16. Dominic
SIXTEEN
Dominic
I failed at Day One of being a Dating Father. A Father Who Dates.
I slept poorly because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I spent my night replaying the imprinted moments of last week in my head, not just the sexual ones (which, obviously, yes) but also the Pirate Plunder and the Forty-Seven Minutes in Heaven and the way Frankie would take her hand whenever she was close by and the lovely picture our skin made together in morning light. The cool confidence with which Lina carried herself through everything. Through work, through play, through sex. How she very confidently tore through the fabric of my self-imposed years-long stretch of abstinence in just a few days, just by being herself, by merely existing in the same space, the same vacation-land bubble.
But because of my full night’s perseveration, I stumbled out of bed an hour later than I should have. I was in a terrible mood. Frankie was in an even worse mood. We were forty-five minutes late for camp. When we arrived at camp, her counselor asked me where her lunch was. I squinted at her for a moment, trying to process words through a sleep-deprived brain, before saying that I had completely forgotten about it and to please not call Child Protective Services. I ran to the closest bodega, got her a sandwich, and dropped it off.
At this point, I was an hour and a half late to every meeting I had scheduled today. I could not problem solve. I had no critical thinking skills. I had to skip lunch, and I had to ignore the first Real Life text sent to me by my not-but-maybe-almost girlfriend because of a major issue my FinTech company was having.
I am failing Dating Father life. I am feeling deeply unwell.
The first chance I get, I fire off a text.
I’m slammed today. I’m so sorry. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.
She doesn’t answer, presumably because she is busy being a boss-ass bitch who has no time for pathetic, sleepy old men like me. And I don’t have time to worry about this because I immediately get a call from the CFO of my manufacturing company.
* * *
“Guess what?” Lina asks, over the phone.
It’s almost nine o’clock at night when we finally catch one another in our day of phone tag, but at the first sound of her voice, my anxieties melt away and allow space for serotonin and other related happy brain chemicals.
“What?”
“I’m interviewing for principal this week.”
It takes an embarrassingly long time for my exhausted brain to process this simple statement. “Wow,” I manage, a paragon of eloquence.
She laughs, thankfully. “You sound like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” I admit. “But wait, that’s amazing, Lina. You deserve it, obviously. But how did it come about? Didn’t you say you never wanted to be a principal?”
“Biting off more than I can chew is basically my middle name,” she says. “But after spending an hour at work meeting with the superintendent, I realized how fucked PS 2 was going to be this year if we didn’t start the year off with a principal who wasn’t me. I have to do this. It feels right. And we can’t risk another Courtney Thomas.”
“And you’ve been doing the job all year anyway,” I add on.
“Right. So I’m excited, but this doesn’t bode well for our lunch dates.” I can almost imagine the pout her lips are making. “I’m probably going to be crazy busy all week. Because I’ll be interviewing at lunch time for the next three days, and then I’ll have to get all the other back to school shit done around that.”
I’m sad, but tickled that she cares. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Also, if it’s too much for you to be involved in the Back to School happy hour thing for families, then don’t worry about it. I’m happy to take that all on.”
She blows out what sounds like a sigh of relief, and I’m thrilled that I did at least one Good Thing today. “Thank you,” she says. “I might have to take you up on that. I’ll still go, though. And maybe by then I’ll be going as PS 2’s new principal. What day were you thinking?”
“We stopped by Tim’s yesterday on the way home from grocery shopping. We can use the bar on Friday. Last Friday of summer vacation. I just have to send out a message to families.”
“Sounds good. And sounds like it’s handled. You didn’t need me,” she says warmly.
“It feels like I need you,” I say, like a freak. “I miss you. Is that a weird thing to say?”
She laughs, that tinkling sound that fills me with warmth. “A little. But I miss you too.”
I start wiping down the kitchen counter, putting Lina on speaker, thinking. “I had an insane day today,” I tell her after a moment, and just bringing it up feels like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. It feels like getting home, to a warm house with a fire in the fireplace and fondness in the air. I don’t know the last time I had the chance to unwind . To have a normal, adult conversation. A debrief about nothing, about the minutia and general shittiness and the highs and lows of a regular work day.
I hear a faucet turn on over the phone. “ Dime ,” she says, and I do.
* * *
The next morning at dawn, I am determined to crush this Dating Father thing the entire rest of the week, so I meal prep Frankie’s lunch for every single day, separating food and snacks into cute little bento boxes, one for each day. I even use the Totoro cookie cutter to press her sandwich into the adorable cat/owl/raccoon shape she loves. Separate the different types of berries. Write a little note with a positive affirmation appropriate for a five-year-old + I love you on a Post-It and tuck it under the sandwich. You rock! You are the best! I love you!
Then, I go on my phone and pull up the food delivery app. I schedule a series of food deliveries to PS 2, under the name Lina Sanchez, to arrive at eight sharp every single morning this week. I make sure to change up the cuisine—Dominican today, congee and dumplings tomorrow, smoothie and acaí bowl and granola and other healthy people shit on Thursday, as long as there is a shit ton of food and it is stable enough to keep through the whole day and sustain her through what I assume will be a grueling interview process.
I know I’ve won when Frankie won’t stop talking about her Totoro sandwich when I pick her up from camp.
Also, when Lina sends me a selfie with her mouth wide open and her tongue out, the creamy white Dominican oatmeal I sent dripping over the tip of her tongue and out the sides of her mouth in the most lewd and explicit way a breakfast food could ever be displayed.
I save it to the little secret album on my phone to be used tonight.
* * *
“I ate that interview today,” Lina tells me later. She’s on speakerphone next to the sink, while I clean up and load the dishwasher after putting Frankie down.
“I’m not sure what that means in this context,” I tell her honestly. “Ate like ‘ate shit’? Or ate like ‘ate for breakfast’?”
“Ate is a good thing. I murdered it.”
“Again, not sure about the implied connotation of ‘murder’ here?—”
“I did really well, Dom.”
I smile. “Of course you did. What was the day like?”
“Mostly questions about PS 2 specific things. Data, curriculum, budget. I think tomorrow and the next day will be broader leadership style questions. Actually, maybe you could help me out. Don’t you hire people to run your companies? Do you typically run the interviews?”
“I do, actually. Want me to tell you some questions I ask?”
“Give it to me,” she says, which brings a flash of memory, of long, tan legs wrapped around my waist, ankles pressing into my ass so hard it left bruises.
I clear my throat. “I have a whole list of questions saved on a document on my computer that I’ll send you, but I can try to think of ones that would be specific to principals now.” I think for a moment. “I like to ask about leadership style, the way you manage and motivate all different stakeholders and their growth and development. For you, that can be anyone from kitchen and custodial staff to speech therapists to teachers to students. Also, specific questions as it relates to finance and investments, so for your school, maybe I’d want to know your style of resource allocation and budgeting? Then there’s…” I think about how to make this question work in a public school setting. “In my line of work, it’s important to build a network of all different people and groups. Customers, investors, partners. So for you, maybe…”
“How I build strong relationships with the community. Parents, district officials, government entities, local businesses,” she chimes in for me.
“Exactly. Then I’d throw in a question about how you perform under pressure. Crisis management, challenges, making difficult decisions.”
“That’s my specialty.”
“I know. I remember Pirate Plunder.”
“Pirate Plunder was nothing. You should really see me in action.”
“I don’t think I’d need nor want to. I’d like to avoid any potentially dangerous or emergency situation that may involve my daughter, please.”
“Fair.”
“This last question I think would be most important. I always like to ask about long-term vision. What’s your five-year plan for PS 2? What are your goals for the school? How would you ensure that PS 2’s mission and long-term goals are met, all while handling day-to-day tasks? That sort of thing.”
“Oooo. That’s a juicy one. I love that one,” she says, and I can tell she really does. She really does love this shit. “I haven’t thought about that one yet specifically.”
“I’m sure you have general ideas,” I say.
“But I need to have more clearly delineated ones,” she is able to add on, because she is quick and sharp and a fucking rockstar.
“Correct. That always looks good. Shows you’re prepared and organized.”
“Thanks, Dom,” she says, sounding far too enthusiastic for someone to sound over interview questions at nine o’clock at night. “This was extremely helpful. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think I’ve just become exponentially more attracted to you.”
“Same,” I say.
* * *
The next night, she calls while Frankie and I are eating dinner. I pop her on speakerphone immediately.
“ Hi, Tita Lina ,” Frankie screams, then chokes momentarily on a piece of potato.
“Oh my god, hey queen!” Lina squeals, after I make sure Frankie’s airways are clear. “How’s my favorite army commander?”
“I’m over World War II. I’m into space now,” my daughter says very seriously.
“How’s my favorite astronaut then?” Lina amends without missing a beat. “Have you learned about black holes yet?”
“Yes.” She nods, even if Lina can’t see her.
“Can you tell me everything you know about them? I’ve always been interested in them, but I never knew how they worked.”
Frankie takes a deep breath, and I stand up and start clearing the table with a smile on my face and a fuzzy feeling in my belly.
* * *
Thursday night, I’m brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed at nine thirty, because I am Extremely Cool and Totally Hip, when someone buzzes the apartment. I spit into the sink and start walking towards the buzzer, wondering who it could be. Tita Gloria or Tito Ben would come right upstairs and just knock on the front door. Sometimes packages were delivered this late, but I don’t remember ordering anything recently.
“Who is it?” I say into the intercom.
“Ahoy,” a warm voice says, with an attempt at gusto.
My heart rate elevates. I buzz her in.
I open the door, and a sleepy, wild lioness collapses into my arms. I squeeze her, smell her hair, run my hands up and down the soft curves of her back, her sides, just holding her and inhaling and absorbing. I wonder why and how it feels like home. I pull back to get a good look at her. Her eyes are still glowing, dimmer than usual, but still warm and happy to see me. I run my thumbs along the dark circles underneath them. “How did you know where we lived? Please don’t say you looked through Frankie’s school files. That’s kind of weird.”
“No,” she says with a smile. “I agree that’s weird. I asked Oliver.”
She pulls away, and I realize she’s wearing a suit. “Did you just leave work?”
“Yeah,” she answers quietly, sounding unlike her usual self. Slow and sleepy Lina reminds me of melted caramel, cozy and drippy and delicious. “I’m exhausted.”
I start maneuvering her to the kitchen. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Yes, I ate. Ms. Madge shared a ton of food with me.”
I promptly change course and maneuver her to the bathroom. I plop her on the closed toilet lid and dig around the cabinets for a new toothbrush. I crack open the packaging, smear toothpaste over it, and hand it to her. “Brush your teeth and wash your face. There’s a spare towel here,” I point to the neatly folded pile of clean towels on the shelf in the corner. “My room is next door. I’ll lay out some clothes. I’m gonna finish tidying up the apartment and I’ll see you soon, okay?”
I look at her and start at the grin on her face. She’s watching me, head tilted, beaming from ear to ear. “Okay,” she says.
I bend to give her a quick kiss on the lips, attempt to relish in the plushness of her mouth for the first time in days, then leave her to it.
By the time I make it back to my room, Lina is all but snoring under the duvet, dark curls spread across my white pillows. I am not ashamed to admit that I stare at the image for quite some time, wanting it to imprint in my memories, because I love the way she looks in my bed. I finally shake myself out of my self-induced coma and look around.
All of her clothes, and I mean all of them, panties and bra included, are in a pile on the floor. The clothes I laid out for her are still untouched on the foot of the bed. Because of course she sleeps naked. Her clear and utter nudity under the sheets fills me with an unreasonable horniness and a feeling of deep possessiveness and a strange urge to keep her there forever, trap her under the blankets, and never let her leave.
What is happening?
I pick up the pile of clothes, placing her underwear in a chair by the door and hanging the starched shirt and suit in my closet. I strip down to my underwear, climb under the covers, and pull her lush body into mine, into a spoon position, entwining our legs and wrapping both my arms around her.
She gives me a sleepy little sigh, content and safe and secure, and I fall asleep.
* * *
I wake when it’s still dark to soft lips kissing my face and hands groping me under the covers, fingers tracing my chest and my ribs.
When Lina realizes I’m awake, she rolls on top of me, deepening our kiss, tongue slow and serious. She tastes like vacation and summer and sex and warmth. I like when she’s on top like this, because I can use both my hands to feel every inch of her skin.
Her pussy is hot on top of my already rock hard dick and I can feel it through the thin fabric of my boxers.
“I have to go,” Lina says against my lips. “I don’t want to be here when Frankie wakes up, and I still have to go home and get a change of clothes.”
I keep my mouth shut so I don’t say something unreasonable, like Frankie will love this and totally won’t be confused and just wear all of my clothes so you can bear my scent because I am now a wolf .
“Okay,” I say instead, with an inadvertent thrust of my hips.
“On second thought,” she starts, with a grind down. An inhuman sound leaves my throat. “I bet I could get myself off in two minutes.”
“Yes,” I am nodding. “Please use my dick to do so.”
I blindly reach an arm towards my bedside table drawer, yanking it open and finding the unopened box of condoms I purchased earlier this week, while Lina works on wiggling my boxers down my legs. I’m busy breaking the plastic around the box when I feel Lina’s bare, wet pussy grinding along the length of my dick, and I almost come right then.
“I need you inside me,” she whispers, and this places me even more precariously close to the edge. “Hurry.”
I manage to get one open and rolled down my cock in three seconds, and in the next, Lina is tilting my dick back and steady for herself and then she is bearing down, down, down , and I’m immediately dead.
She makes a choked sound when she takes all of me, but I don’t know what she looks like because my eyes are squeezed shut and my teeth are clenched and I am thinking of mundanely terrible, non-sexual things like cranberry bogs and wet socks so that I don’t explode and embarrass myself immediately.
“You okay down there?” I hear her laugh, and I make the mistake of opening my eyes just as she starts to roll her gorgeous body and grind down on my dick, and I feel myself get even harder with that image and the feeling combined.
“Shit,” she mutters, probably feeling it. “You’re huge. I feel you in my throat.”
“It’s all yours, beautiful. Use this big dick.” I no longer know what I’m saying, but it seems to be the right thing, because she stifles a moan and starts grinding faster and deeper.
I selfishly watch her tits bounce for a while before getting my hands on them, rolling the tips until I feel her body tightening up. “This is going to be a new personal record,” she whispers. She places her fingers on top of mine and forces me to pinch and twist, harder than I thought she would like. Her hips are moving at light speed and she’s dripping wet so that our skin is making the filthiest noise and I think she’s about to scream so I clamp my hand over her mouth and squeeze the bottom half of her face. She apparently really likes this, her eyes completely blown and filled with lust, and they widen a split second before she groans into my hand, coming so hard I feel her clenching around my dick.
And that’s when I realize that maybe I really like aggressively gripping her entire fucking face and squeezing, because something primal is activated and I become an animal.
I buck my hips up and pop her off, flipping her over on her hands and knees and holding her head down on the pillow while pounding into her again and again.
“Yes,” I can hear her muffled moans into the bedding, “more,” and “harder,” and a “this pussy is so good,” and a “take this cock,” growled into her ear and then finally, a long, extended groan and telltale rippling from Lina.
“Fuck,” I grunt, emptying into her so forcefully I feel a piece of my soul leave my body.
When I come to, she’s somehow draped on top of my body. I wrap my arms around her, not pulling out just yet. I kiss her temple.
“I love your cock,” she whispers sleepily.
“Mmm.” I’m still incapable of speech.
“That was so hot. I love when you lose control.”
I guess I do, too.
“I really have to go.”
“Mmm.”
She climbs off with one last peck to my lips and looks for her clothes. “Where’s my stuff?”
I wordlessly point towards my closet.
She breaks into a smile. “You hung up my clothes for me?”
“Of course I did,” I rasp. “You were wearing a whole-ass suit.”
She spots her underwear on the chair and throws it on. “I’m seeing you tonight, right? The back to school happy hour?” The first light of sunrise is starting to break through my window, illuminating her dewy skin, the curves of her body.
I manage to roll out of bed and deal with the condom. “Yeah. I plan on getting there at five to set up and decorate, and then parents should start showing up at six.”
“I think I’ll be able to help set up. It’s Friday. Everyone in education stops working by four on Fridays.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“But that’s after typically working til nine Monday through Thursday,” she adds on.
“Not so awesome.”
“Plus Sundays for lesson planning.”
“Honestly, pay teachers more.”
“Please start the movement,” she says. She strides up to me and hugs my completely naked body with her fully clothed one. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Do you want coffee?” I ask, desperate to spend one more minute with her.
“Nope,” she says. “Frankie, remember?”
I’m glad someone in this relationship just thought about Frankie. I shake my head. Balance , I remind myself. We need to find balance .
We walk out of my room and tiptoe past Frankie’s door. Just before leaving, she pulls me down by the neck and we make out like teenagers hiding in a school storage closet. I soon realize I have her pressed up against the front door with my hands back under her shirt. I peel myself away. She looks a little dazed. I’m sure I look the same.
“See you later,” she says, sneaking away like a thief in the night, and it really doesn’t sit right with me.
I walk to the coffee maker, already spiraling. How do I fit Frankie into this? Lina can’t be sneaking out of the house every time she comes over. If this is real, and we’re really giving it a shot, Frankie needs to be a part of the process.
But how do I introduce the concept? Somehow, I don’t think that ‘hey, your assistant principal slash maybe principal and I are banging, so you might see her in the kitchen some mornings’ is a particularly effective way to begin the conversation.
We’ve been struggling with the concept of ‘mom,’ especially when Frankie started school and began meeting pairs of parents. She started raising all the obvious questions, like why don’t I have a mom? , where is my mom? , and as she got older, why did my mom leave? and did she leave because of me? We, meaning both me and Frankie, started working with a child psychologist once she started asking those self-blame and shame-based questions. Dr. Fung was able to work through some of those thoughts with Frankie while giving me some strategies on how to address these ideas at home. It’s been a touchy year.
Should I have thought about this before convincing Lina to give this a shot? Fuck. Did I just jump into this simply because she was the first person who’s shown any sort of interest in me in years?
I pace the kitchen.
No, I saw how she was with Frankie. Even apart from the sex, Lina is someone I might have wanted to start a relationship with, anyway. She’s a role model, someone Frankie could look up to. She’s driven, intelligent, confident, kind. Funny. Cool.
This is a good thing, I remind myself. This is the right choice for you and your family.
We just need to start with baby steps. And maybe schedule a call with Dr. Fung.