“Yes. What do you want to play?” I looked down at her. She was the perfect mixture of her dad and mom. She had dark hair as they both did, her mom’s striking blue eyes, and Dylan’s wonderful smile. She was sweet like him too.
I was all for women pursuing their dreams, but I couldn’t understand how Veronica, Dylan’s ex, could leave him and Maisie to be a model. She and Dylan seemed to get along all right. Twice in the last year, she’d been in New York with enough free time to visit with Maisie. I suspect she and Dylan engaged in a little horizontal play as well, but within a few days she was off to Rome or Paris or wherever models went, leaving a perfect man and child behind. If they were mine, I’d never leave.
I shook my head free of those thoughts. They weren’t mine. They’d never be mine. I needed to figure out a way to stop my brain from sometimes drifting into fantasyland about them.
“Candyland,” Maisie decided.
“Fun! Why don’t you get it out and set it up on the dining table?” I smiled like it was the most fun idea ever, when in truth, I’d be happy to never play that game again. There was nothing wrong with it. For kindergarteners it was perfect, as it didn’t require reading or math. But I’d played that game so many times; not just with Maisie, but also with other children I babysat back home in Brooklyn where I grew up.
“”Kay.” She rushed out of the kitchen toward her bedroom.
While she got the game ready, I went through the refrigerator looking for what I’d make her for dinner. Dylan usually got home around seven, which was too late for Maisie to eat, so I made her dinner. Most times, I made enough for Dylan too. I figured it would give him more time to spend with Maisie in the evenings if he didn’t have to worry about feeding himself.
We played a game of Candyland and then took the brownies out of the oven to cool. I was able to convince her to go out into the backyard to play instead of more Candyland. We played superheroes until she saved me from the evil bad guy, and then I went in to make her dinner while she played with craft dough.
I was pulling roasted vegetables from the oven when the sound of the door opening and shutting echoed.
“Daddy!” Maisie called out with excitement.
“Hey, lazy Maisie.” His deep baritone voice reached me in the kitchen. I checked my watch. It was almost five thirty.
I exited the kitchen. “You’re home early,” I said when I saw him. I’d been working for Dylan for nearly a year, so you’d think by now I’d be used to seeing him. But every time I took in his t-shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, the fine ass filling his jeans, not to mention the sizable mound under his zipper, I nearly swooned. When he’d smile at me while holding Maisie, I did swoon.
“Yep. I have a new manager at the local gym, and my operations person for the company is back from maternity leave, so I should have some more time for this little peanut.” He lifted Maisie up and blew a raspberry on her belly.
“Daddy.” She laughed, and the sound of it along with the scene was too sweet. I felt a bit like an intruder.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Maisie, why don’t you set a place for your dad?”
“”Kay.” She wriggled as he put her down and ran past me into the kitchen.
“How was the day?” he asked me.
“Good.”
He sniffed the air. “I think I smell baked sugar.”
I laughed. “Brownies. They’re for Maisie’s class party tomorrow for the last day of school. Will you be able to come?”
Dylan was a hard worker, often putting in long days, but he never missed an activity of Maisie’s. “Absolutely.”
Maisie rushed back into the room. “I got you the Mickey fork, Daddy.”
“I love that guy,” he said with a wink to his daughter. He looked at me. “Why don’t you stay?”
“Oh, it’s okay.” I waved his invite away even though I really wanted to stay.
“It doesn’t feel right that you cook for us but don’t eat.”
“Stay and eat,” Maisie said. “I’ll get you the Donald fork.” She ran past me into the kitchen again.
“You can’t turn down the Donald fork,” he said with a smirk.
“I guess I’ll stay then.” It was really pathetic how much I liked it whenever he’d ask me dine with them on nights like this. I felt like a dumb school girl wanting whatever crumbs of attention Dylan would throw my way.
“Yay!” Maisie put the fork on the table. “Daddy, we played Candyland and I drew this picture. It’s of Little Bear and his mommy. His mommy lives with him, not like my mommy.”
The spark in Dylan’s eyes dimmed. “Where’s Little Bear’s daddy?”
“He’s …” Maisie’s brow furrowed. “Where is he, Tessa?”
“That’s a good question. The book doesn’t say.”
Dylan shook his head. “Dads don’t get enough attention in kids’ materials.”
He was right, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t more actively sought out books with dads. “You should write one,” I said.
“I’ll write one, Daddy.” Maisie grabbed her paper and crayons and started coloring.
A few minutes later, we were at the table eating chicken and vegetables.
“So, tomorrow is the last day of school. How does it feel, Mais?” he asked.
“Good. After tomorrow I’m in first grade.” She held up her index finger.
“You need to stop growing up so fast,” he said with a sweet smile at Maisie.
“I can’t help it, Daddy.” She held her hands up in a shrug.
“How about you, Tessa? What grade do you go into next year?” he asked, taking a bite of the vegetables.
I gave a little shrug as I pushed my food around my plate. “Eighteenth? If I go.”
“If?”
“Eighteen!” Maisie’s eyes widened.
I didn’t want
