Page 189 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Dave shakes my hand when it’s time to go, patting me on the back in a fatherly way, even though the guy doesn’t look like he’smuch older than I am. And yet, he’s been my lifeline for the past hour.
I stand in line behind half a dozen sheepish-looking dads to ask the admin lady where I need to go to find Jack. The whole time, I can’t stop thinking about Dave’s words. About a room full of moms knowing their kids’ teachers better than dads do.
I don’t want to be that kind of dad. I want to know things. Teachers’ names. Birthdays. Whether my kid likes butter on his pancakes.
But I also don’t knowhowto be that dad. Surely it feels easier when it’s something you ease into. Olivia and Tyler, for example, are learning about Asher together. They’re figuring things out. Cataloging every day.
Can I really just step in and be what Jack needs?
If this morning is any indication, the answer is a resoundingno.
Exhibit A: Syrup in my shoes.
Jack’s class is gathering on the playground. But not theregularplayground. Apparently, there’s a special playground just for kindergartners.
I’m the last dad—stairdad? Boyfriend dad?—to arrive.
Jack comes racing over and throws his arms around my legs. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he says.
I crouch down in front of him, swallowing away my hesitations. At least for now. “Of course I came.”
“I have something for you,” Jack says. He turns and hurries over to a table next to the back wall of the school. There’s one lone gift bag still sitting on the far corner.
He carries it over, gripping the handle with both hands, his face serious. The sight tugs at my heart. This kid deserves a dad. He deserves everything.
I sink onto my heels when he reaches me.
“Open it,” Jack says.
I dig through the tissue paper and pull out the ugliest mug I have ever seen. It’s obviously handmade and hand painted, and I love it with my whole soul. “This is pretty amazing,” I say.
“I painted it like an apple tree,” he says.
And then I see it. The globs of red dotting a green background, a rim of brown circling the bottom of the cup. “I can see that. I really love it, Jack.”
“K. I’m gonna go play.”
He takes off for the swings, and I lower the mug back into the bag.
Idolove the mug.
I just don’t know if I deserve it.
I drop onto a bench at the back of the playground. A few dads are still standing around, talking, watching as the kids play. I’m ready to leave, but I’m also afraid to go before everyone else does. Will it make me look selfish? Lazy?
I don’t know what I expected this morning to be like. How I expected things to go. But I didn’t expect to feel so defeated. I didn’t expect to be sobadat this.
I’m going to sound very arrogant for saying this, but I’m not generally bad at anything. I do things right, and I do things well.
Except for my marriage. I don’t think I did anything right when it came to that particular relationship. So maybe it’s just people I’m bad at.Relationships.
“Perry!” Jack comes barreling into my leg, tears streaming down his face. “It’s my turn on the swings, and Grant says it’s his turn, but he’s already had a turn to one hundred, and he won’t get off. And we have to go inside soon because Ms. Kennedy just gave us a five-minute warning, and I’m not going to get my turn.”
He looks at me, eyes expectant. Like this is a problem I should know how to solve. “Um, can you just find something else to do? Go down the slide or something?”
Jack’s lip quivers. “I don’t want to slide. I want to swing.”
“And you’re sure Grant’s turn is up?”
