Penthouse Prince(4)
Grier returns with her favorite bedraggled friend in tow and starts mashing a handful of banana slices into his fuzzy snout.
“Lex?” Mom says. “You still there?”
“Sorry, I was thinking. And yes, I’m sure. I can work from home.” And if worse comes to worst and I have to pass ownership on to someone else, I can always try to get involved in the local market. Flip houses and whatnot.
Mom hums in a way that I know is accompanied by a frown. “I’d love to have you close. But you work too much, sugar. I worry about you two.”
This again. I restrain a sigh and speed through my counterarguments to every point she’s about to try making. “What can I say? I love my job. It keeps me happy and sane. And before you bring up Grier, I don’t think having more free time while also being miserable will help me be a better father.”
“Well, I don’t understand it,” Mom says as if we haven’t had this exact conversation a hundred times before. “But if that’s what you’ve decided, then at least think about finding a nice lady to help out. You’ve got your hands way too full.”
“Uh-huh,” I say automatically, and I almost have to laugh. Retreading such well-worn ground makes me feel so much more normal.
“Good. Anyway, I’ll let you go now.” Her voice brightens. “I really am over the moon to know I’ll have you back home. I love you both so much, and I’m looking forward to seeing you and my grandbaby all the time.”
“I love you too, Mom. I’ll keep you updated about the plan.” I hold the phone up to Grier’s ear. “Say bye-bye to Grandma, kiddo.”
“Bye!” she yells before going back to force-feeding Flapflap.
I call the office to let them know I’m telecommuting today, make a new batch of scrambled eggs, deal with my remaining emails while eating, then start making arrangements. As I cross each item off the list, a little weight slowly lifts from me. I have a concrete plan, and I’m putting it into action. I can’t fix Mom’s cancer, but I can at least control this much.
A tiny hand tugs on my pants leg. “Daddy.”
“Hmm?” I surface from my concentration.
Grier thrusts Flapflap forward. “Icky.”
So he is, the fake fur smeared with abundant banana goop and egg crumbs. Grier herself is sporting more than a little mess too.
“I think Flapflap needs a bath, don’t you? Will you come with him so he doesn’t have to be alone?”
She considers, then nods as gravely as an old diplomat. My terms have been accepted.
I take them to the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and undress her while the tub fills. The instant I’m elbow-deep in soapy water, my phone rings from the other room. I heave a deep sigh.
I hate to admit it, but maybe Mom is right about me needing help. This morning’s chaos and stress is part of a pattern, exactly like the majority of mornings since Grier was born two years ago. While I’m a quick learner, I can’t be everywhere at once, and there are only so many hours in the day.
Normally, I’d just do my best to roll with it and work harder, but now that I’m changing everything else about our life, why not reexamine this too?
I mentally add one more item to my to-do list. Hire a nanny.
2
* * *
LEXINGTON
Grier busily explores the mountains of boxes filling the living room while dragging Flapflap behind her, as I watch the moving truck pull out of our driveway and disappear into the sunset. Our new home doesn’t seem real yet, it’s close to Mom, has a backyard for Grier, it’s walking distance to the beach. This is going to be a good change for us, even though I’m acutely aware of how much there’s still left to do.
“I think dinner comes first, though,” I say aloud as I stare at the boxes and wishing they’d somehow unpack themselves. “How does pizza sound, baby girl?”
Grier grins, and claps her hand and making FlapFlap bounced around crazily. “Yeah!”
“You got it.”
After ordering and then finding myself with nothing to do but wait for the pizza and watch Grier play on the floor with FlapFlap, I grab my phone and impulsively call my old best friend, Dak. The phone picks up to a blast of music and chatter that sounds like a busy bar.
“Who’s this? How’d you get this number?” he says over the noise. “Start talking stranger.”
I shake my head at my childhood best friends attempt at being funny. I guess the jab at not calling often enough has been well-earned, though. “Ha-ha,” I say dryly. “It’s Lex, you dick.”
He chuckles. “Lexington Dane, you son of a bitch, I haven’t heard from you in months. What’s up, dude?”
I wince at the loud curses—at least Grier doesn’t seem to be paying attention—and turn down the speaker volume. “I’m back in town.”
“Oh man! How long are you staying? I’ve got my own bar now. You should come see it.”
“No, I mean, I’m back for good. Mom’s . . .” This isn’t really the kind of conversation I want to have over the phone. “I wanted us to be closer to Mom.”
“Gotcha.” His voice softens and I know he gets that I don’t want to talk about what’s going on right now. “Happy to hear you’re back in town. How’s the munchkin doing these days?”