Page 2 of The Single Dad Dilemma

She’s referring, of course, to the parakeet in her class at Little Friends. I swear it’s like every daycare has the word “friend” in it. But I digress. She opened the bird’s cage and the window and freed poor Mr. Skittles from his life of confinement.

At the daycare before Little Friends, she’d used a plastic bag and scooped the two goldfish, Ted and Princess Peach, out of their tank and dumped them into the pond they took a class tripto. Before that, she started a petition to save the pangolins, who are endangered due to poaching. She’d printed out an article and took it in, showing the rest of the children gruesome photos of deceased pangolins. Needless to say, everyone cried and all the parents had some choice words for me.

“I’ll figure it out, Lou. You just have to help me out here, okay?”

She nods, her tiny shoulders slumped in shame, and it kills me just enough. I can never stay upset with her, even if she is quickly becoming a juvenile delinquent. God, I feel like the worst parent ever.

This wasn’t my life plan, though, okay? I had no intention of becoming a parent, let alone a thirty-five-year-old single dad to a very “spirited” little girl with strong convictions and a can-do attitude. It’s times like this I wish Vanessa was still here. Hell, I wish she was here all the time but especially when this sort of thing happens.

We pull into the parking lot at work, and I mentally navigate my day, like a flash forward. Thankfully, it isn’t a busy one for me. I stare up at the sign over the door for a moment. It reads “Men of Bird’s Eye Nashville,” and it’s my home away from home.

I rap a knuckle against the small “No Children Allowed” sign on the door and usher Lou inside, pointing back to the office, where she will now spend her day. It could be worse. I mean, everyone here loves her. They’d happily endure her being here all summer if I needed it but—and I say this with all the love in my heart—the idea of trying to work and parent at the same time sounds like an absolute nightmare.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing that sign nixing kids doesn’t apply to me or anyone who works here.

“Hey, Lou Lou,” Waylon says from his booth. “How’s it going?”

“Just another day fighting against an oppressive institution,” she says, head hanging low.

“Hey,” Waylon says, stopping her as she passes. “Why so sad?”

“I got kicked out of school,” she says.

I don’t interject, but rather just watch them from a short distance. Lou’s long, dark hair is sectioned into pigtails that I learned to do from an online video tutorial. There’s this gay couple who have a channel about doing stuff for their daughters that are most commonly done by mothers. To say I’ve come to appreciate those two dads taking pity on guys like me and showing us what the fuck to do is a gross understatement. I learned to do pretty much everything girl-dad-centric from them. God bless the gays.

“Well, they just can’t appreciate your gumption, Lou Lou. You’ll find the place where you fit in,” he says. “And I’ve always got your back.”

He holds out his hand to her and she slaps it, then they bump fists and snap their fingers. They invented this secret handshake the first time they met and have done it ever since. I never thought I’d have an appreciation for something so simple, but I really do.

Waylon is the most heavily tattooed of all of us. But he’s also the softest. At first glance, he probably looks like an enforcer for the Irish Mafia or a cage fighter. In reality, he’s a big golden retriever with a heart to match, who towers over everything and everyone. Add to the mix his good-boy Southern charm and that last bit of twang in his speech he can’t get rid of, and he really is an enigma. I’d trust him with my life and Lou’s, and that’s all that matters.

Waylon laughs at her most recent joke about a frog who plays piano, and I thank my lucky stars that I landed at Bird’s Eye.

“Hey, Waylon,” I say, interrupting them. “Lou’s hanging here today, so I’ll be in the office catching up on the books if you need me. I think I have one appointment later.”

“Right on,” he says, turning back to a sketch he’s working on.

Inside the office, I get Lou situated in a chair near the window and log into her tablet so she can watch the latest nature documentary featuring David Attenborough. They’re her favorites and it’s hard to object to screen time when it’s educational.

Once she’s settled, I focus my attention on work and pull up my inbox on one screen and a search browser on the other. Having dual monitors is really the only way to work. Despite already knowing the answer, I type in PRESCHOOL DAYCARE NASHVILLE. The list of results yields nothing new. Funny, I was hoping that three new preschools had popped up in the last month. And where are the unconventional day camp programs that take kids out in the woods and teach them math by counting the ants on a leaf and teach them how to make their own compass out of a stick or something?

My cell phone rings and I know it’s Alma, Vanessa’s mom and Lou’s grandmother. When I got a call from ABCs & Friends this morning, I sent her a text about it. I try to keep Vanessa’s parents involved in Lou’s life, even if Vanessa isn’t here.

“Hey, Alma,” I say.

“Ridge, what’s going on?” she asks.

“Well, Lou is no longer enrolled in preschool, and I have to find another solution.”

“Oh gosh, not again,” she says. “Do you need me to come into the city for a little while? Or perhaps I can bring her to the farm for the summer?”

I know Alma means well, and she’s offered her help since the day Lou was born, but I refuse to send my child away for the entire summer. Or for Alma to come stay in my house foran extended period of time. I’ve done my absolute best not to depend too heavily on them, and I refuse to start now.

“No, I’ll figure something out. Thank you, though.”

“Have you considered a nanny?” she asks.

“A nanny? Like to live at my house? I don’t have the room for that. Or the money.”

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