Chapter 3
Paige
With Irie slung over her hip, Paige knocked on her parents' front door. Both mother and daughter were bundled up, thanks to an overnight storm that had dumped nearly a foot of snow over Nashville.
Irie tightened her tiny fist around her mother's auburn braid with one hand and jealously squeezed at her face with the other hand.
“Ow babe, that hurts!” Paige yelped, trying to loosen her daughter's death grip from her flesh. At one year and three months old, Irie already had a perfect understanding that going to Grandma and Grandpa's house meant Mommy was about to disappear for the next eight hours. And goodbyes were never easy.
But when the door opened, and Grampa's goofy smiling face appeared, Irie absolutely lit up.
“There's my baby!” he cooed at her. He tickled her tummy and Irie delightedly babbled and laughed.
“Hi, Dad,” Paige said as she stepped in and passed Irie into his outstretched hands. “Thanks again for watching Irie.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime,” he said as he bounced his granddaughter in his arms.
It was the same thing he said whenever she had to drop Irie off before her shift at the Burger Stand. Paige knew he truly meant it, of course, but it always broke her heart just the same. She depended on her parents so much to raise Irie—and still, they were always offering to do more. Not once had they ever scolded Paige about her situation or complained about how much she leaned on them.
And their love for Irie was clear as day.
But still, Paige was absolutely wracked with guilt that she needed her parents' help raising her daughter. Paige's younger brother had just moved out of their parents' house when her unexpected surprise began to show … and she had to announce that the father wanted nothing to do with her.
Life wasn't supposed to work that way.
But the most guilt-inducing part of this whole embarrassing situation? Paige couldn't even bear to tell them the truth about Irie's father and why he wasn't in her life.
“How's my blonde baby Irie?” Dad said in a playfully high voice, focusing his attention on his towheaded grand-daughter. “And how'd you ever get so blonde, cutie?”
Paige had told her parents that her ex, Adam, was the father. But Irie bore an uncanny resemblance to her real father—as much as Paige could remember his face, anyway. Whenever someone commented on Irie's features, a stifling heat grew under Paige's collar. Sometimes, she could swear that no one bought her story. Maybe everyone already knew her secret.
Paige's Mom appeared from the kitchen and gave her a hug. “Hi, Paige!”
“Hi, Mom!”
“And hello to you too, Miss Irie!” Paige's mom said, planting a kiss on the child's head. Grandpa passed Irie to Grandma, but Irie had grown restless and tired of being held. She wiggled in her grandma's arms, demanding to be set down. Grandma lowered her to the floor, and off Irie went, her winter coat swishing as she stamped across the hardwood floor. Her steps were growing more confident and certain with each passing day.
“She's off in a hurry,” Paige's mom said. “Seems like only yesterday she took her first step.”
“You're telling me.”
“I better follow her,” Paige's dad said, taking off after Irie.
Mom and daughter were alone.
“Thanks again for watching her, Mom.”
“Of course, sweetheart. You know we're always willing. So how are you? Ready for another day of work?”
“Another day, another dollar,” Paige said, forcing a smile.
“How was your date last night?”
“Oh—it was okay,” Paige stammered. She knew she was a horrible liar, but she didn't have the heart to tell her Mom that the coward hadn't even bothered to show up.
Mom went along with the lie. “Yeah? Do you think you'll see him again?”
“Who knows. I guess we'll see.”
“There's plenty of good men out there, Paige.”
Yeah, that's what Mom always said, but Tinder wasn't around in her day. The game had changed a lot, and modern dating was nothing but a joke now. Guys wanted to meet up and get laid—the last thing they wanted was a serious commitment. When they saw a 23 year old single mother, they ran for the door. And why shouldn't they, when they could swipe a finger and meet another girl without all the baggage?
The only question was why her date last night had even agreed to meet at all—because Paige didn't hide the fact that she had a daughter on her dating profile. But ever since last night, he'd stopped answering texts and disappeared from the radar. Paige knew she'd never get an answer. It wasn't a surprise, but it was one more disappointment in a long line of them.
Paige's mom gestured down the hall, where Irie's laughs and squeals could be heard. “It breaks my heart that Adam has a daughter so beautiful and he's not even around to watch her grow up. That he'd rather smoke pot and—”
“I know, Mom. Please … I can't do this right now. I can't go into work in a bad mood.”
She forced a smile. “Sorry. It's just—Irie deserves to have a dad. And you deserve to have somebody, too. You need help. You can't do it all yourself. And someday, I really think you should go back to school—”
“I know, Mom, I know.” Paige's chest tightened with an awful pressure. Naturally, Paige wanted the same for Irie and herself. But she had no idea how to begin working towards a better life when every moment was spent struggling just to make it through the day.
Paige looked at her watch. “I should say bye to Irie and get going before I'm late.”
The two women walked into the living room, where Paige's dad was watching over Irie. She held a mini wooden hockey stick in her hand, while Rascal—Mom and Dad's schnauzer—watched the child like a hawk, his stubby tail anxiously swinging left and right.
Paige laughed. “What exactly's going on in here?”
“You have to watch this,” Dad said, looking awed.
Irie centered herself over a foam ball that laid on the carpet. She pulled back with her mini-hockey stick and swung. The ball scooted over the carpet, and Rascal pounced. He snatched the ball up in his jaws and proudly trotted it right back to Irie, placing it right in front of her to do it all over again.
Irie snickered. She had a hilarious laugh when she found something deeply amusing—it came from deep in her throat, like a tickled growl. She teed the ball up a second time, swung, and Rascal raced off once again.
“She must've remembered this from the other day,” Dad said.
“Wait, she's done this before?” Paige asked.
“Yes! That's why she was in such a hurry—she made a bee line for the toy bin and pulled her hockey stick right out. I'm impressed.”
“But who are you more impressed by, Irie or Rascal?” Mom joked as the dog dutifully returned the ball to Irie for a third time.
“Where'd she even get the stick from?”
“That's another thing,” Dad said. “When I took her to the toy store, she yanked it right off the shelf herself. She wouldn't let it go—not without a fight, anyway. She just had to have it. Maybe it's a sign? The kid just might like hockey. Who knows.”
“So Irie likes hockey. That's so random,” Paige reflected with a small laugh.
“I wonder if she'd like to go to a game?” Dad asked, wondering aloud as he stroked his chin. “I could check and see if the Fury are playing tonight. Maybe I could buy some tickets online?”
“Don't you think she's a little young for that kind of thing? It'll be so loud and scary.”
“I'm not so sure, Paige. She's awfully outgoing. And if she hates it, we'll leave. Simple as that.”
“Hey, I won't stop you.” Paige shrugged. “Anyway, I need to get going. Thanks again.”
Paige hugged Mom and Dad and said bye to Irie. Irie began to sob, like always—but when the hockey stick was placed back in her hands, she wiped the tears from her eyes and gathered herself.
Amazing, Paige thought as she walked out to her car. She stopped crying that easily.
With every day that passed, Irie grew a little older, and a new facet of her personality shined through, like a diamond glinting in the light. Were those aspects of Irie also glimpses of her father? A clue about the kind of man he was? Paige didn't know. She knew nothing about the guy, really.
She only knew his name: Lance. Some random guy she met at the bar. A cocky guy with a cock piercing. A guy who was supposed to be a one-night stand to get over her cheating ex … and yet, she ended up trying to raise a daughter by herself.
She sighed.
Lance from Boston.
That's all she had to go on.
Paige turned the key to her beat-up 1987 Honda Civic. The engine whinnied and coughed before it finally fired, belching a plume of bluish smoke into the cold winter air.