“Sorry to hear that, man.”
“I’m not. I like to keep the door revolving. Makes things easier.”
He hates attachment. I get it. “Since you’re not busy, want to help me do some shopping? Fia needs a bathtub, some socks, and probably some warmer clothes.” Even if Marli comes back, these are all things she can use. “And that portable bassinet is a joke. I need to get something that doesn’t take an engineering degree to assemble.”
“Sorry. I have a date with the gym.”
I scowl. “Come on. Don’t make me go baby shopping alone. I need a baby wingman.” I’ve never been in a store for infants, but I get the feeling it’ll be like going to the tampon store. I won’t have a clue what I’m doing.
“Fine. I’ll go, but don’t ever call me baby wingman again, and you owe me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Mike and I are in the truck with Fia, driving to Baybeeland, when my phone rings.
Mike answers for me and says it’s the local news station requesting an interview. I don’t know how they got my number, but apparently, they want me to come by the station so they can present a surprise: A local daycare facility is donating a hundred free hours of care. They want to promote their establishment with single dads, stay-at-home dads, etc.
Wow. Kindness is practically falling from the sky. Donations, help from Coach and Jo, Nina and Lara, and now this?
“I really appreciate it,” I say, “but my schedule’s packed.” Really, I just want to avoid any more pedestal situations. Also, I haven’t driven down to visit Flip lately.
He actually left a message last night while I was busy having a panic attack. It slipped my mind until now. I guess I got distracted with Fia.
I make a mental note to call Flip back before practice. I know he’s been having a rough time with the rehab program, and it’s probably because half the people are only there due to court mandates. The last time he went in, he came out with a long list of new friends who had zero interest in staying clean. They did their time and went back to using or dealing. Flip was no different.
Part of me wishes I could use all the donations for him—get him somewhere that can really get through to him. I found a place in Nevada that might work, but it’s private. One month costs over thirty grand, and I know Flip; he’ll need to be there three or four months, plus there’s an outpatient program. It’s money I don’t have.
Mike relays the message and then comes back with, “They say they can meet us at the stadium before practice. It’ll only take five minutes.”
I could use the help, for sure. Even if donations are rolling in, I don’t plan to keep all the money. Or maybe I’ll find a way to ensure that money stays with Fia no matter where she ends up.
A tiny tick of sadness pulses through my heart. I’ve only had her a few days, but I’m already worrying. What will happen to her if I’m not around?
“Sure, yeah,” I say. “Tell them to meet me there at a quarter to five. But it’ll just be me.” I can’t take Fia to practice again, and there’s no reason to plaster her face all over the news.
Mike says they agree and ends the call. “Man, if I knew people would act like this, I would’ve gotten me a baby a long time ago.”
I frown. “Funny.” Sad part is, with the way Mike whores around, he probably already has a few kids somewhere. He claims he’s only responding to the fact he grew up in a small town where the pickings were slim. And unless you wanted someone’s pissed-off father showing up on your doorstep with a shotgun, you didn’t mess with people’s daughters. Here in Oregon, he feels free to play the field, even if, as he says, the chicks are generally too weird for his taste. “Take it from me, Mike, figure your shit out before you go having kids.”
“Dude, you’ve been a dad for two whole days.”
Not entirely true. I’ve been a dad, a bad one, since I was ten. “Exactly. If I know after two days how hard it is, that says something.”
Two hours later, Mike and I are back from our shopping expedition. Dear God, I never knew so much baby stuff existed. They had special feeding pillows, electric trash cans to wrap dirty diapers, toys that light up to make your baby smart (or super crazy), tons of books, bottles, clothes, food, and strollers with surround-sound, Wi-Fi, and a wine fridge. Fine. That last one is an exaggeration, but not by much. Some high-tech gear out there. My head nearly exploded, and Mike was no help because he met some woman over in the breast pump section. Fucking Mike, man.