Chapter 6 – Dad Mode
Liam
It’s three p.m. It’s a million degrees inside my car.
My meeting with Comfort Castle Furnishings took four hours, and their parking lot has no shade.
I wish that was the worst thing I could say about them.
I’m not even the first consultant they’ve hired to help them work up the eventual gifting of their company to their very undeserving posterity. I’m the third.
I get paid either way, so I guess it doesn’t matter if they hate my ideas. But I don’t like accepting defeat, and I especially don’t like seeing rich kids at their worst. It hits a little too close to home.
When I first started in the consulting world, I was fearless and way too young to be starting my own business. The idea of failure never even crossed my mind because I could always throw more money at it—my parents’ money.
Getting cut off when I married Esther was freeing, but also terrifying. My biggest investors were suddenly gone. Becoming a paranoid workaholic certainly didn’t help what was already a drama-filled relationship.
If it wasn’t for my best friend Andrew and his very rich uncle who bought us out, I’d be toast.
My name is no longer on the company. I take a salary and work hard. I wouldn’t change it.
Blasting the air conditioning in my Volvo helps with everything except my burning hands on the steering wheel, but I manage to maneuver out of the parking lot and into traffic.
I’m almost to the freeway when Andrew calls. “Don’t bother coming back in. There’s an accident blocking the exit. Find a Starbucks and make some phone calls. I don’t want to talk to these people, especially when they always prefer you.”
“You’ve sent me a list?”
“Sure did. Check your email.”
Andrew is our spreadsheets guy. He sees business solutions based on formulas and charts.
People are those pesky side details he lets the other consultants deal with.
I’m pretty sure Marisol and I are the only adults he likes.
He respects his uncle. He appreciates the efficient staff at Starbucks.
The rest of the world is kind of annoying.
And behold, when I go under the overpass instead of turning onto the freeway, a Starbucks appears.
Unfortunately, it’s a busy, noisy one, and I get a small coffee to go before finding a nearby library and utilizing one of their empty conference rooms. They don’t allow food or drinks in the building, but you can’t beat the atmosphere.
By five, I’m almost home, and it’s only then that I give myself permission to worry about seeing Rosalie for the first time since Friday night.
The moment where she fell and we slid into the wall to stop her momentum plays over and over in my head, along with that little smug smile she gave me when she slid the plastic tub of brownies across the counter.
Gosh, she is the most aggravating woman. She has no idea what she means to me. I really think she believes she’s a cog in the well-run machine that is my life. I’ve let her believe that. I’ve let everyone believe that, including me.
Because if she’s not just the nanny, who is she?
Friday night shook everything loose, and I can’t seem to wrap the truth back up where I don’t have to look at it. Rosalie is important to me, and I’m protective of her. I knew that. But I’m afraid I have feelings for her, dang it.
Maggie would love to take credit for pointing it out, but it wasn’t her snide remark that opened my eyes. It was probably the safari outfit.
I let out a tiny maniacal laugh before going into dad mode. The minions have spotted me coming up the drive, and I can’t be thinking about Rosalie like that. It’s problematic on so many levels. So. Many. Levels. I’m a consultant who specializes in keeping workplace relationships professional.
The second I’m parked inside the garage, Wyatt slams himself into my car door with Callie right on his heels.
“Dad!”
“Back up, Wy.” I open the driver door, and I’m immediately assaulted by hugs and the unmistakable scent of wet dog. “Why do you two smell like that?”
“We played outside in the sprinklers, and the neighbor’s puppy got loose, and then he bit the water and knocked over Callie and licked my face. They said she’s gonna be huge. Can we get a big puppy? Rosie said we could.”
“Rosalie did not say you could.”
Wyatt puts on his stubborn face. It’s like he turned eight and decided to never lose a battle again, at least with me.
“She said we should ask you now that we’re so responsible.
She said taking care of him would be good for us.
Mom won’t get a dog. She’s gone too much.
I think we should get a big dog, not a little barky one. Rosie agrees.”
Callie is watching this verbal ping-pong with wide eyes. I take her by the hand and walk down the driveway to retrieve the basketball they left by the curb. Wyatt follows us, skipping in his eagerness to be right.
“Did Rosalie say all that, Callie?” I ask.
Obviously not the part about their mom, which is a thinly veiled guilt trip, but I guess it’s possible they discussed getting a dog while they were playing with one. I’m really trying not to be annoyed. A dog is a big decision.
Callie nods. “Uh-huh. I want a dog, too. I got a scrape on my knee. Wanna see?”
Callie shows me the evidence of her scrape, and even though Rosalie comes out the front door right then and jogs across the front lawn to her beat-up Toyota 4Runner, I keep my focus on my daughter.
Rosalie waves goodbye, and then she’s driving away, steering with one hand while she lifts her blonde ponytail off her neck.
“Where is she going in such a hurry?” I ask.
“Home to shower. She says she smells, too.” Wyatt sighs. “Rosie never smells bad, though. She’s just kinda sweaty. She left a note for you on the calendar. It says we should shower as soon as we go in.”
“You should.” I’m surprised he’s willing, but all that grass on him is probably itchy.
Once inside, I send Wyatt straight into his bathroom and stop to check the oversized day planner we keep on the desk in the kitchen.
Rosalie and I communicate the business of our lives through calendar events, shopping lists, and everyday sticky notes.
Sure enough, there’s a line of new sticky notes with the day journaled out, ending with an apology about Callie’s scrape and the fact that they’re not showered yet.
She says they had a great time playing outside.
The last line says dinner is warming in the oven.
The oven is turned off, but there’s a square casserole dish inside with lasagna bubbling.
There are no notes about dogs, not that I expected there would be.
I’m so torn. I don’t like that they talked about getting a dog without me.
I’m irritated that the kids only want to watch TV when I’m around and I never get invited to play in the sprinklers.
Mostly, I’m mad that I’m mad at someone who made me dinner.
Rosalie doesn’t have to do that. She just does.
This must be why she goes into task-mode when she’s emotional.
Time and work dampen everything in a way no amount of self-talk does.
I get Callie cleaned up and put a bandage on her knee.
I get Wyatt out of the shower he’d stay in until the dawn of time despite the fact that he protests getting in every day. We eat dinner, and I do the dishes.
Wyatt doesn’t say a word about our earlier conversation, but he watches me carefully, and he’s overly cheerful and helpful. He’s angling-for-something helpful. The kid must really want a dog.
After dinner, I hide the TV remote and make them build a blanket fort with me in the living room.
Even if the idea came from FOMO, it’s still the best thing we’ve done together all week.
We take turns racing through it and timing each other.
Callie wears a pair of Wyatt’s old kneepads so she doesn’t hurt her scraped knee while she speed-crawls to victory.
It’s only while I’m reading them a good night story that I interrupt the slow part and give Wyatt a stern look. I don’t want him going to bed thinking I’m avoiding the only thing he really wants to talk about. “A dog is a big responsibility.”
“I know—”
“For me. It’s a big responsibility for me. If it needs to go to the vet or if we’re leaving on vacation, who figures that out?”
Wyatt frowns. “You do.”
“And if it needs to be dewormed?”
A chorus of “ewww” greets my ears.
“A dog is not a toy. It would become part of our family. I need to think about this, okay?”
“Okay.”
I hug Wyatt to me and rock him from side to side like he’s a baby, which makes him smile and roll his eyes.
“I love you, Wy. Go to bed. I need to make some phone calls.”
“Wait, what happened to the bear?” Callie climbs over the top of Wyatt with our abandoned book and puts it back into my hands.
“Right. Let’s finish this chapter, and then it’s bedtime or else. I hear you guys have some kind of safari lady who comes and protects the halls from monsters while you sleep.”
“No, she’s the monster.” Callie giggles. “She tries to catch us out of bed. We pretend she’s the meanest.”
“Oh.” That was totally not what I was thinking. There is so much of my life that I’m not getting the full story on, mostly because I don’t talk to Rosalie unless I have to, and often, it’s only through the calendar.
We finish the chapter, and it’s after nine when I get to head downstairs and pull out my phone. I really only have one phone call to make, but maybe this will have to wait until tomorrow. I should probably text her first and see if she’s busy.
Liam: Is it too late to talk?