Fuck me sideways.

“You want to dance ballet? Like tutus and stuff?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice but failed. Her head bobbed, brown eyes twinkling, curls flying. I snuck a glance at the social worker across the table then my mother leaning against the counter. “Of course, Princess. I said pick an activity. If dancing is what you want, we’ll dance.” Celia jumped from her perch on the table in front of me to nuzzle into my neck. My arms dwarfed her, causing her to vanish against my chest. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Anything else?” Celia clung to me, holding the stuffed horse while she traced the tattoo on my wrist.

Annie, the social worker, pursed her lips when she saw what my daughter was doing. Yeah, keep judging, lady.

“No, it seems like we are making a lot of progress. Is she making friends?” I shook my head discreetly. Not only did I not want to admit it, but I didn’t want Celia thinking anything was wrong. Her security was everything, and any hint of discord sent her over the edge.

“Maybe dance will help with her social skills. If not, maybe adding another day of preschool to the week will push it along. It’s important Celia make connections with other children her age.” I grit my teeth. Why could the woman not say I was doing a good job? Just once it would be nice to hear that all my patience and time was making a difference. Instead, we always ended on the negative. Forget about Celia finally talking to me, Mom, and Annie. Forget that we didn’t even have to coax her into an extracurricular or have massive meltdowns about simply going to school anymore. None of it mattered as long as there was still something she didn’t like. The thing Annie didn’t like was me.

Her holier than thou attitude got on my last fucking nerve, but all I had to do was suck it up for another two months. Two more months and I was rid of Annie. No more home visits; no more welfare checks. Celia would be all mine. Then no one else could look down on my occupation or ink. Well, they could, but it wouldn’t matter. Annie stood, tucking her notebook under her arm and extending her hand. I shook it, thanked her for coming, then let her out, all with Celia still attached to my hip. I wanted to slam the door but clicked it closed quietly.

Mom could see the anger boiling below the surface but made some comment about “little pitchers” before she waved me into the other room.

“What do you think about a trip to the park? Then we can go see Hattie?” Celia bounced on my hip, wiggling out of my grip to go get her shoes. She always left near the front door. I wanted more than anything to know what her mother had expected of her, how she knew to go get her shoes, and if her mom would think I was doing a good job. Trina must have done something right before whatever happened, but I knew nothing. I wanted to think that Celia’s mother had only messed up toward the end, but I knew better. Celia told me she'd never had a real bed before and cried happy tears when I took her to see her new room.

It was a white frame with a glittering pink canopy. Ponies covered the blankets. It was her second day with me. She didn’t sleep in it, at least not alone, until nearly a month later. She was in Mom’s bed, my bed, or one of us laid down with her. We tried to sneak out after she was asleep, but the night terrors made all sleep impossible. It was a rough month, but we stuck it out.

Before I knew it, Celia was at the door, ready to go, horse in hand. The horse was the only thing she came with other than an ill-fitting shirt and a pair of underwear. I let her pick out all her own clothes the first day. She didn’t speak but pointed and smiled when she was pleased. Who knew a guy like me would have so much damn pink in his house? The parenting learning curve was steep as hell, but I thought I was faring well. Considering what Celia had been through, she was a fucking warrior. My little warrior princess.

She held my hand all the way to the park, which was only three blocks, then handed me her horse to run straight for the slide. It was her favorite. Before Celia came to me, I had no idea there was even a park in the area, much less one so nice. The area was filled with college hipsters and older couples. The in-between crowd was sparse, but the house was nice, it was accessible to work, the library, and the preschool. We could walk anywhere we needed to when the weather was nice.

We played a while before heading to work, walking down the cracked sidewalk along Broadway. My first appointment was in an hour, so we had plenty of time, but I wanted to get set up and have Celia ready with a project until Mom came to get her. Her pink plush chair with a matching lap desk were right next to my station. She was supplied with paper and pencils to make her own art while I did mine. Hattie was outside when we got there with some blonde chick pressed up against the wall. I hurried Celia past before she caught her idol dry humping another female. I was not in a position to judge considering my lifestyle before Celia came around. Plus, Hattie was the most badass chick I had ever met. Tattooed, edgy, with a filthy mouth, but none of that meant my little girl needed to watch the PDA Hattie was engaged in.

“Is Hattie coming in to see me?” Celia’s tiny voice got lost in a place like Needles, but I heard her.

“Yeah, Princess. She’ll be right in to see you. Want a treat from The Brew?” I knew treats would make her happy.

“Please?” Her eyes always got bigger at the mention of treats. A love of sweets was one trait she got from me. Our sweet tooth ran deep. Nothing about her appearance hinted that I could be her father, but I couldn’t have cared less. My skin free of ink was as pale as it gets, a tribute to my English heritage, where hers was more like caramel. Her eyes were a warm brown to my ice blue. She did have my height and the same jawline, but people never saw past the skin tone difference to see any other similarities, though. Hell, even if the DNA test had come back negative, I would have fought for her. I had no desire to settle down much less have kids, but I loved my little girl with my whole heart as soon as I laid eyes on her. Nothing would take her from me.

My first piece of the day was a butterfly tramp stamp. Sometimes my job sucked. The girl was pretty enough with a short blond ponytail and tons of curves, but she seemed a little more interested in Hattie than she was me. It was funny as hell to watch Hattie strut by at least a hundred times for no reason, making trips to the back when there was nothing back there she needed. My client’s head would tilt to follow Hattie’s swaying ass every time. I could only shake my head.

Mom picked up Celia, I did a few more generic tattoos, then stood outside the piercing room listening to a man cry like a bitch over getting his nipples pierced. Even Hattie made fun of that guy. She was usually all sweet when someone couldn’t handle the pain, but the poor guy got no mercy. When he walked out in his leather biker cut, I understood why Hattie was giving him shit. No guy who looked as badass as him should cry over nipple piercings.

At home, I surfed the web, looking for a dance studio to sign my princess up at. Lucky for me, I found one a couple of miles up the road with great reviews and a class for her age. I filled out the form, paid with my card, and wrote her first dance lesson down on the kitchen calendar. I had no intention of forgetting it, and knew Celia wouldn’t, either, but it looked better during home visits to have cute family shit up.

For what felt like the millionth night in a row, I sat up trying to remember Celia’s mother. The snapshot was in the drawer in Celia’s room, I had stared at it for hours after Celia showed up, but I couldn’t place the woman. The thought made my stomach sour. She may have been a druggie, but she wasn’t a whore. A pro wouldn’t have known who her baby belonged to. Trina knew. Hell, she filled in the birth certificate and signed my name where the father went. I was always so damn careful, but somehow, I had messed up. I missed the first five years of my daughter’s life. Had I known, I could have saved my little girl from the trauma her mother caused, but I had no idea.

I went to sleep the same way I had every night for four months—alone, and pissed.

* * *

The window on the wooden door gave me a clear view of the other parents in the room. Well, it wasn’t parents, it was moms. Six, to be exact. There were at least twenty folding chairs, but the group was very segregated. On one end was a group of five women all looking like they just came from doing yoga or some shit. The other end was a single woman with her brown hair in a ponytail, wearing all black. Her arms and legs were both crossed, but not defensively. Even from behind, she was hot as hell. While the other women were engrossed in conversation, the one in black watched the girls through the glass intently. From the diversity in the room, it was clear who the little girl in the black outfit belonged to. Through the glass, I watched the six little girls stretch and giggle— five in pink, one in black. I watched a second longer, suddenly realizing I would be trapped in a room with those women for half an hour.

I owned my appearance. I knew years ago the ink would get me stares, but the thought of Celia being judged by my appearance was sickening. Truth be told, I looked like a badass motherfucker, not a dad at dance class. I was doing the damn dance class for her and was going to have to defend my parenting from day one by the looks of things. With one more scan of the room, I pulled the door open, shoving down my fear of six women I didn’t know.