Page 50 of Hello Single Dad

I was about to ring the doorbell when the garage door opened and Doug came out, dressed to the nines in a designer suit and brightly colored pocket square.

“Thank you, Birdie.”

I waved my hand at him. “I’m happy to help. No big deal.”

He nodded. “Well, she’s back in the nursery. Come on.”

He led me through the garage, which was perfectly clean and organized, then let me in the kitchen. “Third door on the left. If you can’t find it, just follow the psychotic breathing and brushing.”

I saluted him like I used to when we were teens and our parents let us take the sailboat out on our own. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

He smiled for a moment, then a look of worry quickly darkened his features. “Take care of her, will you?”

“Of course.”

He turned back to his car, and I walked through their house. I hadn’t been here since the housewarming party a couple years ago, but it looked every bit as clean and put together as it had then.

Just as Doug had promised, I could hear furious brush strokes against the wall, and I peeked my head in to see Anthea double masked and angrily painting clouds onto a light blue wall. Feral might not have been the wrong word to describe her.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked.

She looked at me, a splotch of paint on her cheek. “Painting. Obviously.” She turned back at the wall and continued painting. “I can’t believe Doug didn’t do this weeks ago.”

“You could have asked me to come help. Or, you know, hired someone.”

“I’m not turning into your mother,” she said. “Wealth calcifies people. You just sit on your throne and forget how to lift your fingers, much less anything else.”

“You’re telling me.” I went to the window and opened it so at least she’d have some ventilation. Whether or not it would get through her masks was another story. “Do you have an extra brush?”

“Just this one,” she said slowly.

“Then why don’t you let me paint and you can start sorting clothes?”

“How do you know I need to do that?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You may not be calcified yet, but I guarantee you’ve bought every cute baby outfit you’ve walked past since you found out you were pregnant.”

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. “They’re so cute though.”

“I’ve bought a few myself,” I said. “Which you will have to fold after the baby shower. So hand over the brush.”

Reluctantly, she gave me the brush, but she still held on to it tightly. “I’ll text you a tutorial video I found. Watch it before you get started.”

“Sure,” I said.

She finally let go, and I held it in my hand as I waited for the message. As soon as my phone dinged and I began playing the video, Anthea seemed satisfied and left the room. The directions seemed simple enough, and soon, I was at work getting lost in the mindless strokes of my brush.

Within a couple hours, I had finished what Anthea had started. I stepped back and took a picture of the cloudy walls, smiling.

“It looks amazing,” Anthea breathed behind me.

I turned toward her, smiling. “She’s the luckiest little girl in the world.” My niece would have the best life. I already knew Anthea wouldn’t love her conditionally like my parents had me.

Anthea circled her arms around her middle. “Want to have some Rice Krispie Treats? I made some earlier.”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” I said. “Where should I put the brush?”

“Just throw it away. I have a feeling Doug won’t deal with another nesting episode involving paint past thirty weeks.”

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