Page 8 of Suddenly Entwined

“Yup, long day today.”

“I can always take them home with me for a playdate if you’re busy at work. It’s not a problem!”

Natalie tugs on the corner of my jacket, and I can see the slight shake of her head in my peripheral vision.

“Aren’t you picking up your daughter, too?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m here on Parent Advisory Council business while she’s at horseback riding lessons. Anyway, I’d love to have them!”

Without a doubt, when we get into the truck, Louisa is going to ask me if she can take horseback riding lessons. And I'm going to have to tell her no. Because that costs a fortune and it will be another extra curricular I don’t have the time or energy to accommodate.

Tamara’s voice rises an octave. “Wouldn’t that be fun, sweeties? Then we could all have supper together afterward.”

The girls stay silent, and I fight back a smile.

“I think we’re good on that. Thanks for the offer.”

I usher the girls from the classroom and Tamara’s voice echoes off the clean linoleum after us. “I make a mean Marry Me Chicken!”

Could she be more obvious?

“I can cook my own chicken, Tamara,” I call, bending to scoop both my daughters up despite my tired muscles, and carrying my perfect little family right out the front door.

***

I scoop fluffy mashed potatoes onto Natalie’s plate, licking some of the smooth, buttery mixture off my thumb.

“Mmm,” I exclaim, nodding in approval.

My version of Marry Me chicken looks just like the damn picture on my phone, and I didn’t have to subject myself to an evening of shameless flirting to get it. I shake my head at Tamara’s earlier antics as I gather up some loose papers off the round kitchen table so I can set down the steaming chicken dish on the trivet. I’m no chef, but I can find my way around a kitchen well enough. And thank god for that, because it’s me on dinner duty day in and day out.

After Trudy died, the conveyor belt of casseroles and baked goods was endless. I could barely taste the food as I navigated those early stages of grief. After a lot of counselling and good old-fashioned time, the intense memories from my late wife’s death have faded from acute pain to the occasional dull ache. Is there truth that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Perhaps. But it grinds my gears when women find out I’m a single dad and immediately peg me for some bumbling idiot around the home. Yeah, I screw up sometimes, but I’ve got this. I’ve been doing it alone for this long, and I don’t need any help.

“Supper!” I holler, even though our place isn’t all that big. It’s three bedrooms and a ground level suite below with a nice backyard, even though I don’t get out to tame the grass as much as I’d like.

With minimal enthusiasm, my daughters grace me with their presence at the table, eyeing the meal with skepticism.

“It’s chicken,” I say, before they can even ask. “You guys like chicken.”

I point to their chairs. “Sit. Please.”

“But what are those bits on it?” asks Louisa.

I steady her milk so she doesn’t knock it over with a wayward elbow as she scoots her chair in.

“Flavour,” I tell them, settling into my seat and prompting our normal supper conversation. “Highs and lows.”

I am not a perfect father by any stretch of the imagination, but I have a few tools in my toolbox, and even I know that asking, “How was your day?” is going to yield a couple of shrugs and that’s about it. I’ve been asking for “highs and lows” since they could talk. It’s one of the few things I remember doing with Trudy even before we had children, so the routine is here to stay.

Louisa splutters on a sip of milk as she rushes to share first. “Oh! My high was that we got to have extra free time today because Mrs. Anton had to talk to Bentley in the hallway about why we don’t stick food down our pants at snack time.”

She scoops potato into her mouth like this is a regular occurrence.

“Um, not going to ask about that one. Very nice. And your low?”

Louisa fork falls into her potatoes and her gaze follows it. “That you were so late picking us up today…”

My throat tightens around my bite of chicken and I wash it down with a sip of my beer. I want to explain that I was working and that lots of parents are late and that it isn’t a big deal, but I know that won’t help. To Lou, it was a big deal.

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