Page 54 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

Charlie appears out of nowhere. “Well, look at you two, getting along like normal coworkers.”

I roll my eyes at Charlie and tell him I’m taking off early.

“You earned a little break today,” he says.

“We all did,” I say.

I don’t look at Logan to see what he thinks of that near-compliment. I just grab my purse from my cubby and head out of Barnes to pick up my niece.

Cassidy is standing with her teacher at the curb when I pull through the pickup line. She waves frantically, as if I’d miss her in her hot-pink tights and purple skirt. Her hair is up in two pigtails, the ringlet curls relaxed a little after a day of playing and learning with friends.

Cassidy opens the back door of my car and hops in, dragging her butterfly backpack with her. The chatter starts immediately as she buckles herself into the booster seat I keep stowed in my trunk for days like this.

“Miss Carmady said you get to be the picker upper today. Where are we going? Can we go to your house? I like your house. Do you still have the big stairs by your porch? What about the swing? We could bake cookies, maybe? Remember when we made snickerdoodles because they’re Mommy’s favorite?”

I don’t even know where to start.

“I moved to a different apartment, Cass. Did your mommy tell you?”

“She said somepin about it.”

“So I don’t have the swing on the porch anymore, but there are stairs outside and inside and there’s even an elevator.”

“Can I push the buttons?”

“You can push the number two.”

“That’s poop.”

I chuckle and look back at her in her booster seat. Her face is dead serious.

“Number twoispoop. It’s also the number of my floor.”

“Does it smell like poo?”

“No, thank goodness. It doesn’t.”

“Okay. I’ll be the guy who pushes the number button. And you be the girl who tells me, ‘Number two please, sir.’”

“Sounds good,” I smile.

She’s good medicine after this day of putting out dumpster fires and having so many confusing interactions with Logan.

Why is he being so nice to me?

Cassidy chatters on about her day while I drive us home.

“Do you know what the saddest thing ever, ever in the world is?” Cassidy asks. “My teacher told me today. And Ava just cried and cried too much. So Miss Jackson had to give her a Kleenex. But I didn’t even cry a drop.”

I drive into the parking structure, and Cassidy switches channels faster than a teen with a remote. “This is the best place ever! I love this thing to park in.”

“It’s a parking garage,” I tell her, feeling only slightly guilty for my grumpy thoughts about the way it blocks my view of anything beautiful. “You can see it from my apartment.”

“You can? That’s so amazing! I want to see.”

“You will as soon as we’re up there.” I hop out and shut my door behind me.

Cassidy half-carries her backpack on one shoulder. I shut her door for her.

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