Page 14 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

“To what?”

I don’t have to shrink my body in order to cede status to this giant, but I do need to make him feel valued. “Your ideas. Your concerns. Anything you want to tell me about CPR. We at Trede have resources put aside for improvements, from programming to the facility, and since you’re in charge of the facility…” I trail off and sweep a hand around his cramped office.

“Hmmph.” He drops into his chair. “You really want to hear what I’ve got to say?”

He hasn’t invited me, but I take the seat opposite him anyway. “Leia says you know more about what this place needs than anybody.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “How long you got?”

I pull out my tablet and stylus and prepare to take notes, giving myself a teeny-tiny mental high five. “As long as it takes.”

By the end of the week, both Mabel and I could really use some fun, so when I hear a coworker raving about their experience strawberry picking at a place called Bedd Fellows Farm, I decide to take the kids. When my mom begs off Saturday morning, saying that she and my dad have made a pickleball date, I push away the worry that I won’t be able to handle the kids on my own.

Mabel likes to know the plan ahead of any new experience, so I do a bit of research. As I study the farm’s basic website, I wonder if I know the Bedd family. My freshman year roommate’s last name was Bedd, and he grew up on a farm.

Sam and I only lived together one year. He went home most weekends, and I rushed a fraternity, so we didn’t socialize much, but I always liked the guy. Thinking it would be nice to reconnect, I’m actually hoping I get to see him. Once we arrive, however, the kids and I get caught up in the activities. The kids pet the adorable calf and taste the strawberry milk, and we buy a jar of local honey for my mom. I’m admiring a hand-knitted sweater, picturing it hugging Avery’s curves, when Mabel asks, “Where are the strawberries, Daddy?”

Looking around the barn, I notice a sign over a door and point to it. “Can you read that?”

“Strawberry picking this way,” she reads, loudly and without hesitation, before making a beeline for the door. It takes me a moment to scoop up Percy, so by the time I find her, she’s chatting with a redhead standing behind a table piled with buckets.

“You pay for the bucket, Daddy,” Mabel explains. “If you save it and use it again next time, you pay less.”

She frowns, turning back to the woman behind the table. “But why do we have to pay for the bucket if we already have it?”

The woman seems a little stumped by Mabel’s logic, so I jump in. “We’re really paying for the strawberries, sweetie. They’re incentivizing returning to pick again and avoiding waste by giving us a discount the next time.”

“Ohhh,” Mabel says.

“Exactly,” the woman says before turning a relieved smile my way. “I’m Molly, by the way.”

After I introduce myself and Percy, we decide to pay for one large bucket. As Molly swipes my card, a man steps up to say something quietly in her ear. A blush reddens her pale skin from chest to hairline, and she swats at him playfully. When he straightens, a taller, broader version of my old roommate grins at me.

“This might sound weird,” I ask, “but… do you happen to have a brother named Sam who went to Cornell?”

“Sure do.” The man hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you take the pony cart to the upper fields, he’s driving.”

Mabel gasps. “I wanna go on the pony cart!”

I shrug. “I guess that’s what we’re doing, then.”

The couple shows us where to wait, but when the cart comes down the lane, Mabel’s eyes grow wide. “That’s a big pony.”

“Pretty sure that’s a full-on horse.” I squeeze her shoulder. “You still want to ride?”

When she nods vigorously, I turn my gaze back to the incoming cart. The man driving is backlit, so I shade my eyes with my free palm. “Sam Bedd? Is that you?”

The driver tips his head to the side, and he pulls on the reins to stop the horse. “Josh Harmon? What the fuuu—” He clears his throat, obviously noticing the kids at my side. “What the fork are you doing here? I thought you lived in the city.”

Before I can explain, Mabel looks him right in the eye to say, “Our mom died, so we live with our grandma and grandpa now. Daddy lives there too.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Sam says to her before mouthing to meReally sorry.

Telling people about Lisa is never easy, but I’m especially protective of Mabel’s experience. I just nod, likeI’m okay with her feelings so you can be too. “Mabel is… processing.”

I’m just gearing myself up to answer the inevitable follow-up questions when a dog’s head pops up behind Sam. A very large German Shepherd, with a mouth full of very big teeth, but Mabel doesn’t flinch. “Is that your dog?”

“He is,” Sam says with a grin. “His name’s Gomer. Do you want to say hi?”

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