Terry Essig - Mad For The Dad

I’ll always be grateful that when I crashed the wagon I was pulling you in, we were on Rachel’s front lawn and she came out to check out our injuries. Do you realize how many variables had to fall perfectly into place for things to have worked out the way they did? Talk about fate.

So you better be on your best behavior, kid, ‘cause I can’t do this parenthood thing alone. I mean, Rachel thinks you’re cute as a button, but that doesn’t mean she wants to spend her free time with a drooling toddler and a dad-in-training who just recently recovered from Teething 101.

So remember—no crying when Rachel comes over. And maybe Uncle Daniel will get a kiss….

Love,

Daniel

“My, oh my, would you look at that,” Rachel Gatlin commented as she propped her hip on the windowsill of her new apartment. Touching her cheek to the glass so she could get a better view down the street, she repeated, “My, oh my.”

Her sister, Eileen, on the other end of the phone and across town had no such opportunity to take in the view. “I hate it when you do that,” she informed Rachel. “Who’s there? What are you looking at? Tell me,” she commanded firmly. “It isn’t anything gross, is it? We should have done a better job of checking out that neighborhood before you signed the lease. I knew it.”

Gross? Not so’s you’d notice, Rachel thought before responding. The scene captivating her attention was anything but disgusting. “There’s this really cute guy, and I mean really cute guy—not that I’m swayed by externals any longer, you understand. Next time I’m going for substance—anyway, this really, really cute guy is coming down the block pulling a little red wagon loaded with two bags of groceries and a screaming toddler.” She paused, studying both man and child. “It’s so much funnier when it’s somebody else’s screaming toddler, isn’t it? And I just love it when the macho manly types have to play Mr. Mom and find out what it’s all about.”

“Yeah, I do, too. Hmm, did you say really, really cute? Two reallies worth of cute? Let’s think about this, Rachel. This could be your golden opportunity to start meeting the neighbors,” Eileen said, and Rachel could almost hear the wheels in her brain turning through the phone line. “Sooo,” she continued, “instead of sitting there admiring his body from a distance and gloating, why don’t you run down there and throw yourself in front of the wagon? Introduce yourself and promise not to sue if he’s willing to kiss you and make your owies all better.”

Rachel snorted inelegantly as she continued to watch the unfolding scene below. Mr. Macho had stopped the wagon in front of the two-flat next to hers. Little One had been trying to stand up. Looked like a boy from here. He was now being firmly placed back down on his little bottom. Even from two stories up, Rachel could see that the power struggle between adult and child was causing the grocery bags to list and the wagon to wobble a bit. She wanted to open the window and warn him of the impending disaster, but managed to refrain. One shouldn’t interfere in a domestic squabble, she reminded herself. Too dangerous—especially a battle of the wills involving a toddler.

“Maybe next time,” Rachel said noncommittally. “They’re already moving on, anyway.” Besides, the guy was probably married. He was out there with a kid, wasn’t he? And nobody with a backside like that—he was walking backward now in order to keep his eye on the child, so she was in a position to judge and it was good…Really good…Really, really good—could have survived all that long without somebody claiming him somewhere along the line. Rachel sucked in her breath. “Uh-oh. I’ve got to go, Eileen. Handsome just tripped over a big wheel he didn’t see. He’s flat on the ground right underneath my living room window.” She felt an odd sense of gladness that she was being forced to act. Rachel didn’t care to examine the feeling too carefully. It was simply an opportunity to meet a neighbor while performing a corporal work of mercy, that was all. It had nothing to do with his fantastic butt nor those exceptionally fine shoulders that were almost as wide as the strip of sidewalk he currently covered. She was immune to that kind of thing now.

She was sure she was.

“How can you not see a Big Wheel? What is he, blind?” Eileen asked.

“He was walking backward in order to keep his eye on the kid, all right?” Rachel said, defending the unknown man. “And right now he’s on his rear end. The wagon’s tipped over and there are apples and cans of something or another rolling down the sidewalk. From here, the kid looks like he’s screaming his cute little head off, although he, at least, got dumped into the grass and not on the cement sidewalk. I gotta go and make sure they’re all right.”

“While you’re out there, see if you can’t find out if he’s married—casually, of course,” Eileen immediately urged. “You never know. He might be just baby-sitting or something.”

“Yeah, right.” Men that looked like Greek gods did not baby-sit in order to make ends meet, at least not in Rachel’s experience. Rachel squinted and studied him more thoroughly. No, this was no male nanny. A man with a body like that could make a fortune modeling undershorts—the snug, close-fitting kind. He was up on his hands and knees now, clearly not in need of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Rachel sighed in disappointment. “Even if he was free, I’m sure he’d be too young for me. I’m telling you, Eileen, I think I might have had a hot flash the other day. At the very least, it was a definite sensation of warmth.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re not that old. Get a grip and stop with the self-pity. Pinch your cheeks on your way down the stairs so you’ve got a little color and get out in front so you can see how badly they’re hurt. If it’s anything serious, they’ll be half dead by the time you get your buns moving. Be sure to look at his ring finger when you check for broken bones. And find out where he lives. One never knows.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but rather than get involved in another discussion, she bit her tongue and kept her mouth shut.

“Call me back. I’ll want all the gory details.”

“In your dreams. Goodbye, Eileen.”

“I mean it. Now hurry up, before somebody else beats you to him. Go.”

“I’m gone. Bye.” Rachel hung up the phone in defeat. Eileen was only two years older than Rachel, but Rachel had never come out on top of an argument yet. She shrugged philosophically—in the long run, she’d be proven right this time. Handsome was married and the screaming meemie down there was his, she just knew it. She grabbed the keys to her apartment from the end table over by the sofa. Then she took off out the door to check on Handsome and his little progeny, but it was only because she was a Good Samaritan and her First Aid Certificate had another six months before it expired, that was all.

By the time Rachel bounded down the steps and out the entrance of the two-flat, the object of her concern had picked himself up and was trying to comfort the toddler he now held to his chest. Little One was still exercising his vocal cords at top volume. Handsome alternated between awkwardly patting him on the back with his free hand and covering his ear—the one closest to the tyke’s mouth. With his feet, he was attempting to corral cans and apples into a smaller area near the overturned wagon.

“Hi,” Rachel said, breathless from doing the stairs and not from the realization that up close, the man truly was drop-dead gorgeous—not that her interest sprang from anything other than the purely aesthetic appreciation such an outstanding example of male perfection of form deserved, of course. “I saw your mishap from my window. What can I do to help?”