Page 21 of Dibs
“Knock, knock,” Brandy, a fellow history teacher, called from my open door.
“Hey, Brandy. Come on in.”
She strolled over to where I sat, her heels clicking on the tile floor before perching herself on the corner of my desk.
“How was your weekend? We missed you at The Brickhouse on Friday.”
A group of teachers met up once a month for drinks as a way to destress from the expectations of working for the public school system. I joined them as often as possible, but being a divorced dad while teaching, coaching, and playing with my band, I had little time left for other things.
“I’ll try to catch the next one,” I promised. “My son’s fall ball season just wrapped up, so I should have a little extra time.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she responded with a gleam in her eye. “Maybe we don’t need to wait until the next staff get-together. We could grab a drink this Friday.”
Heather accused me of being oblivious, but I wasn’t as dumb as she thought. I knew women flirted with me often, and Brandy wasn’t any different. The muscles and the tattoos that ran down both arms from my shoulders to the tops of my hands seemed to garner attention. While it felt nice to know people found me attractive, I didn’t do anything to encourage the flirting. I wouldn’t do that to Heather. Having been burned in the past, I’d never dream of stepping out when I was in a relationship.
“My girlfriend and I have plans on Friday.”
Her shoulders slumped and the bell rang, forcing Brandy to return to her classroom. As my students filed in, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and noticed it was the middle school calling. I hit the answer button and stepped into the hallway.
“Mr. Statler?” a woman on the other end asked.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Hi, Mr. Statler, this is Sandra from Pine Middle School. We have Dylan here in the office. He got sick right before class and has thrown up twice. You’ll need to come pick him up.”
I ran a hand down my face. “Okay. Someone will be there to get him as soon as possible.” I walked back into the classroom and addressed my students. “Take out your textbooks and start reading chapter five, please.”
As the kids did what I asked, I texted Lisa.
Dylan got sick at school today. Could you pick him up?
Lisa worked at a hotel in the Gaslamp Quarter, and last I knew, she was on the late shift.
A couple of minutes later, my phone dinged with a notification.
Lisa: Sorry. I can’t.
There was no explanation as to why she couldn’t pick up her child. No matter how often she flaked on promises she made to our sons or didn’t take on any responsibility, I continued to hope that one day she’d change and act like she gave a damn about our children. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be any time soon.
7
CHASE
Since our divorce,Jamie and I hadn’t spent a holiday together. This year, instead of going to my folks’ for Thanksgiving, I was going to my ex-wife’s place because it was her year with the kids and my parents decided to take a trip to Italy. I’d originally planned on spending it alone, unpacking the rest of my moving boxes and getting my new house in order, but I also wasn’t going to pass up time with Jase and Cammie when Jamie had invited me over.
A few years back, I had wanted to make Thanksgiving even more special since it was always the first holiday after baseball season that I could devote my time to my children and they had to alternate their holidays with my family or Jamie’s, so I’d bought a couple of gingerbread house kits and started a new tradition. Jase and Cammie would decorate theirs—Cammie needing some help—and my parents and I would vote on the best one.
Wanting to make our new life in California even more familiar, I ran it by Jamie and bought two kits to have as part of my Thanksgiving at her place. She’d said it would be a wonderful idea. We’d also had a mini discussion of how custody would go now that I was retired. We’d decided to keep the off-season agreement intact and make it for the entire year, which was the kids staying with one of us for a week at a time and switching off every Friday. Since the following day would be Jamie’s time with the kids, we’d agreed for them to stay the night after Thanksgiving dinner instead of going back and forth.
“Let’s go,” I called out and grabbed the shopping bags with the gingerbread house kits.
“Coming, Daddy!” Cammie shouted from her room.
Footsteps pounded on the hard floor as both of my children came into the kitchen, Cammie running and Jase following behind her.
“Did you pack everything you wanted?” I asked, eyeing the duffle bags in their hands. They had clothes and everything they needed at each of our respective homes, but there was still stuff they liked to take to both places.
“Yep,” they replied at the same time.
