Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Renthrow
Gordie sees the nuggets first and me second. “Yay! Nuggets are here! Nuggets are here!”
Her tiny feet patter across the wooden floor as she skids to a stop in front of me. She’s already in her space-themed pajamas with a pattern of colorful planets stamped all over them. Her hair bounces in two thick pigtails.
I lift her with one hand while keeping the food balanced in the other. Giving her a nose-rub kiss, I grumble, “You have no idea what these nuggets cost me tonight, pumpkin.”
“Did it cost one hundred million dollars?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“No.”
“Then you didn’t pay much,” she says matter-of-factly. And hence lies the inestimable wisdom of someone who’s never paid a bill in her life.
I crouch and gently set her on the floor. “Go wash your hands. I’ll plate these out.”
“I want ten nuggets!” Gordie calls over her shoulder as she rushes to do what I asked.
“You can have five.”
“Seven.”
“Four,” I growl.
“Eight!”
I stop and look at her. “Gordie Anabeth Renthrow.”
“Fine.” She sighs heavily. “Six.”
“Five,” I correct her. “Smarty pants.”
She cackles like a tiny super villain and disappears down the hallway.
“Ma!” I call, passing the small living room and noticing my mother’s not there.
“I’m in here!” Mom’s voice sounds from the office. “I’m on a call. I’ll be right out!”
I step into the doorway of the office and notice my mother, staring out the window facing the backyard, her back stiff and her hand covering her mouth.
She turns when she hears my footsteps.
I lift the nuggets box, shaking the contents in question.
She slices her chin to the left in a decisive “no” and returns her attention to whoever’s on the other end of the line.
“Mm-hm. Of course. I understand,” Mom says in a somber tone.
I linger, wondering who she’s talking to. Whatever it’s about, it sounds serious.
“Dad! I washed my hands already!” Gordie yells from the front room.
I return to my daughter and set the box on the counter. After washing my hands and grabbing two plates, I share out the nuggets. Gordie gets six, and I get twelve.
“Orange juice or soda?” Gordie asks, taking two cans out of the fridge and giving me a hopeful stare.
“Water.”
“Booo!”
“That’s healthier for both of us, pumpkin.”
She sighs with her entire chest and then hops on one of the bar stools in front of the island counter.
I slide the plate over to her and smile when she starts eating with gusto. Then I open the fridge and pour us both two glasses of water, which makes me feel a little less guilty about our very unhealthy late-night snack.
“You were awesome tonight, Daddy.”
“Thanks, pumpkin.” My chest warms from the inside out.
After Gordie was born and I got full custody, I debated quitting the sport.
Balancing work and daddy responsibilities seemed like an impossible task.
But Mom encouraged me to keep going with hockey, even if it was only part-time, and I’m so glad I took her advice.
It’s a dream come true to be able to play the game I love with my daughter in the stands.
I swirl a crispy piece of chicken in ketchup and pop it into my mouth. “Did you have fun watching the game with your nanny?”
“Yeah, but she kept coughing and leaving to use the bathroom.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Did she?”
That’s concerning. I hope Miss Truman is alright. She’s been Gordie’s nanny for two years. Thanks to her, I’ve been at ease knowing that someone trustworthy and responsible has my daughter in her care.
“It’s okay because I was with Miss Rebel and Miss April and the cool lady!”
My fingers tighten around the cup. Before, when my daughter would ramble on and on about the “cool lady,” I had no connection to the subject matter. But now…
My body tenses, and my head fills with images of big, vulnerable, cocoa-brown eyes begging me to save her.
“Can we go see her tomorrow?”
I startle, and the nugget that was halfway to my mouth plops back into my plate. “See who?”
Gordie sighs again and shakes her head like I’m the slowest student in the classroom and she’s tired of repeating herself. “The cool lady, Dad.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “No.”
“But, Dad—”
“She’s busy.” And I don’t wanna.
“But, Dad, I have to.”
“Gordie, sweetie, I’m going to tell you something that my dad told me. The only thing we have to do is pay taxes.”
And die.
But I’m not saying that to my six-year-old.
“Daaad.” Gordie’s eyebrows cinch together in genuine distress. “I have to see her. It’s for my booklet.”
“What booklet?”
Her tiny hands slam on her hips. “My What I Want to be When I Grow Up booklet. I told you a million times.”
“Oh, right. That booklet.” I massage my forehead. “Why don’t you write about me instead?”
She scrunches her nose. “Accounting is boring.”
“Math is very fun.” I tap her nose. “No matter how you slice and dice them, numbers will always tell the truth. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Gordie looks at me, unimpressed.
“What about Grandma? Working on a cruise ship is cool, isn’t it? She can tell you all about her travels.”
“I have to go and draw pictures for my booklet, Dad. And I already asked, and Miss April said yes.”
“Fine. We’ll ask Miss Truman to help you with that.”
“I’m afraid Miss Truman won’t be available for the time being,” Mom says, stepping into the kitchen.
I sit straight up, immediately on the alert. “What do you mean?”
“Sweetheart”—Mom’s smile is strained and carefully curated for Gordie’s sake—“your nanny is going to be taking a trip to see her daughter soon. She’ll come over to say goodbye later.”
“Goodbye?” Gordie blinks.
“Is it a permanent move?” I ask Mom in concern.
“Uh…yes.” Mom glances at me. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.
Mom’s eyes dart to Gordie, and she hesitates before saying, “Yes, yes. She’ll be fine.”
I stiffen, not buying it at all.
“But,” she adds, “Miss Truman wants to be near her children for a while.” Mom extends a hand to Gordie who accepts it happily and swings their connected arms back and forth. “So that means you get to hang out with Grandma for a few more days than expected.”
Later, after I put my daughter to bed, I walk Mom to her car.
“Miss Truman isn’t going to be okay, is she?” I say in a low voice.
“It’s not looking too good, son. She has a long, difficult health journey in front of her, but she’s determined.”
“Why didn’t she tell us herself?”
“She wanted me to tell you as she’s so attached to you and Gordie that she was afraid she’d break down in tears if she brought it up.”
My heart pangs with sadness. “We’re going to miss her.”
Mom nods. “Miss Truman has to leave right away. How are you going to find a new nanny?”
“How hard can it be?”
“Viking Renthrow, it took you two years to find a nanny that you liked. You turned everyone away until Miss Truman showed up. Thank goodness your job allowed you to work from home for a few months to watch Gordie, or who knows where you two would be?”
“Homeless and on the streets, but at least, we’d be together,” I say.
Mom shakes her head. “I delayed my return to the ship for a few days, but I’ll have to go back eventually. You’ll need to find a new nanny soon.”
I open her car door for her. “It’ll be much easier this time. Gordie’s in school until two p.m., and then she has science club, math club, and chess club until four p.m. most days.”
“Are you saying you’ll watch her in the evenings?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “I trust myself the most.”
“How do you plan to balance Gordie and work and hockey without help?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling a little less confident now that Mom’s poking holes in my brilliant plan. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Honey, why don’t you think about dating again? If you had a wife, you two could share the load.”
I groan. Not this again. “I’m not marrying someone just to have a nanny for my daughter.”
“That’s not what I meant. Humans are social creatures. We crave companionship.”
“I do have companionship. I have you and Gordie.”
“You can have love and a family, Viking. There’s no law saying you have to choose one or the other.” Mom wiggles her eyebrows. “Now, if you want my advice, Gordie’s homeroom teacher is a nice option.”
I groan. “Mom.”
“Miss Potts is beautiful and kind, and she’s great with kids. Plus, she’s been asking me all kinds of questions about you lately.”
“I’m not interested,” I say firmly.
“Viking—”
“Single parents do this parenting thing all on their own every day. I don’t need a wife to raise my daughter well. Not when I have you.” I kiss her temple.
Mom swats at me, a pleased smile unfurling on her lips. “A mother is different from a wife, son. A woman brings a soft, feminine touch to a family. One Gordie will need. She’s growing up fast, faster than you think.”
“Gordie is perfectly fine, and so am I. Our family is complete just as it is. We don’t need anything else.”
“At least, think about it, son,” Mom insists.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Perfect.” Mom gives me a hug.
I have no intentions of entertaining any such thoughts, but as Mom gets into her car and drives away, I suddenly imagine a pair of deep brown, Bambi eyes and a woman in a leather jacket.