Page 4 of The Single Dad Dilemma

She’s a mortician, by the way, not a grave robber or… yeah, actually I don’t know who else would mention corpses so casually. And no offense to her. She’s awesome. I actually think she's a badass. It’s me. I’m the weak person.

After her first embalming class, she told me all about it in vivid and disturbing detail. I went to bed, and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of a nightmare where I brought her lunch at work, and the body she was working on reached out and grabbed my arm. Needless to say, I screamed myself—and her—awake.

If you think about it—and maybe distort the facts a bit—we’re balanced opposites. I want to nurture them in their youths, and she wants to usher them into the afterlife. We make a perfect pair.

I turn my attention back to the job listings and see one for a daycare teacher position. That could work. I’m gettingmy degree in education, after all. It might look good on future resumes to have experience.

No sooner than I click on it, I’m filled with sadness. The wages listed are less than I’d make as a server. How can that be? We trust these people with our children, but they could flip burgers for more. And that’s not to disparage the people flipping burgers. But you don’t have to feed, change, or keep the burgers from accident or injury.

A thought occurs to me, and as my mind wraps around the tasty morsel of an idea, I get more confident about it.Now, where to look.A quick search pulls up a list of websites that seem to be in the right direction. I don’t know if babysitting is still something people randomly do, but maybe there’s something in the realm of childcare that could be consistent. Maybe a nanny or even a couple of regular gigs that total full time.

I click on the second website on the list. NanniesRUs is nothing if not on the nose. After a quick perusal, I click on and fill out the form, uploading my license and entering all the pertinent information, then I fill in the legal stuff so they can run background checks. I get to the part where I have to talk about myself and start typing.

Hi, I’m Darcy Anderson. I’m a twenty-five-year-old grad student who’s looking for a summer job until classes start in the fall. I need tuition money, so please let me watch your kids and pay me a lot of money. I like cheap white wine, books of poetry, and will not let your kids die while I’m watching them. Please give me money.

Yeah, that probably wouldn’t work. I delete and start again, leaving out the pleas for money and beefing up the parts that talk about my education. I leave out the wine, too. Not mentioning alcohol on my nanny application seems like the right thing to do.

When I’m satisfied, I hit the submit button at the bottom, and a little cartoon toddler pops up with a smile and a thumbs-up. It’s a little weird and a lot creepy.

It says here that I’m allowed to view postings and apply, but my applications will be pulled if for some reason I fail their checks. Since I’m not worried about that happening, I start hunting.

Some of these listings read normal, and some are giving the ick. Like this one specifically requests a woman between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two who’s in good physical shape and is willing to stay overnight and cook. It’s giving gross, right? That’s not just me? What on earth does my physical shape have to do with anything? And anyway, it would appear I’m too old.

I hit apply on a handful of listings, focusing on the ones who are interested in someone right away. One is for a family with two boys on the other side of town, one is for a single mom with an infant, and another is for a single dad with a little girl and is actually pretty close by. Hopefully one of those will work out.

The idea of searching through more job listings irritates me, so I pull up the course catalog and make sure I’ve selected everything I need. Since I took a year off before starting, I’m increasing my course load so I can finish on time. Which is reason number two that dating is so far from my mind. Because even if I dated this summer, I would have to end it when school started. There’s no way someone is going to put up with how busy I will be.

And even if I did find someone who was cool with it, there’s still reason number one. And his name is Tyler. After two years of emotional manipulation, I was finally able to break free about a year ago. And I’m sure you’re thinking a year is plenty of time to get over someone, but I was over him the moment we ended. I was just not okay with myself. I felt unbalanced and out of touch with who I am as a person.

I think it had a lot to do with—if I’m being honest with myself—the fact that I never felt like I had a home growing up. My parents weren’t good people. When they tried to make it work, there was a lot of drinking and arguing. And when they finally divorced, they shuffled me back and forth between two unstable houses and used me as a pawn in their war against each other.

When I was old enough to voice my opinions, I moved in with my grandmother. Neither my mom or dad seemed to miss me. I started only seeing them on holidays and birthdays. It was fine by me. My granny was a wonderful woman. Finally, I had a place where I felt safe. Unfortunately, she died my senior year of high school. I only got a few short wonderful years with her. That’s why I took a year off. I just couldn’t deal.

Then, along came Tyler. And he’s charismatic and fun and distracted me from my grief. That also means I was blind to his faults. I clung to him like I was drowning at sea and he was the life preserver someone just threw at me.

I’ve needed time to find myself again. I swear most days I think I’m finally there, but I’m not ready to find out. There will be plenty of time for that after I’m completely finished with school and maybe don’t have a roommate anymore.

Whatever. The point is, between school, having a roommate, and Tyler still occasionally texting me, I don’t feel grown up enough or ready to date again.

An email pops up in the bottom right corner of my laptop screen and makes a dinging sound. I’ve been diligent about checking my emails, so I click it. A reply to the nanny application already. Damn, that was fast.

It’s an interview request for tomorrow from the single dad. That’s perfect. The sooner I can start somewhere, the better. His listing doesn’t state exactly how much the position pays, but it does give a pay range and says it’s negotiable based on experience. And if I could bag the higher end of that bracket,that would be amazing. It would be more than enough to pay for school and help with bills.

I quickly reply, accepting the interview time and confirming the address. Then I turn to my closet, determined to pick out the perfect child-friendly interview outfit. It should be fun but professional. Definitely colorful. I adjust my glasses on my nose, peering into my closet.

Lyric calls my personal style “Librarian Chic,” and I can’t really argue with her but it hardly strikes confidence for an interview. There’s no way I can afford a new outfit, so it’s going to have to work. Maybe it’s better I act like myself, anyway.

Lyric—and pretty much everyone I’ve ever met—describes me as quirky, and I’m pretty sure they mean weird but don’t say it. I’m not an idiot. I collect copies ofThe Great Gatsby, thrift tweed skirts, and read for fun. In no life have I ever been the popular girl. I’ve accepted that about myself.

What I’ve always found lovely is that none of that matters to kids. They want someone to guide them, be kind, and to care. I don’t have to impress them or hide who I am. Well, the teenagers are a different beast. I’m talking more about the ones under ten. It gets a little dicey after that.

I lie back on my bed, stretching my legs and flexing my feet. I can’t afford any distractions. I have to focus. This time next year, I will have achieved what I set out to do.

I refuse to let anything get in my way.

THREE

RIDGE

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