Page 5 of Blind Date with a #FIREFIGHTER
“How is that working?”
I play with my glass but am saved from answering when the waiter approaches.
He lists the specials and we both select one of those. I order a beer, she gets a glass of wine.
“So do you come from a long line of firefighters?” she asks.
I shake my head. “My dad’s family had a small grocery store that he managed and ultimately took over. Mom was a bookkeeper for the store.”
“How’d you get into firefighting?”
“There was a bad fire in my neighborhood when I was a kid, and the firemen made a big impression on me.”
She nods. “Role models are so important for kids. Real people role models, not the ones created on television.”
“That I’d agree with. I’m picky about what my son watches and how much.”
“The sour expression on your face tells me that’s been an issue.”
“Yeah, there have been some caregivers who get so involved in their shows that he’ll feel like he’s alone. He has his own phone and knows how to call me and voice text. We face time during my lunches when I’m available.”
“I understand the issues with private home care, there are some with institutions like where I work, too. But a little morecontrol because we have to be licensed. It’s a juggling act for parents for sure.”
“I’ve thought about changing careers, but this is what I trained for, what I always wanted to do.”
“You don’t have any family to help?”
“Only child. My dad sold the business and took a job on the other side of the country right after I was accepted to the department. He and Mom visit, but just for short trips.”
“His mother?”
“He willneverbe anywhere near his mother or her family. I have a court order.” I realize how harshly that came out when she leans back in her chair as if I’d struck out. The waiter shows up with our food and I have a couple moments to compose myself and my apology.
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. My marriage was a difficult situation.”
Thea nods. “It’s okay. If I had a child, I’d be protective, too.”
The next few minutes are spent with both of us playing with our food. I put my fork down. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m lousy company and I ruined the mood. I’m going to leave and let you eat in peace. I’ll take care of the bill.”
Folding my napkin, I place it on the table. I’m surprised when she covers my hand.
“Many of the children in our daycare come from single parent homes. Not only do they deal with the unconventional work hours of their parents, but the struggle of home life balance. It is tough and wearing. I went to school specifically to work with kids and families who may need a little more understanding.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand the psychology, the stress, the financial burdens, the overall hardships. We strive for routine where there isn’t any. It’s difficult for people like you trying to play bothrolls. It’s important that those of us in twenty-four hour daycare understand not just the odd hours but the lifestyle for both the child and the parent.
“As the parent you’re constantly questioning if you’re doing the right thing. There is no one to share the responsibility, the normal day to day tasks. Laundry, cooking, an endless barrage of questions. Top that off with needing to sleep when your child is wide awake.
“You seem like a pretty together guy. I’m sure you’re conscious of what you need to work on. Relax. You haven’t upset me, and this food is too good to waste.”
Studying my food, I swallow. “Aaron has had a rough start. Thank you for understanding. Not everyone does. You’re right, this food is great. Not all the guys at the station can cook and they tend to make the same thing every shift.”
I smile to lighten the mood. “I’m personally known for my chicken nuggets and mac-n-cheese, with broccoli.”
“What about Jello?” she questions, then laughs. The sound is light, musical. Honest. The next thirty minutes are surprisingly easy. The waiter shows up with the dessert menu as my phone buzzes.
I glance down. There’s a voice text from Aarons number. My stomach drops.She’s here. Sitter left.
