“Now do mine, Mama.”

Izzy sat on the edge of the bathroom counter and waved my mascara wand in her chubby little hand, eyes closed, face tipped up, waiting. I placed a kiss on the tip of her perfect little nose instead.

“You’re so pretty you don’t need mascara.”

Her eyes popped open. “But you’re beautiful, Mama, and you need it.”

I looked at my image in the mirror. Smudged, smoky black eyeliner around ice-blue eyes; several thick coats of mascara; penciled eyebrows; lined lips. Blond hair bleached even lighter, curled into soft waves falling to the middle of my back.

I had my mother to thank for my body. Although I was a bit taller, we had the same long legs and narrow waists. And my friend Diane insisted Mom and I must’ve been standing in line with both hands out when the good Lord was passing out boobs—and then greedily come back for more.

Beautiful? It was an illusion. A disguise. It was the armor I wore to protect the fifteen-year-old hiding inside, the girl I was before my daddy died and I let my life spiral out of control.

I leaned in and applied a layer of lip gloss over my pale nude lipstick.

“Pucker up,” I said to Izzy, making a kissy face. “I think all you need tonight is a touch of lip gloss. What do you say?”

Her little head bobbed, curls the color of corn silk bouncing. I lightly touched the wand to her lips. Two small dots, top and bottom. “Now what do we do?”

She pressed her lips together and moved them side to side.

“Perfect!”

I plucked her off the counter and set her on the floor. “Your suitcase packed?”

I probably had the only five-year-old in New Jersey who could pack her own suitcase, but between staying with my mom a couple nights a week and weekends with Jeff’s parents, or with Jeff when he wasn’t away at school, Izzy knew what she needed to bring. And since she’d begun packing it herself, Mom no longer had to make extra trips back to my apartment to grab whatever I’d forgotten to throw in the suitcase.

She zipped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, returning with the daisy-covered suitcase on wheels Jeff’s parents had given her last Christmas.

“Do you remember the plan?”

The way she huffed and rolled her eyes, you would’ve thought she was fifteen instead of five. “Jeff is picking me up and taking me to his new house and tomorrow he’s bringing me to Gramma and Grampa’s for dinner and that’s where you’ll pick me up.”

“Iz, what did I tell you?”

Her lower lip popped out and her little brow furrowed. “But I don’t like calling him Daddy. His friends laugh at me.”

I dropped to my knees and brought my face closer to hers. “They’re not laughing at you, pumpkin. They’re laughing because they don’t understand how great it is to be a daddy. Honestly? I bet they’re jealous.”

The look she gave me said she saw right through me. Jeff was an ass, but he had been the most popular ass in high school, and I hadn’t exactly been thinking straight back then. He’d broken up with me about a minute after I told him I was pregnant. He left for college before Izzy was born. Over the past few years, he hadn’t really spent much time with her other than an occasional weekend when he visited his parents, and I imagined it was only because they insisted.

When he graduated and got a job and a place of his own, he’d said he would take her twice a month but that didn’t last long. We were down to once a month now, and those visits, according to Izzy, featured a bunch of guys hanging around Jeff’s living room, watching sports, both Saturday and Sunday.

When Jeff knocked a short time later, Izzy dragged herself off the sofa and trudged toward the door like she was heading for a firing squad. She pulled it open and Jeff’s lean, lanky frame filled the doorway.

“Hey, kiddo, you ready to roll?” The hint of impatience in his voice had me wanting to kick him right in the nuts.

She looked at me, her eyes pleading. My daughter would rather sit on the floor in my mother’s office and color, instead of spend a weekend with her father.

“Iz, go pick out a bottle of nail polish so that Daddy can paint your nails this weekend.”

Her little mouth dropped. “Really?”

“Rain—”

“Go on. Make sure you find something good.”

When she scampered from the room I addressed the sperm donor.

“Listen to me. You need to spend time with her. Not park her in front of the TV in your room to watch cartoons while you and your buddies—”

Jeff pushed off the door frame and strolled into my living room. “Don’t lecture me—”

He was lucky I wasn’t doing far worse. “I’m not lecturing. I’m advocating. That’s my kid, and she doesn’t exactly look forward to weekends with her father. Jesus, Jeff. You see her for what? Thirty hours a month? And half of that time she’s probably asleep.”

He brushed his hair from his forehead as his eyes drifted from my mouth, down the column of my throat, and landed on my breasts.

“Eyes up here!” I snapped.

He did as I asked, but I still wanted to smack the smirk off his face.

“Tell your buddies to stay home this week and do something with her. She deserves it. I’m not asking for me.” I lowered my voice so that there was no chance she would hear me, and took a step closer. “She’s your daughter. Make the next few hours about her. Could you do that, please?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, and if Izzy hadn’t appeared behind me, chances were good he’d be lying on my deck, clutching his nut sack. God, he brought out the worst in me. How the hell half of his DNA had helped create this exquisite little person was a mystery to me. I took a deep cleansing breath to steady myself.

Izzy excitedly held up five bottles of nail polish—one for each finger on each hand of course—from light pink to deep red, including my favorite Victoria’s Secret pink. “I’m ready,” she announced. At least now she sounded like she meant it.

I squatted beside her, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Hugs and kisses, punkin. Now you be good for Daddy, okay? You’re going to have so much fun this weekend.” I cocked my head up toward her father. “Right, Daddy?”

He gave me a sour look as he chewed on the side of his mouth, but when he smiled at Izzy, at least it was genuine.

He snatched up her suitcase. “You bet. But I don’t know how to put on nail polish.”

She tucked her little hand in his and heaved a great sigh. “Oh, Daddy. I guess I’ll just have to teach you.”