D.I.L.F Dad I'd Like to Fight

“Enter.”

“Hey, just thought I’d remind you its nearly four-thirty. Don’t you have to go pick up your daughter?”

“Yes, of course, thank you, Kate.”

“No problem.”

Alone once again, I head the call of duty over the distance, drawing me from my desk to the coat rack and out into the still bright sun, to walk the few blocks to collect my car from the garage.

It was quite a long and specific call, yet one I didn’t dare, ignore. In addition to gross irresponsibility, there would be hell to pay if I were late, and not just from Helena.

Last, again. The parking lot, such as it was, bereft of all other comers. I could have been first, in an alternate reality. In the one I lived in however, it was about as likely as a gray wolf attack. Which was somewhere between a plane crash and a lightning strike.

It was difficult to tip toe in my newly shined brogues. Not to mention futile. Helena possessed of some form of bizarre radar. She’d have to if she were going to keep track of all those kids. I was still somewhat baffled that one person could manage on their own, but she did, with no incidents in the past five years.

And with a clientele like hers, had there been anything even glancing at less than perfect, it was certain sure that everyone would know about it. Rumor and scandal circulated in such circles before truth and nuance could get their shoes on.

“Mr. Veek, so good to see you.”

She looked like a phantom in the doorway, holding Lily’s hand as they waited for me to arrive.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I said, refusing to be baited.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Well, hello there, little one,” I said, scooping her up into my arms.

The door closed with malice, but I barely noticed. Lily’s head was on my shoulder and all was right with the world. As right as they could be at any rate.

“Are we going to see Mommy?”

“No, my poppet. We only do that sometimes.”

“Oh, because it makes you sad?”

“Yes,” I agreed, after removing the phantom knife from my heart.

“Makes me sad too,” Lily agreed, as I placed her in the booster seat.

She did remember. Shit.

“That’s normal, honey.”

“Will it go away?”

Well, punch a bear, she was even more insightful than I thought. What the heck was I supposed to do with that?

My first instinct was to lie, as it had been so many times as it had before. Yet, as in this historical moment, my sense of morality didn’t allow it. She needed to know the truth. Not matter how inconclusive it might have been.

“I don’t know, but I hope so.”

“Oh, okay.”

I never thought I’d see the day when my little girl was tougher than me, but she really was a little trooper. Overcome by emotion, I gave her a hug and kissed her on the forehead, which she didn’t even wipe away.

“It’ll be okay, Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Hoping to escape the weirdo reverse dimension we’d somehow found ourselves in, I coaxed the car to life and aimed back toward the house.

When we arrived, I pulled into the garage and parked before getting out to retrieve my three-year-old.

“Hungry?” I asked, actually hearing her tummy rumble as I lifted Lily out of the back seat.

“I could eat.”

She’d certainly inherited Cora’s knack for understatement.

“You know you can tell me if you need something right?”

“Yes.”

It was a period as much as a word. A hard punched punctuation that brought an end to the subject. At least a far as she was concerned. Another talent she picked up from her dear mother. From the cradle, it would seem.

Lily watched the oven as it heated, as though it were the most fascinating movie ever. The red of the element glowing through the window.

Colored sprinkles onto the white flats. Red, then orange, a dash of red, followed by splashes of white and red, just like I was taught.

“Pizza, pizza, pizza pizza,” Lily sang, as we waited for the cheese to melt and crusts to rise.

She liked pizza so much I usually made a smaller one just for her. She still had all her baby teeth, which made things a lot easier when it came to the whole biting and chewing lark.

“Bing!” she shouted, echoing the egg timer, set just right.

We enjoyed our supper together, then I carried her upstairs for a bath and bedtime. Dusky blue took over the daylight, the transition clear through the windows. One directly above Lily’s bed.

“Can I have Bach?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Another punching punctuation, making all resistance futile.

“Okay,” I said resting her sleep mask on her forehead.

The small disc spun in the ancient player that always made me feel old. A relic from the early 2000s, handed down to me by my sister when we got one of the first MP3 players available. She was always ahead of the curve. As clever as I could be, Victoria, named after the queen, made me feel like a bit of an idiot.