Page 24 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

I snort loudly. “No, I guess not.”

“Exactly! And you can have some, too! I looked at the back of the bag and I saw they have lots of protein, which is good for you because…”

I smile to myself as she babbles on about something she learned in her health and nutrition class at school. I’d rather hear the sound of her endless chatter over the cacophony of my own thoughts any day.

***

The beach is deserted when we make our way along the private path to the sand, the fading light casting everything in soft hues of purple and gold. Wren skips ahead, her sandals dangling from her fingers, leaving tiny footprints in the damp sand as the tide sluggishly withdraws.

“Come on, slowpoke!” she calls out.

“I’m coming,” I assure her, shaking my head.

She crouches near the water’s edge, examining a clump of seaweed like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. A wave rushes in, soaking her toes, and she squeals, jumping back.

“Careful, Wrennie,” I say as I catch up to her.

“Look!” She holds up a small shell, pale pink and perfectly smooth. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Very pretty,” I say, crouching beside her. “You’re good at finding treasure.”

“Do you think there’s a pearl in this?” she asks, her voice full of wonder.

“Probably not.” I ruffle her hair when she pouts at the empty shell in her hand. “You never know, though. Keep looking, and maybe you’ll find something special.”

She grins and runs ahead, her laughter rising over the sound of the waves. I watch her for a moment, my heart full and heavy all at once.

Wren is my anchor; she’s the one thing that keeps me steady when everything else feels like it’s too much to handle. But there are days—days that occur more often than not, unfortunately—when I wonder if I’m doing enough. IfI’menough.

Since our conversation about her mother, I’m starting to panic about it more and more. I know that plenty of kids are raised by single dads nowadays—that it’s not entirely outside the norm anymore. Still, what if not having access to a motherly influence puts her at a developmental disadvantage? What if I’m setting my kid up for failure because I don’t have the energy, patience, or desire to find someone new to fall in love with?

“Daddy, come here!”

Wren’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I jog toward her where she’s crouched near a tide pool on a flat expanse of smooth rocks, peering intently into the water. There’s not much to light our way other than the silvery moon rising to replace the sun and the distant glow of the other beachside properties.

“What’d you find?” I ask, kneeling beside her.

“Crabs!” she says, pointing.

Sure enough, a tiny crab scuttles across the sand at the bottom of the pool. It’s nothing more than a little shadow in the glimmering water. Wren leans closer, her nose almost touching the surface.

“Do you think he’s lonely?” she asks.

I chuckle. “I think he’s probably fine. Crabs have shells, remember? They’re tough little things.”

“Like me!” she says, puffing out her chest.

“Exactly like you.”

For a while, I trail after her in contented silence while she explores the tide pools and collects shells with the help of my phone’s flashlight. Wren chatters endlessly, her energy infectious.

For the first time in days, I feel light. I guess I understand why Alina is so willing to humor Wren’s interruptions out on the patio. She might hate me, but she’s not immune to my kid’s charms.

“You’re so silly, Daddy,” she says, giggling as I have to perform an acrobatic leap to reach her on the other side of a rocky outcropping.

“Me? You’re the silly one,” I say, laughing with her.

As the sky darkens further, stars begin to appear as faint pinpricks of light scattered across the vast expanse. The shadows deepen too much for us to see anything else in the tide pools, so we make our way back toward the house.

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