Every stroke of the comb only seems to make it worse. Her tangled curls are an absolute mess. Clad in her pink and yellow pajamas, Callie wiggles and grips the sides of her head. She’s in tears, and by the way Eli keeps grumbling for her to sit still, I can tell they’re both beyond frustrated.
It’s times like this that I feel downright guilty for taking time off. They need me. Uh, rather—Callie needs me.
Unable to just stand by and watch their mounting frustration, I step into the room. “I-I could help...?” I ask with a soft smile.
Two pairs of matching eyes whip toward me. “Jessa!” Callie cheers.
I swear I see a hint of relief in Eli’s gaze, but then it instantly turns hard. His shoulders fall, and I see his body outwardly admitting defeat.
Five-year-old tangles—one, post-prison single dads—zero.
I can’t tell if he’s more angry with himself, or at me for witnessing it. Not that I’m judging him. One of the hardest parts of raising girls is dealing with their long, tangled hair.
He rises to his feet, exhaustion drooping his shoulders. He slaps the comb into my palm. “Thanks.” He stomps off. I’m not sure where he leaves to go sulk, but he leaves us girls on our own.
I give Callie a quick hug, pressing my lips to her head, then I dart into my bedroom to grab more appropriate hair supplies. That old man comb Eli was trying to use is just not going to cut it.
On my way out, I glance around the space and smile. I usually keep the door closed so Eli won’t side-eye the girly improvements I’ve made to his space. It’s still his bedroom, even though I’m staying here, and I feel weird about making changes to it. But I had to bring some life to the place. When I moved in, it was drab and spiritless and it made me sad to imagine Eli here in his old life with his old wife. So I added some twinkle lights, new curtains, and a few other things to liven up the place.
Back in Callie’s bedroom, I make myself comfy on her girly twin bed, and we talk about her day while I get to work. Her sniffling calms, and she excitedly tells me about working outside with her daddy, how she got to use a hammer and help him varnish the porch. Judging by the look on Eli’s face earlier, it’s no doubt he had a long day, but I imagine he has no clue how exciting the day was for his daughter.
Baby steps.
And he’s taking them, whether he knows it or not.
I get through Callie’s hair in no time, tying it into a quick braid to make the morning more manageable. Still, she’s fading fast. When I get her laid down and pull the covers up to her chin, her little eyes are already fluttering closed.
“Night, night, sweetie,” I whisper.
“G’night,” she mumbles back, incoherently, scrunching her nose and rolling to her side.
I sit quietly and watch her sleep for a few moments, gathering the courage for what I need to do next. Mind set, I go off in search of Eli. The house is eerily still, so I know he’s not on the main floor.
I tentatively open the basement door and creep down the creaky wooden stairs. When I make it to Eli’s dark man cave below, I find him on the couch. I know he heard me come down, but he doesn’t even glance in my direction.
The man looks utterly defeated, seated on his couch-slash-bed and staring mindlessly at the television propped up on a box in the corner.
With a dejected sigh, I pass in front of him and drop to the couch next to him, making sure to leave a respectable amount of space between our thighs. When he still doesn’t acknowledge my presence, I set a bottle of hair detangler in his lap.
His eyes fall to the bottle, and then he turns to me, brow raised.
“It’ll be a lifesaver, I promise. Oh, and a wide-tooth comb,” I tell him, wanting to set him and Callie up for success. Even if he doesn’t fire me soon, I won’t be around forever. I want to help him be the best father to that sweet girl. She deserves it. They both deserve it.
Eli nods, picking up the bottle and examining it. “Thanks.”
I watch him silently, pairing this version of the man with the one who gave me a ride to my hometown when my car wouldn’t start. With the one who spent his entire day helping my dad frame out and drywall a small office. With the one who possessively laid his hand on the small of my back and led me to his car when Michael tried to overstep my boundaries.
What does it mean that I like each and every one of those versions?
I’m in so much trouble.
“Callie had a good day, you know. She loved getting to work with you outside,” I tell him.
He grunts, shaking his head. He doesn’t believe me. “She barely said a word to me. She didn’t eat her dinner. She cried most of the evening. Doesn’t sound like a good day to me.”
My heart cracks for him. Little does he know that he’s just describing a normal five-year-old.
Reaching out and placing my hand on his jean-covered thigh, I speak my mind, hoping I don’t take it too far. “I promise. Her version of the day is vastly different from yours. You just have to keep doing what you’re doing, Eli. It’s going to take time. Win back her trust. Show her you won’t abandon her again.”
“I didn’t abandon her,” he argues before his voice softens. “At least, not deliberately.”
I pull my feet up under me, now fully facing him as we talk. “I know you didn’t. You’d never do that to your daughter. I see that. But Callie probably doesn’t understand it all.”
“I don’t know how I'll ever be able to explain this to her.” His gaze
