Dating Greg is amazing. Not because we do anything out of the ordinary. But because he is an amazing person. And he treats me like he thinks I’m amazing, too. That, in and of itself, is a wonderful feeling.
Some days we’ll meet up in the mornings for spin class or so I can walk on the treadmill while he runs. He’s taught me how to get the damn machine to work. That’s been nice.
Some days we’ll go out to breakfast once the girls are at school. Max doesn’t mind as long as she gets pancakes. Every. Single. Time.
Some days we’ll text until he goes to work and I get busy with the girls.
Weekends, though, those have been incredible.
He brings Peyton over for playdates. We take the girls to the movies. We go bowling. Sometimes Callie joins us. Sometimes she doesn’t.
My childless weekends are extra fun. Besides trying different restaurants and even a wine bar, we’ve been known to spend a lot of time making out on my couch. Other than eating each other’s faces off, we’ve taken things very slow physically. I know he’s respecting me and giving me time to push through my own insecurities. But I feel like there’s something else going on as well. Like he’s taken a vow of celibacy, or he’s trying to win a bet. I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it’s giving us a chance to really get to know each other on a more personal level, and I like that.
Despite our shift in relationship status, we still keep our Thursday playdates with Callie. When Christopher was passive aggressively unenrolled in the little kids’ gymnastics class we all sort of gave up on it. Max wasn’t learning much anyway, and Greg said the instructor was about as effective as a cassette player in a music store. It took me a minute to figure out he meant the instructor’s techniques were antiquated and unsafe.
I’d never even noticed there was an actual goal in that class beyond, “Don’t let Christopher hurt himself.” I was so busy trying to get Max to try things while laughing my ass off at Callie trying to stop Christopher from trying things. I admit, I deferred to Greg’s expertise on the instruction.
Now we come to this amazing park about fifteen minutes south of our neighborhood. The playground is humongous. Two giant swing sets that connect with a narrow, yet fully-enclosed bridge are on prominent display. There are several different sized slides attached, as well as monkey bars for the big kids, built-in fine motor toys for the little kids, and swings for every kid.
I will never know why we ever spent money on a class when this was practically in our backyard.
“I like your shirt,” Callie remarks, as we watch the kids play on the lime green wooden seesaw that coordinates with the rest of the bright-colored toys. It’s a child’s dream.
Greg and Peyton are running late. Something about his ex claiming Peyton was sick and an argument over her being outside. I don’t know. He sounded miffed when I called. I decided it was best to let him stew on it himself.
“The lady at the grocery store liked it, too,” I reply to Callie’s comment about my shirt. When the woman approached me at HEB and asked where I got it, I was shocked. Callie’s been claiming RowRow Apparel is the hottest trend right now, but I didn’t really believe her. She tends to get excited about things no one else cares about. But when that woman squealed and asked who my dealer was—yes, like clothing is a drug or something, which I guess to Callie it is—I begrudgingly admitted Callie might be on to something.
She gives me a smug look, but I refuse to take my eyes off the kids. I’m not avoiding her, per se. I don’t really care if she was right as much as I care that she gets flustered by my lack of care. What can I say? Sometimes I have to make my own entertainment.
Plus, I have a feeling this seesaw thing is about to go bad, and I need to be ready to spring into action.
Realizing she’s gotten nowhere with getting a rise out of me, Callie tries again. “Did you at least give her my business card?”
“Of course I did. And I may have encouraged her to set up a party at her house.”
“Oh yay!” she squeals and begins clapping, distracting Max from her play. Uh oh. “Did you get her name? Should I call her first?”
“No, she was in a rush.” As Max’s side of the seesaw lowers to the ground, she loses any remaining interest in the activity. “But whatever-her-name-is said she’d call you tonight. I guess she needs to place an order soon or something.”
Before I can tell her to wait, Max scrambles off the seesaw and runs away. This, of course, causes Christopher to plummet to the ground, the force of the fall throwing him backward, where he rolls into the dirt and lets out a high-pitched wail for his mother. I’ve never heard him make a peep when he’s fallen before. Either it’s really bad, or he’s changing up his M-O.
“Oh shit,” Callie exclaims and jogs her way to him to do all her boo-boo inspections.
“I see this playdate is already going well.” Greg comes up from behind me and plants a kiss right on my lips. “Hey, babe. Sorry we’re late.” Peyton runs by as fast as her little legs will go, heading straight for her favorite person… Christopher. She jumps onto him, tackling him back into the dirt again. Callie throws her hands in the air in defeat and reaches down to try again. As soon as he saw Peyton coming, Christopher’s tears dried up anyway, so Callie’s ministrations are no longer needed, whether she likes it or not.
Callie is going to be chopped liver when Christopher is old enough to have a girlfriend that meets all his needs. And the fall out is going to be epic, I know it.
I grab one of the bags from Greg as we walk to the nearest picnic table under the shade. It was his turn to bring lunch for everyone, which I’ve been looking forward to. He makes fantastic sandwiches. “Are you ok after your run in with Libby?”
He avoids eye contact with me, instead opting to sigh deeply and pull the food out to set up. “Yeah. Just frustrated. I’m ok with Libby hating me, ya know? I don’t understand it, but I’m ok with it. What I’m not ok with is her trying to keep Pey from me all the time. When did I become the bad guy in all this?”
My heart goes out to him. There are so many deadbeat dads out there who get away with never seeing their kids, never providing for them. But when a man like Greg comes along who wants more time with his daughter, he has to fight for it. I know there’s more to the story, but he looks dejected so I don’t push him.
Callie, on the other hand, has no filter.
“Why do you look like someone boiled your bunny?” She plops down on the bench, having given up on her son, and pops a chip in her mouth, oblivious to the severity of the situation.
“Callie,” I warn, hoping she’ll pick up on my cue to shut up.
She looks at me, confused. “What? Is something going on?”
“Yes,” Greg snaps. “Something is going on. My fucking ex-wife wants to take my daughter on a weekend trip to San Antonio.” We stare blankly until he gets to the punchline. “To visit some guy she met online.”
Callie and I both gasp, but she recovers faster than I do, and the gloves come off. “Nuh uh. No. Nope. No fucking way. She’s a fucking fruit loop if she thinks that’s a good idea. Give me her phone number.”
I put my hand on her arm to stop her rant, my eyes never leaving Greg. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking at the ground. His breathing is heavy and his jaw is clenched. I’ve never seen him pissed off, but he’s trying really hard to control himself. “What did she say when you told her no?”
He huffs a sad laugh. “That’s when she started claiming Peyton was sick, and I had to fight to take her.”
We remain silent, giving him a minute to collect himself. He must be doing breathing exercises and counting to ten or something, because he literally shakes his head, like he’s shaking off all the stress. “Well, enough of that.” He moves to continue unpacking the juice he brought. “We only have a couple hours and I’d rather spend it making good memories with my kid.”
“So go.” I grab the juice boxes out of his hand and gesture to Peyton. It’s obvious he needs time with his daughter to help him get it all back into perspective again. Adult interaction can come later. “Go play with her.”
He looks at me briefly, then smiles and runs off. I watch as he sneaks up on Peyton and grabs her from behind, swinging her into the air as she squeals in delight. His love for her is so transparent, it makes me sad Libby would try to take it away.
That’s one of the sucky things about being divorced with kids. Even after the person breaks your trust, you’re forced to still trust them with the well-being of the most precious things in your life—your kids. Regardless of how you feel, until the other person breaks the court’s trust, it doesn’t matter. And by the time a court sees it, the damage to the child has been done.
It’s a no-win situation sometimes. And it sucks.
My best friend, being absolutely no help with setting up lunch, pops another chip in her mouth. “You need to give him a blow job,” she says casually as she chews.
“Callie!” I exclaim.
“What?” She shrugs like she didn’t just suggest fellatio in the middle of a playground as a way to fix a custody dispute. “He’s stressed. You’re horny.” I gape at her, but all she does is roll her eyes and point a chip at me. “Don’t even deny it. Making out only does so much for you. Go for it.”
“I’m not even going to bother responding to your crazy. If it happens, and that’s a big if,” she begins to protest but I hold my hands up to stop her, “I’m not going to discuss it with you at the park.”
She looks at me smugly. “What about at a dive bar during girls’ night while your mom babysits.”
I look over, pretending to think, and then back at her. “Ok maybe.” She laughs because she knows I’m not stupid. She’ll figure out when I have my first non-self-induced orgasm before I even have a chance to tell her. It’s like she has a radar for these things.
Finally having everything ready to go, I look around the area to make sure the kids are ok. I know Greg’s been right in the thick of it all, but I can’t help when my mom instinct kicks in. And as it turns out, my instinct is dead on.
Christopher is sitting on top of a riding toy that’s shaped like a giant duck. It used to be yellow, but now it’s a faded shade of yellow-beige. Who knows how long the thing has been here. It’s held upright by an industrial sized spring so, theoretically, it can rock back and forth. But in this case, the spring looks really, well, sprung. As Christopher rocks forward, the duck doesn’t spring back into place. Instead, it keeps going forward. All the way, until the beak is touching the ground and Christopher rolls headfirst over the duck’s head, landing in the dirt again.
“Good lord, can he not stay off the ground today?” Callie grumbles as she stalks off to make sure he doesn’t have some sort of concussion.
My eyes search the playground for my child, and I find her. She and Greg and Peyton are all on the slides, side by side, getting ready to race. Max doesn’t look like she’s just having fun, she appears to be elated to have Greg’s attention. Both girls do. And although lunch is ready to go, I don’t call everyone over. This is one of those rare, beautiful moments that I want to observe, and lock into my memory.
For a split-second, I let myself wonder what life would have been like if I had met and married someone like Greg all those years ago instead of James.
But that train of thought isn’t productive and only depresses me. I’d rather enjoy this precious moment and make a mental note of what I hope my future holds.
It’s still too early to know if that future includes Greg. But he’s a very good reminder of what I want. And I won’t settle for anything less for me or my girls.