I type into the search bar.

I scroll for a moment until I land on Alina’s headshot. She looks vaguely somber in the photograph, with just the barest hint of aMona Lisasmile. Dignified and snobby and lovely all at once.

Unless the CSO hasn’t updated their website recently, it’s evident that Alina hasn’t been fired. I can’t imagine why they would fire her. The last time I foolishly went searching for the orchestra’s recent performances on YouTube, Alina was playing even better than she did at Juilliard, sitting right there in the string section.

That was this past spring.

I tell myself I’mnotkeeping tabs on her, though.

I’m just a big fan of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Even now, after everything. Ha.

Annoyed at myself, I slam my phone down on the kitchen counter and start pacing the length of the space. The kitchen is open to the dining room, which overlooks the patio and the sandy beach beyond. I shouldn’t be cooped up inside on another beautiful, sunny day.

And yet, as soon as I make my way toward the back door, once again propped open to tempt in the briny breeze, I hear that horribly familiar voice again.

“—designed to fit around hands, but they’re a little bulky,” Alina is saying to someone outside.

With a jolt, I realize she’s talking to my daughter. Again.

“Why don’t they just make them glove-shaped? Or like mittens! That would be so much easier to wear.”

There’s a soft chuckle, so sweet that it’s difficult to believe it came from Alina.

“That’s a really good idea. Maybe you should invent that one day.”

“Being an inventor would be fun. Like, a mad scientist,” Wren chatters back.

What happened to her being absorbed in her iPad? I swear she was quiet and peacefully distracted just five minutes ago. And I’m pretty sure that, the last time I glanced out the window to check on her, Alina was nowhere to be seen.

“Is that what you like? Science?” Alina asks Wren.

Part of me wants to push open the door, interrupt their conversation, and put an end to this. What business does Alina have hanging out with a seven-year-old? Never mind that I’m positive Wren started it, and that Alina is probably just trying to be kind to a child. But doesn’t she have something better to do?

Can’t she just go away?

Wren sighs loudly. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t like scienceclass. It’s kind of boring and we never get to learn about the things I really think are cool.”

“Yeah, school is sometimes like that.”

---