Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “Dad,” my daughter says. “It’s okay. I know you loved Mom, and you’re a guy. You should be able to go on a date if you want to.” Her eyes are wide, hazel with flecks of green. There are dark circles around the edge of her irises, just like her mother had. It was one of the things I first noticed about Sarah.

  I smile, holding onto her shoulders so she can look directly at me when I ask, “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Yes, Dad,” she sighs. “Just don’t forget Mom.” Her bottom lip wobbles slightly, and I know if she starts crying, I will too, and we’ll be late for work and school. My first appointment isn’t till nine, but getting Libby to school on time is my priority. It’s her final few weeks before her exams start, and my heart aches that Sarah isn’t here to see her grow up.

  “I could never forget your mother. I see her every day I look at you.” I pull her into a hug. Holding onto her, I press a kiss to the top of her head and close my eyes. My girl. I only have her in the world, and as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.

  I don’t need a woman to do that.

  I have my Libby.

  2

  Kayla

  The classroom is silent when I enter, and I hope I can get some work done before I have to meet with the principal. I can’t believe they requested a meeting in the middle of the workday.

  “Kay.”

  I sigh at my colleague’s voice from behind me. I should've known she’d be here before seven a.m. Nobody else gets in this early but her. And today, me.

  “We're having a little get-together this weekend after the charity event,” she informs me. “I figured you and Nicholas would like to join us?” I forgot all about the paint for charity. All the teachers are helping spruce up the walls of the school by repainting them. I know parents are also joining us, so we shouldn't be here for too long.

  “Sure.” I shrug, knowing I'll find an excuse to ditch them early. Melissa knows I don't go out. I hardly even leave my house unless it's for work or to take Nick to school or games.

  “Great.” She grins, clapping her hands together excitedly. “It will be good to see you outside of work. It's been too long.” I know what she means; I see it in her eyes. Sadness. Pity. This is why I don't like socializing, because everyone in this town knows about my past. They all know I’m the young widow who’s also now a single mom.

  “Yeah.” I smile. “It will be fun.”

  Melissa nods before leaving me in my class to get the day started. Teaching English was always a passion of mine, and when I graduated, I came home to Silver Pine and got a job at the local junior high school. The hours are perfect for me since I have Nicholas to look after when he's done with his school day.

  Glancing at the clock on the back wall, I note there's another fifteen minutes before the kids come rushing in. Junior high is nothing like teaching elementary school. Kids heading into their teens are at times difficult, but I enjoy the challenge. I hope Nicholas will love his teachers when he gets older.

  “Mama,” I call into the house when I enter.

  “In here, Kay,” she answers, and when I make it to the living room, I notice Nicky sleeping on the sofa and my mother sitting in the armchair with her knitting. “He was so tired after school, then his soccer game, I had him lie down. He’s only just closed his eyes.”

  “That’s okay. He’ll probably pass out after dinner later anyway.” I smile, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. She’s my rock. Raising Nicholas has been a learning curve for me. As a single mother, I’ve struggled. It’s definitely not easy, and I don’t know how some women do it on their own without the help of family.

  “I wish you’d go out with the teachers this weekend,” Mama says with a lilt of innuendo in her tone, and I realize Melissa must’ve told my mother about the event or something, because she only just asked me about coming this morning.

  “And when did you hear about this?”

  Mama puts her knitting on her lap and pins me with a glare. “You wouldn’t have told me if Melissa hadn’t called here to remind you about the time,” she admonishes, and she’s right, because she’s been pushing me to go out more for the past year and a bit. I’m not ready. I wish she’d understand that.

  “What would I do there?”

  “Meet people your own age, Kayla. You cannot sit at home like an old maid,” she lectures me, as she usually does.

  Sighing, I settle on the other armchair and watch her for a moment. I know my mother won’t be in my life forever, but what makes me happy is she’s here now. She’s met Nicholas, she’s had time to spend with her grandson, and that is worth more than any nights out I can ever have.

  “What if something happens?”

  “You’re living in the past,” she tells me easily without any emotion. I know she’s frustrated, mainly because her brows have creased together, and her knitting has completely halted.

  “Mama—”

  “No, child, this time no sweet talk will get you out of this. It’s time for you to move on. I can’t live forever and seeing you while away your life on being an old spinster is not how I want to go.”

  Her strength is something I admire. There’s conviction in her tone, and I know no amount of coaxing will change her mind. She’s right though. So goddamn right.

  “Mama, I want to . . . I do want to change, to get out and experience life, but Nicky—”

  “Child, if you use my dear boy as an excuse for your laziness, then I’ll bat you on the butt with my knitting needle,” she warns me. And even though my mama is only in her early fifties, she sounds so much older than I expect, and that scares me. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

  “When is the right time to move on from heartache? Is there ever a right time?” I ask her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, I watch her as she watches me.

  We lost my father a long while ago. Cancer took him in the most brutal way, and I’ll never forget how much my mother cried alone at night. She hid it from me. When I was around, she’d smile and tell me to be strong. I want to be strong, but sometimes, I just can’t.

  “Listen to me, Kayla,” she implores, setting her knitting on the coffee table before focusing on me. “Death will come to anyone at any time. Jeremy was a strong man who lived his life with you. He enjoyed every moment you were together. Do you think he would’ve wanted you to die with him?”

  “No, Mama, but—”

  “No buts, dear girl. I had to learn a long time ago to go on without your father. I never told you this, but I met a man ten years after your papa passed away. We went out, friendship blossomed, and I found myself falling in love with him.” She smiles gently. “When he asked me to marry him, I turned him down because it wasn’t right for me, but I was able to feel things for someone other than your father, and I’m happy that I could.”

  “But, mama—”

  “No buts. There will always be a part of your heart that belongs to Jeremy, but you’re young, beautiful. Don’t close yourself off to possibilities.”

  “Are you saying I should go out and meet another man?” My tone sounds incredulous, but it’s not how I meant it to sound. But the thought of giving my heart to another is preposterous.

  “No, not at all. What I am saying is, if it happens, if you do meet someone, tomorrow, next week, or even in ten years’ time, don’t close yourself off to happiness because of the loss you’ve suffered.”

  “I’m not . . . I don’t think I am. I don’t know how else to be, Mama. Jeremy was always the outgoing one. He loved parties and people,” I tell her, remembering how my husband would drag me to places and introduce me to his friends. That was only four years ago, and it still feels like yesterday.

  “I know you are. I can see it every time I walk in here. Kayla, it’s time to go out, just this once. And I’ll stop badgering you . . . for a little while anyway.” She tacks on the last few words, which make me giggle. My mother can be persuasive when she wants to be, and I know I don’t have a choice, because she wil
l not stop until I give in.

  “Okay.” I nod. “Fine, I’ll go on Saturday,” I tell her.

  “That’s my girl.” She smiles, picking up her knitting and continuing on with the long green scarf that reminds me of the lush grass outside. I leave her in the living room and head into my bedroom to change.

  An hour of yoga is needed, then it’s time to prepare dinner.

  The idea of going out unsettles me. It makes me nervous, but I guess it’s worth a try.

  3

  Caleb

  “Libby,” I call to my daughter while setting the plates on the table. One of the rules I’ve instilled in her is to have dinner together. To talk about our day. Especially now that she’s getting older, I want her to be able to talk to me.

  Her mother was great at listening and offering advice, but for me, it’s been a learning curve with a young girl. I cringe when I think about the time I attempted the talk about tampons and periods. And especially the moment I knew I had to sit down and give her the birds and the bees talk.

  Even though she’s a good girl, I needed her to know she should always come to me before making decisions. My parents weren’t there for me, and I may have fucked up a few times more than I’d like to admit. I want us to have a home that’s filled with laughter and love, but also, I want to be her sounding board.

  “Hey, Dad.” Libby smiles. Settling into a chair, she grins wider when she notices I’ve made her favorite mac n cheese with extra parmesan on top. I’m no chef, but I try to ensure she eats healthy, and one night a week, we get our cheat day.

  “How was school?” I ask her, taking a seat and watching her shovel some pasta and cheese sauce into her mouth.

  Her wide eyes roll in frustration, and I can’t help chuckling. It’s a long-standing joke between us that as soon as you fill your mouth with food, the waitstaff will come around and ask if everything is okay.

  Once she swallows, Libby replies, “It was okay. We had a test in math, but I know I aced it because it was super easy. Also, we’re excited for the movie on Saturday.”

  “I want to know everyone who will be there on Saturday. Also, I’ve been invited by the principal to attend the charity drive, so I want you to keep your phone with you at all times,” I inform her.

  Earlier today, I got a call from Principal Lee to let me know all local business owners are getting together to paint the classrooms as a way of sprucing up the school. Apparently, it’s part of a charity drive, and they’re heading into all the towns close by to raise money. Companies are donating supplies and funds to ensure there is upkeep in the elementary and junior high schools.

  “Why do you have to go?”

  “You’re attending school there. It’s part of giving back to the community,” I tell her, taking a swig of my lemonade.

  “So, all parents are meant to be there?” Libby asks, and I nod.

  “Teachers as well. Since weekends are the only time you kids aren’t at the school, it’s empty and gives us time to work through each class. By the time Monday comes, it’s all refreshed for you.”

  “Awesome!”

  As soon as dinner is done, Libby does the washing up while I sketch a new design for a client. Art has been my passion for a long time, and when I got the opportunity while living in New York to apprentice for a well-known tattoo artist, I jumped at the chance. Even though a small town like Silver Pine doesn’t always bring through a lot of clientele, because we’re en-route to a large city like Los Angeles, there’s a good thoroughfare of tourists who will drop by for some ink.

  We’re only a few hours out of the city, and it offers the quiet life of a small town, but we’re close enough to head in for a weekend and enjoy the business LA has to offer.

  “Dad.” Libby settles herself at my desk. The small stool she perched herself on as a kid has always been there, and even with her growing up, I enjoy her company while I work.

  “Yeah, Libs?”

  “Can I get a piercing?” she questions in a whisper.

  My hand stalls on the line I’m drawing, and my gaze snaps up to hers. She’s bright red, watching me with those wide eyes that match her mother’s so well. “What?”

  “I mean, Josie has a belly ring, and I was wondering since you do them all the time, would I be able to get one too?” I recall Josie, my daughter’s best friend, coming in with her mother one day. She had to sign a consent form since Josie is under eighteen.

  “When you’re sixteen,” I tell her.

  “Dad, that’s so far away,” Libby whines, pouting at me like she used to do when I refused to buy her candy or ice cream. But this time, I’m not budging. As much as I don’t mind my daughter having a piercing, she’s far too young. Sixteen. That’s when I got my ear done, and that’s when Libby will have the opportunity to get her belly button done.

  “You’re fourteen. It’s two years,” I respond, ignoring her trembling lower lip and focusing back on my sketch.

  “You’re so unfair,” she mumbles, leaving me in my studio. I listen to the flip-flop of her sandals as she goes to her bedroom and shuts the door with a thud that’s just a little less resounding than a bang.

  I stop for a moment, staring at the angel I’m drawing, and I can’t help my heart aching just a tad.

  “Sarah, I wish you were here, honey. I don’t know if I’m even doing a good job with her,” I mumble to myself, but hoping that if she is watching over me, she’ll hear me and help in some way. “She needs a woman to offer advice,” I continue. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to bring another woman into our home. Will I ever be?”

  This time, I glance up at the ceiling, as if the answer is going to appear on the creamy concrete above me. I know it won’t. I’ve done this so many times over the past few years, and even though I’ve gotten through the tough times I’ve had, it doesn’t stop me from always asking Sarah for help.

  Silence stretches around me. My muscles are tight with tension, and I know soon enough, I’ll have to go and talk to Libby. I hate not saying yes to her when she wants something. I want to spoil her, give her everything she wants, but I know I have to have restraint.

  Teaching my daughter life lessons is hard. It’s more difficult without her mother here to advise me on things. Sadly, my parents are no longer alive, and Sarah’s folks didn’t give a shit about her when she married me. They thought I was trash because I didn’t wear a suit and tie. I was inked from shoulder to wrist, and my pierced tongue and eyebrow was too much for them to handle.

  So, it’s only Libby and me.

  And I just don’t know if I’m doing a good job anymore.

  4

  Kayla

  The school is already packed with teachers and parents milling around, some talking, others drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. There’s an energy in the quad today, which makes me smile.

  That’s one thing I love about small towns. When we call in for help, people will volunteer their time for something that will benefit the town itself. This time, it’s the school. It’s been in need of a refurb for a while now, and I’m glad to see we’re all here to get the job done.

  “Mom,” Nicholas calls me, dragging my attention from the people at the snack table to him. “I want to go to the jungle gym,” he tells me. He’s been over here so many times, and I know we have the girls who normally work down at the kindergarten watching any kids who are here today.

  “Okay, but you need to play carefully. No climbing up high, or you’ll be locked in your room with no dinner,” I warn him, causing him to giggle. It’s a private joke between us. I read him a story once where the boy was locked in a dungeon. He was convinced it wasn’t that scary, so whenever I tell him I’ll lock him up, he can’t help but giggle.

  I watch as Nicholas runs off excitedly to where the rest of the kids are already playing on a jumping castle they’ve hired for the day. None of the children here are over ten, and I’m sure the elder ones would much prefer spending the day on their own than be lumped in with teachers a
nd parents.

  Pivoting, I slam into a hard body encased in a dark T-shirt. My gaze travels from the muscled torso up to a face that’s rugged with dark stubble, a silver glint of a piercing in one dark eyebrow, and the most stunning green eyes I’ve ever seen.

  The man before me is a stranger. I’ve never met him before, and my heart leaps into my throat when he smiles. The muscle I thought was dead in my chest does something it hasn’t done in a long time — it flutters and thuds wildly against my ribs. I shouldn’t want to return his smile, but I do.

  “Nicholas seems like a good boy.” He tells me something I know. My son is one of the good ones. His father taught him well before he went off to war and never came home. My chest tightens when the memories come flooding back, making my heart ache.

  “Yeah, I mean, he’s only seven, but he’s a well-behaved child. I’ve never had any issues with him. Yet. Sometimes, I wonder if a mom raising a son is good. I mean, he needs a man to show him the ropes, ya know?”

  “There’s no age limit on when they stop being nice. And I totally get that. I have Libby, and I have my doubts sometimes if I’m teaching her the right thing. I guess I just wish she had her mother around to answer some of the tough questions.” His response comes with a sad, but gentle smile, one that lights up his eyes. Those forest green eyes. “Anyway, you’re a teacher here or one of the parents?”

  “A teacher of the lively eighth grade class, and I’m guessing you’re one of the dads?” My hands twist the hem of my T-shirt, and I wish I’d chosen something prettier to wear. Not to impress him, just to show him that as a single mother, I can take care of myself.