We take off down the street heading towards the school. Since its Saturday, the playground equipment and the classrooms are vacant. We keep walking past the unoccupied swings and head towards Poplar Avenue a mile away. Poplar is full of small organic stores and a wide variety of fitness studios. But right smack dab in the middle of all the health food sits one of my favorite little ice cream parlors. They serve the world’s best fresh peach frozen yogurt, and today, that’s my destination.
When we finally reach the ice cream parlor, I’m winded and have worked up quite a sweat. I park the jogging stroller outside of the door and slip inside. Cold air hits me square in the face offering relief from the desert heat outside. Natalia seems to recognize exactly where we are because she gets excited as I approach the counter. I try to keep her quiet while we wait for our turn to order, but it doesn’t seem to work. A few patrons give me “the look” while others offer me a friendly smile and just laugh at my daughter’s excitement.
Cup of fresh peach frozen yogurt and a bottle of water in hand, I head back outside to grab the stroller. With Natalia securely strapped back inside, we head over to one of the empty tables that litter the sidewalk. I grab Nat’s sippy cup and try to get her to drink some water, but her eyes are firmly glued on the bowl of melting yogurt. She lets out an ear-piercing squeal when I apparently take too long, so I take one quick drink of water before grabbing the spoon.
“Good?” I ask my smiling daughter as she gums the delicious, cold treat. I shovel it in as fast as I can, which still doesn’t quite seem fast enough by her standards, and smile down at her happy face. We’ve had a hard year with her colic and digestive troubles, but we’ve been happy. I wouldn’t trade a single moment. Not one of those sleepless nights or crying fits for anything in the world. Watching my daughter smile at me, at the world around her, is my greatest joy.
My thoughts switch swiftly to the fact that my angel won’t have a father. I knew it the moment I saw the plus sign on the pregnancy test that I was doing this solo. I didn’t even know his last name, you know? Plus, he said he was starting a new job. Could be in Vegas, could be in Egypt for all I know. But as we live each day, enjoying the good ones and coping with the bad ones, I know what she’s going to go through. I know what it’s like to not have a father present in your life. My own was absent until gone completely, and hers not even around from the first day. It saddens me to know what she’ll be missing. And what he’s missing too.
If I had the chance to tell him would I? I’d like to think I would. Not knowing what kind of person he really is, I think I got enough of a glimpse of the man deep down inside of him to make a logical, rational decision. Even if that glimpse was filled with passion and intense urgency. If he were the type of man that he showed me two years ago, caring, hardworking, and dedicated, I would definitely tell him. Maybe not right away, but as soon as I knew him enough to trust him with our daughter.
My daughter’s eyes begin to droop and her head begins to sway indicating that she’s dropping fast. She starts to wiggle and fuss as she tries to fight the sleep taking over her small little body. Every day, she fights it. Instead of just giving in and letting herself be lulled to sleep, she fights it as hard as humanly possible, not giving in until the very last possible nanosecond. I enjoy sleep and never fight it, so the only conclusion is that she must get this behavior from her father.
I toss our cup and napkins in the trash bin and point the stroller towards the direction we came. I move the back of the stroller seat until it’s completely reclined which upsets Nat to no end. How can she fight sleep if she can’t watch her surroundings?
By the time I reach the end of the block, her whimpering is non-existent. I keep my pace swift but not quite as fast as the walk to the ice cream parlor an hour ago. Maybe that has something to do with the cup of frozen deliciousness I just consumed. Could be, but I’ll just stick with the fact that it’s warmer outside now.
When I reach the apartment, I spy my car in the parking lot. Mom took delivery for me yesterday while I was at work, signing all of the papers needed. She left all of the paperwork on my counter for me to review last night. When I saw the payment section, it said “Paid In Full” which surprised and concerned me. I didn’t realize the insurance would pay so quickly, but that’s the only logical solution. I surely didn’t write any check or hand over any plastic. The business card attached to the paperwork is what stole my breath, though. Blake Crisp. Sure, there’s thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of men everywhere in the world named Blake, so why would this Blake matter? Probably because every time I see that name, I wonder if he’s my mystery Blake.