Page 8 of Play For Keeps

Just thinking about that ugly time in my life makes me feel sick. And now here I am, a single mom struggling to build a new life. All because my husband couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

Just then, Birdie’s wide eyes slowly flutter open, and the anger that had started to take hold of me melts away. It’s moments like these that my nerves are a little less frazzled and my soul feels a little more at peace. I sit on the edge of Birdie’s bed and gently smooth her blonde curls from her forehead.

I take in her long, dark eyelashes, her button nose, cherub lips, the freckles on both of her cheeks. I press my palm to the side of her face, running my thumb softly over her jaw.

My baby.

My whole world.

We have a new life ahead of us. For the first time in a long time, I am in control of what happens next.

“Good morning, Mommy.” Birdie rolls to her back, stretching her arms over her head.

“Good morning, my angel. How did you sleep?”

She sits up slowly, reaching for her stuffed cat. “I dreamt about a castle and a princess. It was perfect. Did you dream about a princess too?”

My heart swells. “No baby, but I dreamt about the sweetest seven-year-old blondie on the planet who loves cats, swimming, and Amelia Bedelia books. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

Birdie squeals. “Me! You dreamt about me!”

“Every night, baby.” I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. “Now it’s time to get up. You have school and I have errands to run.”

“Maybe I could go with you instead? I bet there’s nothing important happening at school today.” She flashes me an exaggerated smile and bats her eyelashes, proving she could be an award-winning actress one day if she wanted. I enrolled her in summer school so she could meet friends before the school year began.

I tickle her under her chin. “No can do, pretty-girl. You are going to school. But if you’re good, I might take you for a treat tonight after dinner.”

Cutie-pop that she is, Birdie smiles her brightest smile, waving her hands in the air. “I’m gonna be so good, Mommy. I promise you.”

My beautiful little Birdie.

I kiss her nose for the second time then remind myself we need to get moving. I have to get Birdie dressed, fed, hair done, shoes on and out the door. I’ve wasted enough time this morning thinking about the man who should be here with us instead of where he is, waking up in another woman’s bed. Instead of dwelling on what I’ve lost, I choose to be grateful for what I have: my daughter. She’s the only thing that matters.

Once I’ve dropped Birdie off at school, I make a stop at the grocery store to get a few things for the week, including some ground beef for tonight’s tacos.

The afternoon passes quickly as it always does. I put away the groceries, do a load of laundry, unpack a few more boxes. I find a wedding photo of Grant and me tucked away in one of them and resist the urge to toss it in the trash. Whatever I might think of Grant, he’s Birdie’s father.

Later that night, after Birdie and I have cooked and eaten and tidied up, she reminds me about the treat I promised her this morning. We jump in the car and drive the three minutes to Birdie’s favorite ice cream shop. She picks bubble gum in a waffle cone, just like she always does.

“That was the best ice cream in the world!” Birdie practically sings as I wipe the pastel pink remnants from her face and her hands. “Can I look at all the other flavors so I can choose one for next time?”

It’s a school night and I should get her home, but instead of fighting her on it, I nod my head then watch her skip over to the counter and hop onto the bench so she’s able to see the different flavors. I relax back into my chair with an exhale, tired from a couple of night shifts at the restaurant this week and the early morning wakeups with Birdie.

I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this tired, or my body ached this much. I was working as an assistant in a real estate company and going to college part-time studying communications when I met Grant. After I had Birdie, Grant asked me to quit my job. His family thought it was important he had a wife who stayed home, had dinner on the table, volunteered for whatever causes interested them at the moment. I knew I would miss my job, but I did what was asked of me. I didn’t want to give them another excuse to dislike me. Besides, I didn’t know how I could argue the point when I was living in a 6,000-square-foot home in a gated community, complete with a housekeeper and gardeners. Grant and I didn’t need the second income.

We had it all. But apparently having it all wasn’t enough for my husband. And Grant always got what Grant wanted.

The first time I came home and found him with another woman in our bed, I was devastated. The second time, I was angry. After the third time, I felt numb. Ten years of broken promises and regrets, but I’d never regret the gift of my daughter.

I watch Birdie over the rim of my coffee cup, noticing yet again how much she looks like Grant. The resemblance isn’t just physical. Birdie is confident. She’s smart. She’s funny.

A few minutes later, as Birdie continues her thorough investigation of every single flavor, I startle when I hear someone call my name.

I look up and see him.

Jake.

The guy from the beach.

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