Chapter 17
Dax
If there is anything I have learned in the past three years of my life, it’s that being a single dad isn’t easy. Especially if it was the result of the love of your life dying too young.
I’ve never tried to hide the fact that I am a dad.
I go to all the school functions, I show up for every parent teacher conference and every dance recital.
We go grocery shopping together, the three of us weaving up and down the busy aisles on the hunt for all the ingredients needed for our next Pinterest recipe.
We go to ice cream parlors and Disney movies and shop for new jelly shoes and hair accessories. Because not only am I a dad, I am a girl dad. And that’s a completely different kind of dad.
But like I told Libby, I do compartmentalize.
Who I am in the business world is not blended into who I am at home.
And I try to keep it that way to protect us.
To protect the girls from the cut-throat side of me that isn’t always desirable but is the reason for success and the reason we have the home we do in the part of Boston that we do.
It’s the reason I have kept things ‘normal’ for the girls since Tess died.
It’s our footing in a world that seems to be made of sand.
Nothing is forever.
Which is why the small moments matter. The little things that bring Delilah and Poppy joy. Things like bike rides and street festivals and story time at the bookstore. Libby’s bookstore.
Walking into Way With Words with my girls on either side of me is a totally different vibe.
It doesn’t feel like I am going to war. I’m not holding the usual stony face.
I’m not in slacks and a button down. I am smiling as my girls notice a cat near the window and stop to pet it.
I am wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and my hair is still damp from the rushed shower I took after the girls yanked me out of bed.
I have a five o’ clock shadow slowly growing in, something I hadn’t realized and don’t usually allow.
But the one thing that is the same is my nerves. Libby is here and she’s in her element. An element my daughters love. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. To be perfectly honest, it scares me.
“Daddy! Daddy look!” Poppy exclaims the moment we walk through the door.
It’s a busy day at the shop, with people snagging copies of a new bird watching book that hit the charts last week.
There’s also more kids than usual, probably because of story time I assume and most of them are crawling around the store spinning the bookmark wrack, playing with the puppets Libby keeps in the kids’ corner and grabbing coloring sheets to take home.
“What is it?” I ask, following my girls around as they slip into the current of people weaving in and out of the store.
“There’s a new Milo the Puppy book! Can we get it?”
“I just bought you books at the bookfair, honey. Remember?”
“Yes but it wasn’t the new Milo the Puppy book! Can I have it, daddy? Please?”
Poppy shoves the book into my hand, and I turn it over, looking at the price. “$29.99 for a picture book. It’s half that at Hemingway.” I mumble, not realizing who is standing right behind me.
“That one is signed,” Libby says, and I flip around to face her so fast, I nearly drop the book on the ground.
Libby looks…incredible. She’s wearing yellow again, this time a soft cotton blouse paired with a short, flowy floral skirt and opaque tights.
She also has on ankle high boots, the leather worn and weathered.
She looks like a character out of a book.
But her cute outfit isn’t what caught my eye. What’s holding my attention now.
“You cut your hair,” Delilah says matter of factly.
“I did!” Lily smiles down at her, shimmying her shoulders in a movement that makes me nearly drop the book again.
Christ, man, pull it together. It’s just a haircut.
But it’s not just a haircut. Libby’s once mid-back-length hair is chopped just below her shoulders now. It’s wavy, layered, and bouncy. She also has bangs now. The look is entirely new and completely fitting of who she is. Cute, fun, beautiful.
“I like it,” Poppy says.
“Why thank you,” Libby winks. “I do too.” Then she turns her attention back to me. “The book is $29.99 because it’s signed. By the author.”
Libby tugs the book from my hands, her fingers brushing mine in the process, and she splays it open to the first page. Sure enough, there’s a loopy signature written in Sharpie.
“How did you get signed prints?” I ask. Not that Hemingway can’t. We’ve partnered with some big names to sell signed and exclusive copies of bestsellers before. But I was unaware that this author, an author my children adore, was even putting out signed copies.
“I know the author,” Libby says with a small smile. “She likes my store.”
“You know celebrities?!” Poppy blurts out.
“She’s not a celebrity, Pops. She’s a writer,” Delilah corrects her little sister.
“She’s an artist,” Libby adds, her voice flowy and magical. “And yes. I know her. She’s a friend of mine. Us little people have to stick together.”
It’s a jab made special for me. And I take it. One, because the girls are standing here and pinning her against the counter and having my way with her isn’t really appropriate. And two, I can’t get over how truly stunning she is today.
“And now,” she claps her hands together, her voice coming out a few octaves higher and sing-songy. “It’s story time!”
The way the room erupts, you would have thought Johnny Cash just stood up at the back of a bar and said he’s going to play a little diddy about rings of fire.
Everyone swarms to the kids’ corner that is barely big enough to hold the crowd.
From little kids, who sit in front, wiggling on their bottoms in excitement, to bigger kids behind them and moms and dads with strollers and shopping bags and coffees all in the back, the attention of the room falls on Libby who weaves in and out of the bodies to take her place at a giant, pea green armchair.
“What book are we reading?” one little boy asks.
“I hope it’s Charles the Chameleon,” a little girl giggles. “I love Charles the Chameleon.”
“I was thinking, in lieu of my new friends here,” she smiles down at my daughters, and my heart explodes in my chest. I swallow hard, shoving my hands in my pockets and tightening my jaw. “We read the new Milo the Puppy book.”
The room erupts with excitement as Libby begins to read.
Everyone is silent, other than adding little things to the story here and there along with giggles and laughs and answering questions Libby asks as she goes.
She is animated, giving each character their own voice.
With each page turn, she brings the story to life, and I even find myself smiling and reading along.
And for a moment, she reminds me of someone. This whole thing…reminds me of times that feel like dreams now. Beautiful, sunny, and happy and…gone.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, frowning when I see my sister-in-law Jenna’s name on the text stream.
Jenna- Are you keeping the girls tonight?
I frown, punching back an answer.
Dax- Yes, I am keeping the girls tonight.
Jenna- I am only asking because I am at the grocery store and wanted to know if I need to get their favorite foods or not.
Dax- I will have my girls with me. No need to worry.
I want to just leave it at that. To tell Tess’s older, overbearing sister that they are my kids and I am capable of taking care of them.
Even if it didn’t always seem that way. When Tess first died, Jenna helped out…
a lot. And I was grateful for that. But since then, she’s made a point of micromanaging our life, slyly slipping parenting advice I don’t need into everyday conversations.
Reminding me how often the girls are with her and her husband Brandon when I work late nights.
Making me feel like I’m not good enough as a parent.
But I know Jenna. And she’s not going to drop it.
Jenna- I’ll always worry, Daxton. You work late. A lot. I never know if they’ll be staying for dinner, staying the night, or staying the week.
Dax- We are spending time together right now. And I’ll let you know when I need your help.
After the last text, I am done. I shove my phone back in my pocket and turn my attention back to story time. To Libby reading and my girls laughing and everything in the present.
“And that,” she says as she brings the story to a close, “Was another great adventure for Milo the Puppy.”
Everyone claps, me included, and the kids all start moving around, playing with the puppets and the chalk wall, and running back to the kids’ book section to pick out books. Libby is still talking to Poppy and Delilah as I approach.
“This is for you,” she says, handing them the signed Milo book.
“I get to keep it?” Poppy exclaims.
“We have to pay for it,” I say. Delilah reaches up to take my hand, and I squeeze it.
“Don’t worry about it,” Libby waves it off. “It’s a gift. On the house from Way With Words to you.”
“Hooray! Daddy did you see?” Poppy asks, jumping up and down and tugging on my shirt.
“That’s really cool,” Delilah says. “It has her signature and everything. Mommy would have loved it.”
I feel the wind knock from my lungs and Libby just smiles warmly.
“What do you girls say?” I ask.
“Thank you, Miss Libby!” They both chime in unison. Libby laughs and hugs them both.
“We will have to do something nice for Miss Libby sometime in return,” I say.
“She should come over for dinner!” Poppy says.
“Oh, you should,” Delilah adds. “We are having daddy’s famous mac and cheese tonight and it’s THE BEST.”
“Famous, huh?” Libby looks up at me with a small smile. It’s not a coy one. It’s not guarded or laced with a snarky remark. It’s just…a smile. “That’s very nice of you but–”
“You should come,” Delilah says.
“Please come,” Poppy begs.
“Daddy, can she?” Delilah asks.
Both girls are looking up at me. Libby is looking up at me. And I surprise myself.
“You are more than welcome to join us for dinner, Miss Libby.”