Page 23 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

At the same time, though, we’re probably even. I pity her, too. Thanks to my eavesdropping a couple days ago, I already knew that she was dealing with an injury, but hearing the words out of her own mouth still felt like a shock to my system. Even whenAlina was my greatest competition in school, I couldn’t help seeing her as this indomitable creature. She was unstoppable. She never gave up. I knew that, even if the world stopped spinning, she would never stop being a force of nature.

It was an annoying thing to acknowledge back then. Now, it’s nothing short of disorienting to be proved wrong. Alina isn’t untouchable.

And I do feel bad for her.

At the same time, I don’t regret being a little too harsh in my response to her admissions about the medical leave she’s taking this summer. Because, really, her life could be a lot worse. Sure, there’s a tiny chance that she stands to lose everything she’s worked her entire life for, but I think it’s much more likely that she’ll be totally fine… as long as she actually goes to see a doctor.

I should’ve left it at that. I should’ve just told her to grow up, deal with her issues, and carry on. Instead, I let myself play a game of vulnerability with her.

I set the laundry basket on the floor and lean against the kitchen island, rubbing a hand down my face. How did it come to this? One minute, I’m trying to say something decent to her, something that might ease the tension between us, and the next minute, I’m revealing one of the deepest scars I have.

I look around the empty kitchen, the dull churn of the dishwasher’s cycle matching the thrum in my chest.

Perfect.Alina thinks my life is perfect.

Of all the ridiculous assumptions she could have made, that one cuts the deepest. She doesn’t know about the nights I spend tossing and turning, terrified that Wren might have inherited the same heart condition that caused my wife to die so suddenly. An unknown, undetected arrhythmia—that’s what it was. She was otherwise so healthy and energetic, and although she had a family history of heart attacks, we had no reason to think it’d be an issue for her while she was so young and athletic.

Then, one day, she dropped dead in the middle of the grocery store. Her heart just… stopped. Just like that. Between one second and the next, my wife was no longer alive. Wren hadn’t even reached her first birthday yet.

Alina doesn’t know what that feels like.

She doesn’t know about the mornings I spent sitting on the floor of my bedroom, wondering how I was supposed to find the strength to keep going. She doesn’t know about the violin that I smashed to pieces because I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I felt like trying to play the instrument I had devoted my life to mastering was the equivalent of playing pretend. Denial. Stupidity.

Overnight, I suddenlyhatedthe violin.

How could she know any of that, though? She hasn’t been in my life for years. And back then, all we ever did was compete. It’s not like we had moments of camaraderie where we might’ve shared our deepest secrets and desires with each other. She saw me at my most determined, my most ambitious—and I saw her the same way.

Upstairs, I’m vaguely aware of the dissonant drum beats falling silent. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, numbly staring into space. There are too many thoughts and emotions clamoring for attention within me, and I don’t know how to navigate the forest of their tangled branches.

I only register that it’s getting late when the sun dips low enough to cast a fiery orange glow through the kitchen windows. The laundry basket is still at my feet. Blinking blearily, I stare down at my watch. Half an hour has passed since I came back up from the basement.

I spaced out again.Dissociated, as my therapist tried to call it. I’m still not sure I believe him when it comes to all of these confusing mental health terms, but it is true that I tend to checkout, mentally speaking, and come back to reality only after a significant amount of time has passed.

Get it together, I command myself.

With a heavy sigh, I kick the laundry basket aside.

I find Wren in the living room, sprawled out on her stomach on the rug with a coloring book, humming to herself. She glances up when I come in, her face lighting up with a smile. At least she didn’t notice me turning into a temporary statue in the next room over. Thank goodness for the fact that she also tends to be lost in her own little world.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, kiddo.” I sink onto the couch nearby.

“Guess what?” she says, holding up her coloring book to show off a brightly colored dolphin leaping over a wave. The dolphin is lilac-purple and the waves are the color of fresh butter. Her imagination fascinates me. I wish I knew what it was like to see the world through such a bright, kaleidoscopic lens.

“That’s awesome,” I say, giving her a thumbs-up. “Looks like you’re getting pretty good at coloring inside the lines.”

“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, flipping the page. “Can we go to the beach later? Like, when it gets dark? I want to find shells and see the stars!”

I hesitate. It’s been a long day, and the thought of leaving the house isn’t exactly appealing. Even so, Wren’s excitement is hard to resist. It’s impossible to say noto her.

“Alright,” I say, smiling despite myself. “We’ll go after dinner.”

“Yay!” She jumps up, throwing her arms around me. “You’re the best, Daddy! What’s for dinner? Can I have chicken nuggets?”

“You had chicken nuggets last night.”

She purses her lips at me. “And? Is there a rule against me eating too many chicken nuggets while on vacation?”

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