Tinder Ella: A Modern Day Single Dad Fairy-Tale

by Eddie Cleveland

  “Let’s stop talking, Daddy,” Chloe helpfully suggests like she always does when she’s bored with the conversation. She turns her attention to one of the men I consider a brother, my fellow SEAL Ryan. “I have a great idea.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” he answers her cheerfully.

  “How about we all play princesses?” She giggles and Ryan gives me a look. If I know my little girl, and I do, she’ll have us all throwing back imaginary teas like frat boys with beer.

  “Come on in, man.” I lead Ryan into the house. “Make yourself at home.”

  3

  Ella

  “Venti macchiato made with soy milk and no foam, extra shot of espresso, extra drizzle, and extra hot, order up,” Julianna calls out theatrically. We both laugh at the ridiculous coffee order I collect daily for Sylvia. “Oh, and here’s a little something-something for you.” She gives me a dramatic wink like she’s letting an audience full of people in on a plot twist coming up in a Shakespeare in the Park play. “On the house, of course.” She pushes a cup with a double shot of espresso toward me, looking over her shoulders like the chain owner could come creeping out of the shadows at any moment to give her shit for her kindness.

  “Thank you.” I smile. The fact that she makes me my cup of ‘something special’ every day doesn’t take away my gratitude. Julianna doesn’t have to go out of her way to make me anything, especially not for free. Yet, she always does. It’s little moments like this, these small and seemingly insignificant instances of kindness that keep my faith in humanity. I might be grasping onto threads, but after the life I’ve led, I’ll take all the threads I can cling onto.

  “Don’t mention it.” She grins and takes my cash for the elaborate latte, or the ‘bitch special’ as she likes to call it. “Sooo, I’m having a party this weekend and it’s going to be completely legendary.” She leans on the counter, resting her chin in her hands as she threads her fingers through her punky, electric blue hair.

  I open my mouth to politely decline, but Julianna holds up her hand, shushing me. My gaze falls to her silver skull ring she wears over one of many brightly-colored knuckle tattoos and wait for her to finish talking.

  “Before you even think of saying no, just listen, okay?” She doesn’t wait, steamrolling onward, “When I say it’s going to be legendary, I mean it. My band, The Blazing Pocket Rockets, is going to be doing a set near the end of the night, so you can’t miss this one, Ella.” What started out as a strong pitch turns into a pathetic whine. Her shoulders hunch over in defeat as she reads my face.

  “I’m sorry.” I wince at her disappointment. “I can’t go. It’s not that I don’t want to.” I try to soften the blow.

  “Then go. If you want to go, go!” She tries another feeble attempt. There’s just no way I can say yes, though.

  Julianna is probably the closest thing to a real friend I have in this entire world. For years, she’s been taking my order at this coffee shop. At first we just had very casual conversations. She was trying to learn Spanish and my English was about as broken as a child’s back then. Somehow, we managed to communicate. I doubt she even knows how much those early conversations meant to me. After losing my family and being shipped off to America like a piece of freight, the few minutes of kindness and compassion she showed me were enough to keep me going. Enough to give me hope.

  Over the years, we’ve developed a real bond. Although I’ve never confessed to her that I’m an illegal, she knows my situation isn’t normal. However, Julianna has never pried into that side of my life. The only time she’s made much mention of it is to try to inspire me to rebel against Sylvia like I’m some kind of overprotected teen who needs to lash out at their parents.

  “I just can’t,” I confess and gulp back the rest of the strong, flavorful espresso she gave me.

  “I just wish we could hang out sometime, you know? Like, for longer than it takes to fill a bitch special.” She laughs and taps her painted orange fingernail against the coffee order for Sylvia.

  “I would like that,” I answer honestly.

  Inside, my stomach sinks as I realize this is probably the way our entire friendship will go. Something begins to stir up in my chest at the realization that in six years I’ve never had a single minute outside that wasn’t to run errands for Sylvia. She’s kept me almost under lock and key all this time and I’ve never even thought to protest against it.

  Sylvia has even left me alone before, like she will be this weekend, and the biggest rule I broke in her absence was that I sat on the furniture. An anger I’ve never felt before billows up inside me. Any moment that I’ve been awake for over half a decade has been in service of her. Well, I’m tired of living like her slave.

  “Wait a minute,” I think out loud and Julianna leans in toward me, her eyes sparkling bright under the florescent lights. “My boss is going out of town on Sunday,” I say the words slowly, like they’re completely scandalous thoughts I’m spilling. “I’m going to have the house to myself for a couple nights, so why don’t you come over?” I bite down on my lip, uncertain if I should have even spoken the words.

  Julianna smiles broadly, her lip piercing pushing out prominently as her lips pull tight. “Now that sounds like a plan I can get behind.” She nods. “How about I bring some wine and we have a girl’s night?”

  Before I have a chance to overthink it, I find myself agreeing. I know it’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but right now, I don’t care. Since Sylvia took me in, I’ve done nothing but toe her hard lines like a prisoner trying to get out early for good behavior. It’s time I realized this isn’t something I can walk away from. This is a life sentence. So, I can start learning to have some fun despite my circumstances, or I can live a life that makes me wonder if I might as well have died back in Colombia.

  I choose freedom. Sure, they might be sporadic moments of freedom that only exist when she goes out of town. But to me, it’s still freedom.

  4

  Ella

  When there’s a knock at the front door, I instinctively rush over to answer it. Not because I’m excited about my forbidden girl’s night. I am, I’m excited, nervous and, at times, downright scared.

  But none of those are the reason I run to the door. It’s because of how ingrained it’s become to answer everything right away around here. A knock at the door sends me sprinting. A ring of the phone has me frantically searching for the receiver. Even getting a text message from Sylvia is enough to make me stop everything I’m doing and check to see what she wants. What can I say, after six years she has me well-trained.

  Maybe Raymond isn’t her only lap dog.

  I push the depressing thought from my mind. Tonight isn’t about any of that. They’re gone for a couple days and I have this entire sprawling place to myself. I’m not going to waste it wallowing in self-pity about things I can’t change. I yank the front door open and Julianna is standing on the step in a long, dark dress that reminds me of a sorceress. She holds up a bottle of wine in each hand like an Olympian holds up their gold medal up on the stand.

  “That’s way too much.” I immediately balk at all the booze, but she just rolls her eyes and brushes past me.

  “Maybe for you, Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes, but this ain’t nothing for me.” She kicks off her shoes at the door and darts her gaze around the house as she walks inside. Her head rolls back as her eyes travel over all the expensive decor and art. “Holy crap, what’s your boss’s job again? This place is like an art gallery.” She whistles low at the expensive paintings and sculptures.

  “She works in finance.” It’s not a lie. Selling people is technically working with finances. Just disgusting and morally repugnant finances.

  “Wow, guess I should’ve gone to college after all. This place is swanky. And all this time I was feeling sorry for you, thinking you were holed up in some kind of homemade Git-mo. Turns out you’ve been living the high life the whole time,” she teases me.

  I know she doesn’t mean anythin
g by it, she’s just making her usual jokes, but I’m already on edge from my bold decision to even have her over. So a smile is the furthest thing from my lips right now. Taking a deep breath, I push down the wave of panic that just swelled up inside me.

  “Looks can be deceiving.” I shrug, not really wanting to get into it much more than that.

  Suddenly, just being out in the open, in Sylvia and Raymond’s space, I feel too vulnerable. I can imagine too many things somehow getting broken, or spilling wine on something I would never be able to pay for in a million years. My nerves shrivel up as my skin crawls with fear and I grab Julianna by the arm and lead her to my quarters.

  “Come on, let’s hang out in my room.” I tug her along behind me.

  “Uh, okay, sure. Do you have a corkscrew in there?” She’s definitely got her priorities set. And drinks seem to be taking up the number one spot.

  “No.” I fling the door to my bedroom open. It’s a humble space with only a bed and a dresser inside. Even though it’s the smallest room in this house, it’s still more than I had in Colombia. Besides, I don’t need a huge space to put my modest belongings or to fall asleep in.

  “Here, make yourself at home. I’ll grab us some glasses and an opener.” I sweep my hand across the simple space as if I’m introducing her into a vast home instead of a tiny room that isn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet.

  Julianna doesn’t hesitate to saunter in. I quickly make my way to the kitchen to grab the things we need. When I pop back in the room, I can see she’s laid the wine bottles down and is holding one of my Harlequin romance novels curiously in her hand. I would think she’d have some level of embarrassment to be caught rifling through my belongings, especially since I know I kept that book under my bed. But no, if she’s ashamed at all, it’s impossible to tell from the giant smile on her face.

  “What is this?” She shakes the book at me like she just heard the punchline to a crazy joke.

  “It’s a book,” I answer matter-of-factly and pluck it free from her hand. I put it down on my dresser along with the wine glasses and opener. “And I’d thank you not to go snooping through my stuff, Julianna,” I sniff.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean any harm by it.” She joins me by the dresser and picks up the bottle opener, screwing it down into the cork. “I just didn’t know anyone our age reads those things, that’s all. My mom used to read them all the time. It surprised me to see it in here.”

  Pop!

  She yanks the plug free from the bottle and fills both of our wine glasses up high with the red, fragrant liquid. I don’t bother calling her out on the fact that she wouldn’t have known about my books at all if she hadn’t been sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Instead, I decide to let it go and try to enjoy the moment. It’s not like she’s making fun of me or anything.

  “To girl’s night.” Julianna holds up her glass and I clink the edge of mine against it.

  We both take a long sip and the wine is surprisingly smooth as it coats my tongue and splashes down my throat. Almost instantly, heat spreads out over my cheeks, eager to tattle to the world that I’ve had a taste of liquor. This is exactly why I don’t bother sneaking any out of Sylvia’s collection. She has more than enough that she’d never notice it missing, but my instantly flushed cheeks would tell on me right away.

  “That’s really good.” I take another drink and can’t believe there’s already a tingling sensation in my head. Wow, I better take it slow before I end up doing something stupid.

  Well, something stupider, that is.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Julianna takes a seat on my bed and maneuvers one of my pillows behind her back like a little chair. “So, what’s the deal with the romance books? Shouldn’t you be out at the clubs picking up your own sexy man rather than reading about them in some book?” She pries.

  I sit down on the edge of my bed and swirl my wine glass, watching the dark drink slosh around like I might find the perfect answer to give her in there. How can I possibly explain that I’ll never have that life? I don’t want to get into my status and I’d rather not tell her too many details about this arrangement with Sylvia. And I’m definitely not going to get into how I left my country as a teen virgin and how that never changed.

  “I just don’t like that whole scene,” I finally answer her. “I’m not looking for a hook-up,” I confess. “I want romance. But romance takes time, and that’s something I don’t have much of. I just have to accept that the only romances I’ll be getting are the ones written between the covers of a book.” I take another long sip, hoping the warm trail of wine will drown out my sorrows.

  “What? That’s crazy talk.” Julianna sits up straight and places her glass down on the nightstand next to my bed. “This is the modern age, Ella. If you want to go out and have magical, romantic nights, you can do that. Easily too.” She reaches inside her bra and pulls out her cell phone. “I know you’ve got one of these, so you must be on Tinder, right?”

  “Tinder?” I crinkle up my nose as I repeat the word. “No, I’m not on anything like that,” I admit.

  I bite my tongue before a confession spills off of it. I can’t tell Julianna that the phone I have is just a wireless chain for Sylvia to yank on whenever she needs me. Explaining about how she regularly goes through it, inspecting the messages, would definitely create more questions than I want to answer.

  “Really, but it’s perfect for you,” she insists, opening her screen with her password. She hits the app and turns her phone toward me. “Look, you just set up your profile and you get to choose what guy you go out on a date with. If it’s a match, you have a little chat with him to sort out the details, and boom, you can have all the romance you want, whenever it’s convenient for you.” She tries to sell me on it.

  I stare at her screen and find myself wondering if this could be the perfect solution for someone like me. I don’t have any delusions that it’s going to lead me into the arms of my future husband or anything, but it could let me get out and experience some dates on rare occasions when Sylvia isn’t around.

  “I don’t know, it looks hard to set up.” I twist up my lips as I imagine myself trying to figure out my profile.

  “No way, it’s so easy,” she insists. “You just open the app with your Facebook profile and, easy-peasy, you’re good to go.”

  “I, uh, don’t have a Facebook profile,” I admit. “And I don’t really want to set one up either.” I start to shut down this whole idea. I know it’s not going to work out for me.

  “Why? You know you can activate and deactivate it whenever, right? Here, let me help you set it up and if you don’t like the app, we’ll shut it all back down tonight. I’ll completely delete the apps from your phone, I promise. But, what if you find someone you really like on there? Or, oh, what if you find a romantic match? You’ll never know if you don’t try.” Julianna lifts her glass and takes another huge gulp.

  She’s right, it doesn’t sound like I really have anything to lose by setting it up. I stand up suddenly and walk the couple steps across my room to my dresser, plucking my cell from it and bringing it over. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” I smile, holding it out to her. “But you have to show me how to get rid of it, all right?”

  “Deal.” She grabs the phone from my hand with a smile and gets to work.

  5

  Jackson

  “Ahhh, but, Daddy, I’m not even tired.” Chloe rubs her eyes and stamps her foot at the same time.

  This is the nightly routine. I tell her she’s got to hit the hay and she whines, trying to convince me that I’m wrong. It never works, and yet, she tries. Every. Single. Night.

  “Chloe, come on, hon. Don’t you want to grow up to be a big, strong girl? You need to get some sleep to do that, right?” I go into my regular explanation about the importance of resting your body. Even I’m tired of hearing it at this point.

  “Daddy, you silly-billy, I am a big girl. I can even turn on the lights al
l by myself.” She puffs up her little chest proudly. Reaching the soaring heights of three and a half feet has really gone to her head.

  I smile down at her. In a way, I’m happy she’s a willful child. I know firsthand how unforgiving and cruel the world can be. I hope Chloe will never learn anything about that side of life, about that darkness. However, I know I can’t control her world forever. Next year, she’ll be off to kindergarten, and then she’ll be making more and more decisions without my input. Small ones at first, like if she should drink that extra chocolate milk or not. However, the time will morph, and before I know it, she’ll be an independent teenager dealing with mean girls, parties, and the biggest fear of all...boys. It’s then that I hope this fire in her belly serves her well. I hope by then she hasn’t lost her edge and that she isn’t afraid to stand up for herself in any situation.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself when she’s stubbornly stomping her feet and refusing to go to bed anyway.

  “Hey, Chloe,” Ryan interrupts our power struggle.

  “Uh, yeah?” she answers uncertainly. She’s not used to having another man in the house with us. While she’s not afraid of Ryan, she’s a little nervous around him.

  “I’ll tell ya what. How about I do an extra special magic trick for you? Would you like that?” He leans forward.

  Chloe looks up at me and then over at Ryan, nodding her head emphatically.

  “All right, it’ll take me a second to set up. But, there’s just one catch.” “You have to go to bed right after, okay?”

  My daughter tilts her head and mulls it over for a second. Like she’s not sure if this offer is going to be worth her time or not. She tugs on her lip, something she only does when she’s deep in thought, then smiles up at him. “Okay.”