Page 17 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“Sounds like a great idea.”

I grin, leading her to the row of wooden alleys. Wren’s laugh echoes over the din of the arcade as she flings her first ball straight into the outer ring, worth only ten points. She does better the next round, landing a few in the middle rings, and by the end of it, she’s dancing with victory as the machine spits out a stream of tickets.

“You’re not too bad,” I say as she waves the tickets like a trophy. “Better than me, anyway. I’m afraid your dad has zero hand-eye coordination.”

“I guess I’m good at Skee-Ball, but not claw machines,” she says, giving me a cheeky grin. “Maybe next time I’ll win the fox.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But my offer’s still good. I’ll happily buy you one.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I wantthatfox. And I’m not leaving this town until it’s mine!”

I guess it’s good to have goals, so I don’t bother discouraging her, even if it is my money that will be flooding directly into the claw machine for the sake of this enterprise. By the time she gets it, I’ll probably have paid ten times what I should have for a little toy like that, but it’s not like I don’t have the cash to spare.

Honestly, I never expected to become this wealthy, and even though I’ve had a few years to get used to my success, I still don’t really know how to spend it. For the most part, I just funnel it all into Wren. Her education, her extracurricular activities, her clothes… everything is for her. She’s the only thing that really, truly matters to me.

We spend the next hour bouncing between games, trading quarters for fleeting moments of triumph. By the time we’re done, Wren has swapped her winnings for a dolphin keychain and a Ring Pop. When I make a comment to the guy behind theprize display about how I’m surprised by how a hundred tickets can’t get you very far, he makes a joke about inflationthat makes me roll my eyes. Wren is smiling, though—so wide that her cheeks must hurt, and I can’t help but smile back at her.

On the walk home, the noise of the pier fades into the background. The old-school carnival atmosphere gives way to the rhythmic sound of waves lapping against the shore. It’s early evening, but the beach is still crowded with tourists, multicolored umbrellas and towels scattered all around like jewels as we make our way along the boardwalk.

Wren clutches her dolphin keychain, swinging it back and forth as we walk side by side.

“Daddy?” Her voice is soft, hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, kiddo.”

She glances up at me, her green eyes big as saucers. “Why don’t you ever talk about Mommy?”

The question catches me off guard. I slow my pace, my hands slipping into my pockets. “Oh, I—well, what do you mean? Honey, you know that Mommy is in heaven.”

And thank goodness for all the parenting books that helped me figure out how to explain such a thing to my daughter. She’s too young to understand the horrible details of how her mother died, and even though she’s smart as a whip, I still think she’s too young to really comprehend death. All she knows is that she used to have a mother, whom she can’t remember, and that even though this might make her a little different than some of her classmates, it’s okay because there are all kinds of families that come in a lot of different shapes and sizes.

She shrugs, her gaze dropping to the pavement. “I know. You just don’t really mention her. I don’t even remember her, but I want to. You never tell me about her.”

I feel a pang in my chest, sharp and familiar. Clearly, despite the research I’ve done, I’m still making mistakes.

“I guess it’s hard for me to talk about her sometimes, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

I pause in a less crowded section of the sidewalk, crouching slightly so we’re eye level. “Because she was really special, Wren, and I loved her very much. And sometimes, when I talk about her, it makes me miss her even more. Does that make sense?”

She nods slowly, her curls bouncing. “But… it’s okay to miss her, right?”

“Of course it is. I miss her every day.”

She studies me, her expression unusually serious. “Then why don’t you have a new wife? Isn’t that what grown-ups are supposed to do? My friend Lana at school—her parents got a divorce and now her dad is married to another lady, so she has a stepmom. Lana said I could have a stepmom, too. If you got married again.”

The bluntness of her comment makes me chuckle despite the icy, tangled knot forming in my stomach.

“It’s not about what grown-ups are ‘supposed’ to do, kiddo. It’s about what feels right. And right now, I’m happy just being your dad. In order for me to get married to someone new, I have to start dating, and that takes a lot of time and energy. Plus, I don’t want to confuse you, kid.”

She frowns. “But don’t you ever get lonely?”

Her words hit me harder than they should. I glance away, the wind brushing past us like a ghost, a tendril of the past that we’ll never be able to fully recover.

“I have you, Wren. That’s more than enough for me.”

“But—”

---