Page 51 of The Dating Charade

Three turns, one water-fountain break, and a staircase later, he was finally, finally scribbling their names with numb fingers onto a check-in sheet. A young girl and waiting couple watched him silently as he wrote the contact information while gripping TJ in one arm. He finished, and pushed the clipboard the girl’s way, trying to manage a well-adjusted smile while every piece of evidence suggested the contrary: He was thirty minutes late to the service. Freshly splattered grape juice decorated his white button-up and crooked green tie. He felt the sticky residue of Dakota’s sucker on his neck.

The door to the room opposite opened. A single line of toddlers obediently marched out.

Drew, in the meantime, was rolling in the middle of the hall.

“Oh, Mrs. Davis,” the girl called out. “We have two more who’d like to join you all today.”

Mrs. Davis took one look at the twins and kept walking.

“Mrs. Davis,” the girl called out again. She snapped her fingers. Leaned over the counter. “Mrs. Davis!”

“Hm?” Mrs. Davis paused, as though giving in to the fact she was actually going to have to take them. “Oh, were you talking to me, dear?”

With a bit more prodding, for the twins and Mrs. Davis, Dakota and Drew finally joined the marching line and headed down the hall.

Now, just one more kid to unload, and he’d be free.

“And if the baby falls asleep?” The mother beside him clasped tightly onto an infant twice TJ’s size while the father held a supportive arm around her shoulder. She was bouncing as she spoke to the girl at the desk. “Do you lay them on their stomachs or on their backs?”

“On their backs, ma’am. We follow safe-sleeping guidelines.”

“And during diaper changes? You wouldn’t put some synthetic cream on my baby without consent?”

“No, ma’am. But to make sure, we can write that as a request on your family profile.”

“Oh, yes. Please do.” The mother squinted toward the caretakers behind the girl—three ladies in their mid-seventies wearing white aprons and rocking infants. “They have all had their background checks?”

Check-In Girl nodded patiently, as if such paranoid behavior was routine. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How about your cleaning supplies? Do you know if you use bleach? Or vinegar?”

“I—” The girl looked uncertain this time. “I think so. I can ask if you’d like.”

“You think so, what? Yes, to bleach?” The woman bounced more rapidly on her toes and shot a glance to her husband. “Honey, if they’re going to use bleach on the toys, and then Thomas goes around licking them—”

“Darling, he can’t even crawl yet. I doubt he’ll be licking the toys.”

Jett leaned against the counter while the check-in girl stood on a chair, moving bottles around above the diaper-changing station. At this point, he would’ve taken an hour of lying in the middle of the hallway so long as he could just do it without kids. He could sleep on this countertop if they just let him.

Six more questions, a handoff of a diaper bag larger than some suitcases, and one painfully long good-bye to their child with fourteen kisses—he counted—and it was finally his turn.

“Here he is. I think he’s pooped.” Jett held TJ out, sans diaper bag, sans directions, sans kisses and painfully long hugs.

She took him in her arms, calling out as he started around the corner. “Sir? About TJ’s date of birth.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his feet for obeying and turning around. “Yes?”

“You left it blank.”

“October.” He threw out a number. “Let’s say October 25th.”

“Sorry, sir. But childcare is only available for children eight weeks and up.”

“The first, then. Does that work?” He adjusted his crooked, dripping tie.

Her lips parted, then shut, then opened again. She patted TJ’s back. “Yes, sir. Okay, I’ll write that down.”

“Thank you.”