D.I.L.F Dad I'd Like to Fight
She was dreaming of an internship at Google while I was still having trouble tying my shoes. To be fair, it probably had more to do with our nearly decade of difference in age. This only slightly taking the sting out of the fact she made the logical shift form computer programming to data analysis for NASA in her mid-30s. Very much the Mycroft to my Sherlock.
The mask went down like a set of blinds, further darkening Lily’s world view. Although I hoped that would remain solely physical and not mental. Pessimism was a family trait I really hoped she wouldn’t inherit. Several college professors told me I was far too young to be so jaded. If only they knew.
Long, deep breaths joined the orchestra, giving me leave from the room. A distinct heaviness pushed down, as I made for my own room. Getting my shoes off before falling on the bed was the very definition of victory under the circumstances.
I’d only been out for a few hours when screams pierced the dark, rousing me from the bed, cool hardwood coming up to greet me painfully.
When the little birds quit tweeting in circles around my head, I hauled myself into something resembling vertical, and ventured unto the breach.
The grip was iron tight. One of the effects of waking a kid from a bad dream. Something that was happening with increasing regularity.
“Lily, it’s okay, baby, you’re back.”
The grip loosened to something more manageable, making it easier to get the mask off, so she could see I was right.
“Oh,” her panicked breathing slowed.
I smoothed the hair from her forehead gently. “Milk?”
She nodded wordlessly, still coming back to herself.
I went downstairs and poured a glass, setting it into the microwave. Turning like the world on its axis, the glass warmed. Releasing all the goodness in the milk contained within.
“There you go, honey.”
Taking the glass in both hands, she slugged back the milk like the food of the gods, leaving an adorable little mustache behind.
“Oh,” she said, as I wiped it away, trying not to laugh.
There were things that weren’t going to happen. Near the top of the list, was Lily going back to sleep in her bed after a nightmare. She needed my bed more than I did, and I was happy to let her snuggle down under the heavy duvet looking as happy as I’d seen in a while.
“Would you like your mask?”
“No thanks, daddy.”
Not a punctuation punch this time, which already felt like an improvement. Not pushing my luck, I tip-toed over to the desk tucked away in the corner and started to stream Janet King with my headphones firmly on. Turning the screen way down to minimize the blue light pollution.
It wasn’t unheard of, I’d fallen asleep sitting up before. Particularly during law school. It was just part of the tradition. Alas, the sweet slumber for which I longed was not to come. Each move or whimper from Lily brought me to full awareness once more. The dawning sun made its appearance before the sandman.
When my phone chirped to inform me of a new message, I knew instinctively that it had to be bad. There was no other reason for the firm to message that early. Another chirp sounded, and when I tapped on the screen, I was intrigued to see that one was from the firm, as I’d surmised, but the other was from some sort of city-wide emergency service.
ATTENTION
THE CITY OF LOS ANGELES WILL BE IN FULL LOCK DOWN AS OF 6 PM (PST) THIS EVENING.
My eyebrows shot up. Having been wrapped up in my own life, I’d paid little attention to the news reports about the virus spreading in other countries. I seemed to remember seeing something recently about it being found stateside, but I had no idea it was anywhere near this serious.
I tapped for the message from the firm, hoping for some sort of plan in terms of what to do during lockdown. Our wonderful bosses had yet to let us down. This situation was no exemption.
The message in question outlined a co-op scheme for the firms’ lawyers, allowing them to continue to work remotely during the lockdown, sharing childcare duties as they did so. I couldn’t help but wonder who we might be paired with.
Chapter Seven - Emile
The white and yellow circles popped and jigged in the butter, cheese ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. Pre-sliced hard cheddar to only add to the economy and efficiency of the thing.
“Eggs?” Gen asked.
“Not only eggs.”
I couldn’t be sure if Gen actually liked eggs. Her experience with them wasn’t extensive enough to draw an accurate conclusion based on the available evidence, making any assertion of conclusion little more than hearsay. Or so my instructors at law school would have it. I could only trust their expertise, as demonstrated by the extra layer of wallpaper that was their diplomas.