The Single Dad Dilemma (Family of Misfits #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

RIDGE

T here’s a special place in hell for all those parents who name their kids after objects. Or the ones who put in all the extra letters that are absolutely unnecessary. But I can’t say any of that out loud because all the mommies and daddies at the preschool program will look at me like I’m an asshole. Well, maybe I am but that’s not the point.

I pull my truck into a spot in front of ABCs & Friends, where my kid is enrolled for her very last summer before she starts kindergarten in three months. Lords willing. Yes, I’m praying to all the gods in all the religions that this works out.

But as I push through the front door, a stern-looking Mrs. Edith Sanderson greets me. Her hands are wrenched tightly across her chest, left foot tapping. There’s also a very guilty-looking Louise Mae Jessup standing next to her.

“Mr. Jessup, perhaps we should speak alone,” Edith says before I can say anything.

I look down at my kiddo, and she knows what’s coming just as well as I do. “Lou, why don’t you go sit over there while I talk to Mrs. E?”

She nods, saying nothing as she adjusts the straps of her backpack and heads over to the small couch in the waiting area.

No sooner than Lou is gone from her side, Mrs. E starts in.

“Mr. Jessup, while Louise is a very smart young lady, she’s also quite spirited.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I counter. It’s the best I’ve got. Plus, being spirited is a good thing, right? It always sounded like a good quality to me.

“Mr. Jessup, during a lesson about the seasons, she made a speech about climate change and how the lines between seasons will quickly fade if we aren’t careful. And then she bit Axel on the hand.”

“Why did she bite him?” Biting is a new one. Lou always has a speech about the melting ice caps or saving the majestic wild American bumblebee, but she’s never physically hurt another child.

“Apparently he tried to steal Brayleigh’s snack,” she says. “But that’s not a good reason to bite him. She should use her words.”

Axel and Brayleigh. Wasn’t this the exact thing I was thinking on the way here? You know what, I’m not going there. Those parents put in work, took their time, and lovingly named their children with intention. At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe.

But the biting thing doesn’t seem so out of character with context. Lou and Brayleigh are friends, and she was defending her. I’m not sure I can be mad about that.

“I’ll talk to her,” I say.

“Mr. Jessup, the rules are very clear,” Edith starts.

“Yes, I know. I do know that, but there’s only three months until kindergarten and I’m desperate here, Edith. Please, have mercy. Perhaps she could make it up to everyone?”

“Are you suggesting bribery, Mr. Jessup, because that’s just?—”

“No, of course not.” But yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking.

Mrs. E takes a deep breath. It’s a very long, very intentional inhale and a too loud exhale, and I know what it means before she even says anything.

“Mr. Jessup, I’m very sorry. But Louise can no longer attend programs here at ABCs & Friends. I wish you both all the best.”

She holds her hand out to shake mine, and I reluctantly follow suit. It’s not like I’m not used to it.

“I’m sorry,” Lou says. They’re the first words out of her mouth after we pull out of the parking lot. There’s a deep V between her wispy brows, which matches her downturned mouth.

“I know you were defending your friend and I know you feel passionately about the earth,” I say. “But there are probably better ways to do those things.”

“Dad, Axel didn’t just steal her snack,” she says. “He pulled her ponytail and told her that her parents didn’t love her.”

Well, Axel’s a dick. But I have to stay on track. “Lou, this is the tenth daycare. There are no more daycares.”

She gives this some silent thought as she fidgets with the fluffy pink bunny keychain hanging from her backpack zipper.

“I had to liberate the class pet at the last one,” she says. “Birds don’t belong in cages.”

She’s referring, of course, to the parakeet in her class at Little Friends. I swear it’s like every daycare has the word “friend” in it. But I digress. She opened the bird’s cage and the window and freed poor Mr. Skittles from his life of confinement.

At the daycare before Little Friends, she’d used a plastic bag and scooped the two goldfish, Ted and Princess Peach, out of their tank and dumped them into the pond they took a class trip to. Before that, she started a petition to save the pangolins, who are endangered due to poaching. She’d printed out an article and took it in, showing the rest of the children gruesome photos of deceased pangolins. Needless to say, everyone cried and all the parents had some choice words for me.

“I’ll figure it out, Lou. You just have to help me out here, okay?”

She nods, her tiny shoulders slumped in shame, and it kills me just enough. I can never stay upset with her, even if she is quickly becoming a juvenile delinquent. God, I feel like the worst parent ever.

This wasn’t my life plan, though, okay? I had no intention of becoming a parent, let alone a thirty-five-year-old single dad to a very “spirited” little girl with strong convictions and a can-do attitude. It’s times like this I wish Vanessa was still here. Hell, I wish she was here all the time but especially when this sort of thing happens.

We pull into the parking lot at work, and I mentally navigate my day, like a flash forward. Thankfully, it isn’t a busy one for me. I stare up at the sign over the door for a moment. It reads “Men of Bird’s Eye Nashville,” and it’s my home away from home.

I rap a knuckle against the small “No Children Allowed” sign on the door and usher Lou inside, pointing back to the office, where she will now spend her day. It could be worse. I mean, everyone here loves her. They’d happily endure her being here all summer if I needed it but—and I say this with all the love in my heart—the idea of trying to work and parent at the same time sounds like an absolute nightmare.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing that sign nixing kids doesn’t apply to me or anyone who works here.

“Hey, Lou Lou,” Waylon says from his booth. “How’s it going?”

“Just another day fighting against an oppressive institution,” she says, head hanging low.

“Hey,” Waylon says, stopping her as she passes. “Why so sad?”

“I got kicked out of school,” she says.

I don’t interject, but rather just watch them from a short distance. Lou’s long, dark hair is sectioned into pigtails that I learned to do from an online video tutorial. There’s this gay couple who have a channel about doing stuff for their daughters that are most commonly done by mothers. To say I’ve come to appreciate those two dads taking pity on guys like me and showing us what the fuck to do is a gross understatement. I learned to do pretty much everything girl-dad-centric from them. God bless the gays.

“Well, they just can’t appreciate your gumption, Lou Lou. You’ll find the place where you fit in,” he says. “And I’ve always got your back.”

He holds out his hand to her and she slaps it, then they bump fists and snap their fingers. They invented this secret handshake the first time they met and have done it ever since. I never thought I’d have an appreciation for something so simple, but I really do.

Waylon is the most heavily tattooed of all of us. But he’s also the softest. At first glance, he probably looks like an enforcer for the Irish Mafia or a cage fighter. In reality, he’s a big golden retriever with a heart to match, who towers over everything and everyone. Add to the mix his good-boy Southern charm and that last bit of twang in his speech he can’t get rid of, and he really is an enigma. I’d trust him with my life and Lou’s, and that’s all that matters.

Waylon laughs at her most recent joke about a frog who plays piano, and I thank my lucky stars that I landed at Bird’s Eye.

“Hey, Waylon,” I say, interrupting them. “Lou’s hanging here today, so I’ll be in the office catching up on the books if you need me. I think I have one appointment later.”

“Right on,” he says, turning back to a sketch he’s working on.

Inside the office, I get Lou situated in a chair near the window and log into her tablet so she can watch the latest nature documentary featuring David Attenborough. They’re her favorites and it’s hard to object to screen time when it’s educational.

Once she’s settled, I focus my attention on work and pull up my inbox on one screen and a search browser on the other. Having dual monitors is really the only way to work. Despite already knowing the answer, I type in PRESCHOOL DAYCARE NASHVILLE. The list of results yields nothing new. Funny, I was hoping that three new preschools had popped up in the last month. And where are the unconventional day camp programs that take kids out in the woods and teach them math by counting the ants on a leaf and teach them how to make their own compass out of a stick or something?

My cell phone rings and I know it’s Alma, Vanessa’s mom and Lou’s grandmother. When I got a call from ABCs & Friends this morning, I sent her a text about it. I try to keep Vanessa’s parents involved in Lou’s life, even if Vanessa isn’t here.

“Hey, Alma,” I say.

“Ridge, what’s going on?” she asks.

“Well, Lou is no longer enrolled in preschool, and I have to find another solution.”

“Oh gosh, not again,” she says. “Do you need me to come into the city for a little while? Or perhaps I can bring her to the farm for the summer?”

I know Alma means well, and she’s offered her help since the day Lou was born, but I refuse to send my child away for the entire summer. Or for Alma to come stay in my house for an extended period of time. I’ve done my absolute best not to depend too heavily on them, and I refuse to start now.

“No, I’ll figure something out. Thank you, though.”

“Have you considered a nanny?” she asks.

“A nanny? Like to live at my house? I don’t have the room for that. Or the money.”

“No, not a live-in nanny. Just someone for Louise during the day. You could find someone who fits your schedule, and they could give Louise some one-on-one learning. Maybe she’s just not great in groups.”

I sigh, laughing slightly. “It’s something to think about.”

“Do be sure to, and let me know what you need in the meantime. Just let me help where I can.”

The pause after tells me everything I need to know. She wants to do more. But Lou already spends every other weekend with them, and they already give me money to help. With Vanessa not here, they feel it’s only right to help in her place. I’ve told them they don’t need to, but they insist. Most of the money they give me goes straight into a college fund I opened for Lou about two weeks after she was born. If I ever keep any out, it’s to treat her to something with her mother in mind. Sort of like her mom is paying for it. I don’t know, maybe that’s crazy.

And believe me, the free weekends to just regroup and have some alone time are so appreciated. Being a single parent is insane work. And I know what you’re probably thinking. That I use those precious kid-free weekends to go out and party and sleep with tons of women? You would be wrong.

The last weekend she was with them, I slept in, ate cold pizza for breakfast, and watched reruns of The Great British Bake Off . I also took like, three naps. Whoo, that bachelor life. Please. I can barely keep it together without a woman to disappoint. The point is, I use those weekends to completely abandon all the adult things I do every single day in favor of shutting my brain off and taking a breath.

After hanging up with Alma, my thoughts go back to her suggestion. How does a person even find a nanny? Are there agencies like in the movies? People don’t put wanted ads in newspapers anymore. Maybe there’s something in the single-parent group I’m in online. I don’t really comment or post in there, but rather just lurk in the background and read. Let me tell you, people can get snarky in there.

I return attention to my computer and type NANNY SERVICES NASHVILLE into the search engine. Four entries down, I see a website called NanniesRUs, which looks more like an intermediary between nannies and families. You can view nannies’ profiles or post your nanny job for them to apply to. That doesn’t seem so bad. And the website says they pre-screen every person who posts a profile, which is the only way they can apply to posted jobs too.

I look over at Lou in the corner, who’s entranced in an episode about the mating habits of the seahorse. That’s not porn, right? What a question to have to ask myself. Perhaps a nanny would be a better fit for her needs. Outside the confines of a classroom, maybe she will thrive more and be less rebellious. Plus, maybe it’s easier to explain to an individual that Lou is a special kind of kid and she’s definitely not watching fish porn.

I click the button on the screen to sign up and start filling out the profile. It feels oddly like the start of an online dating profile, and I have sudden flashbacks of when I was single and swiping this way and that and hooking up. That’s how I met Vanessa, actually. For the most part, though, it felt like a cesspool of surface connections and being ghosted and, well, there was this one time a woman took me back to her apartment and had a rather disturbing collection of foraged animal skulls. She’d hung them all over her walls. I can’t actually confirm that they were all foraged, but it’s what I choose to believe.

I get to the main box where I’m supposed to write a paragraph about what kind of person I’m looking for. The words “kind and nurturing” come to mind, and again, it feels like a dating profile. Maybe the two sets of characteristics do contain some overlap.

My mouse pointer hovers over the submit button as I read through the profile one last time. Hesitation plagues me even though I know I need someone as soon as possible. The summer months are busy for the shop, and there are a number of tattoo conventions we’re scheduled to have booths at. At least it’s Friday, which gives me time to get some interviews lined up. Maybe someone could start as soon as next week. If I’m lucky.

I click the mouse and there’s a little whoosh noise on the screen, sending off my request. God, I hope that was a good idea. And I hope we find someone who fits us.

“Dad, did you know male seahorses will eat their babies?!” Lou sounds mortified.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would never eat you.”