SEAL Daddy by Sofia T Summers
Nicole
When I discovered my writing talent, I’d never intended to become a professor, but there were benefits I appreciated once Charlotte was born. I didn’t have to work during winter or summer breaks unless I wanted some extra money. I could schedule myself to only be on campus on Tuesdays and Thursdays, leaving me free to work from home for the rest of the week. With the modern age of digital learning, two of my four classes that spring semester were online-only. The other two were creative writing and journalism electives that I genuinely enjoyed.
I could see my younger self in my students, all eager to master their craft. Those who wanted to go into journalism and editorial writing like I did appreciated my experience as an active writer. I’d tell them about my current trials as a freelance journalist in the modern era, working part-time for a women’s media group based out of New York.
It was funny how things turned out. The magazine I once adored for its progressive ideas on inclusivity and body positivity folded, but then was purchased and transformed into a digital magazine and website in a matter of months. When I was sitting in my Chapel Hill apartment pregnant and a little nervous about cash, I noticed they were looking for part-time remote writers. I jumped at the chance to apply.
All through my pregnancy, I relied on that income to help support Charlotte, and I still did. Monday and Wednesday afternoons I wasn’t Professor Davis. I was Nicole Davis, a fashion and beauty writer specializing in plus-size fashion and inclusive beauty.
It wasn’t exactly how I dreamed the job would be, working in my spare bedroom instead of a glossy Manhattan skyscraper, but I still interviewed fashion designers and analyzed beauty trends. I was doing what I loved, while still making time for my family.
With Fridays free, I’d catch up on either job or take care of personal errands, but that April afternoon was one of those rare occasions where I didn’t have a dirty kitchen or an article left unwritten. I was able to meet my father during his lunch break and head to the nearby park afterward.
“It’s good to see you out and about, Nicole,” my father remarked. “You’ve been awfully busy these last few weeks.”
Setting Charlotte in the large sandbox, I shrugged. “It was our midterm season. I had to read twenty-eight short stories and thirty-five long-form articles in a matter of weeks, and don’t get me started on my two online courses.”
Dad chuckled, “I won’t. Most of the stuff you say goes right over my head. Appeals and that, um, timing thing you were talking about at Easter.”
“Kairos,” I reminded him. “It’s the rhetoric of timing, like for comedy punch lines or pausing during speeches.”
“Right,” my father remembered with a nod.
Dad had never been much of a literary man. He had a head for statistics, clean-cut numbers that could be calculated and proven. Flowering poetic language or analyzing the symbolism of words just made his eyes glaze over in confusion.
Sitting down on the bench, I watched from a few feet away as Charlotte began to play in the squishy white sand. She used a shovel and pail I’d bought for the beach but forgot in the car. My daughter found it wildly entertaining to fill up the purple plastic pail before dumping it out again. She was making little mounds of earth in a circle around herself as Dad and I looked on.
“She tried tasting sand at the beach last weekend,” I recalled with a grin. “I wish I had a picture of her expression.”
“I remember you being perplexed when we first let you walk on the beach barefoot,” Dad replied. “The sand was a little slick, so your feet would slide just a little. You started getting mad at them, fussing at your own toes. It took everything in me not to laugh at you.”
“How old was I?” I asked, laughing at the thought.
“Oh, between two or three,” Dad sighed contentedly. “It was a vacation we took for your mother’s birthday that July.”
“What beach was it?”
“We’d rented a house down in the Outer Banks for a week,” he recalled. “We went out to a pirate museum once, and we saw that lost colony play on Roanoke Island. I think that day in Manteo was the afternoon your mother wanted to take off your little swimming shoes. It didn’t work out that day, but you got used to it by the end of the trip.”
“Lottie’s seeming to like it more herself,” I remarked.
Ever since that Sunday afternoon, Charlotte made sand her personal study. We would visit the playground in our townhouse community, and my daughter made a beeline for the sandbox. It was like she wanted to memorize every granule as she examined it with great intent.
“She’s always been precocious,” Dad offered with a hint of pride. “Do you remember how many words she knows now?”
“Twenty-some, I think?” I answered slowly. “I’ve started to lose count. She knows ‘beach’ now.”
“Beach!” Charlotte yelled from her spot in the sand.
Dad chuckled before adding, “I bet Lottie would’ve liked to tell Jason her new word this past Tuesday.”
I swallowed hard. No matter how Jessica encouraged me to take a leap of faith, I still wasn’t ready to do it. Dad called me the night before asking if I wanted to go over to Jason’s. I was lucky I had student meetings. Even if I could’ve arrived a little late, I wanted to go home after a long day on campus, take off my bra, and spend time with my daughter before her bedtime.
“It was nice of him to invite us,” I offered before letting the silence go on too long. “But Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days. If it was Saturday or even a Wednesday, I would’ve been more likely to attend.”
“It’s funny you say that because I’m having Jason over tomorrow for dinner, and I want you to come.”
My head snapped towards my father’s unrelenting expression. I’d grown up with that look. He used it when I’d refused to go to bed or when I’d stayed out too late as a teenager. His bullish nature was pushing through his calm exterior, and I knew there was no refusing this time.
“I don’t know, Dad,” I began warily. “I do have some online quizzes to grade, and my house needs a good spring cleaning.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for both this weekend,” Dad insisted. “It’s just a few hours of your Saturday night, and Jason would like to see you. I mean, you both were getting along pretty well two years ago. He was nice enough to drive you up to Richmond when I had to go ahead and make plans with the Methodist church up there. Was I wrong to think you were on good terms?”
Shaking my head, I swore, “It’s not that. It’s just… I haven’t seen him since then.”
“He sent you a graduation card, remember?” Dad pointed out.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, he sent me one e-gift card via your email address. It’s not exactly the most meaningful communication, no offense. I like the floor lamp I bought with that money.”
With a blush fringe shade and metal base, the dimmable lamp sat in the corner of Charlotte’s nursery between the rocking armchair and the changing table. I spent many nights holding my daughter under its low light. I hadn’t known why, but it felt like I needed to spend the money on her.
“I know he’s not been stateside very much these last couple years,” Dad relented. “But that’s not his fault.”
“I’m not blaming him,” I insisted further. “But it was his choice to leave. He volunteered for those missions. You can’t fault me for not being buddy-buddy with your friend just because we got along a couple of years ago.”
Dad grumbled, “Quit digging your heels in the dirt and just agree, Nicole. It’s one dinner.”
I clenched my jaw, searching my brain for some excuse. Staring at Charlotte, I couldn’t think up a single thing to say. I had to relent.
“Fine,” I agreed begrudgingly. “What time?”
My father looked pleased with himself. Flashing his dimples with a wide grin, he’d won this battle, but I hadn’t lost the war just yet. I could still keep my secrets through one measly meal.
“Dinner’s going to be served at six,” he chimed, his mood instantly changing. “I know Lottie goes to bed between seven-thirty and eight, so I figured you would want to leave around seven.”
“Alright,” I sighed. “I’ll try to get there after five. Do you want me to bring something?”
“Just Lottie and yourself.”
I nodded. “Alright then.”
Not giving my anxiety room to grow, I forced back my emotions and finished our visit. Dad and I hugged goodbye in the park’s parking lot, and I took Charlotte back home for her afternoon nap. She was already asleep by the time we pulled up in front of the townhouse. It was no trouble for me to tuck her into her crib and get some work done in my home office.
I was able to draft up a review of a new plus-sized clothing line being offered by a popular bohemian-style store. My living room rug and a few pieces of my accent furniture had come from the place, including the rattan daybed I kept in my office. It was exciting to see how they were growing their brand.
As I sent in the article for approval, my phone vibrated on the white stone top of my writing desk. I turned it over to see Jessica’s name shining on the screen.
“Hey, Jess,” I greeted her while standing up. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to see if you wanted to get together this weekend,” she replied. “The new season of our favorite show is dropping Friday night. I thought we could maybe get some Chinese food and binge-watch some episodes. What do you say?”
“God, I wish I could say yes,” I lamented. “But I’ve got plans for Saturday night.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, plopping myself onto the long teal velvet cushion of my daybed. “Dad is having Jason over for dinner, and he wants me to come. I avoided the cookout last weekend, and I was busy with work on Tuesday. I just didn’t have a good excuse this time.”
“Wait,” Jessica told me. “What happened Tuesday?”
“Jason invited Dad over for dinner, and he invited me and Lottie too,” I confessed. “I had some stuff to do at school though. It was a lot easier to refuse.”
“Hmm,” she remarked in a musing tone. “It sounds like fate’s trying to tell you something, Nicole.”
“I’m not listening to fate,” I insisted in a stubborn grumble.
“Fate doesn’t care,” Jessica declared. “This is going to keep happening until the truth comes out. The powers-that-be want you to be honest, and they’ll probably reward you if they do.”
“But what do I even say?” I fretted, glaring at the beige walls around me. “Hey Jason, how good to see you! It’s been a long time since we got drunk and had sex. Would you like to meet your daughter?”
Jessica scoffed, “Don’t be dramatic, Nicole. Obviously, you shouldn’t do that.”
“Then what, Jess?”
“I don’t have that answer,” she sighed sympathetically. “I know it’s going to be scary. The conversation will be hard, but Jason deserves to have the chance to be in his daughter’s life.”
Tears were welling up in the corners of my eyes. I’d had this argument with myself countless nights, staring into the darkness of my bedroom. It was all hypothetical back then. I didn’t have the option of a face-to-face conversation with Jason until now, but now that I did… I wasn’t sure if I had the backbone to take it.
My voice went quiet as I pressed, “And what if he doesn’t take that chance?”
“Then, he’s a stupid cold-hearted jerk, and I’ll go castrate him myself.”
My dismay dissolved into laughter as Jessica chuckled along with me. This was why I loved her. This was the reason I’d made her Charlotte’s godmother and my confidante.
Just then, I heard Charlotte calling from her nursery on the other side of the wall. She was likely ready for her afternoon snack and possibly needed to be changed.
“I gotta go,” I told my friend. “Lottie’s awake.”
“You go take care of our girl, and we’ll catch up later.”
“Take care, Jess.”
“You too,” she replied before hanging up.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, counting up the time in my head. I had about twenty-seven hours before I’d be sitting across from Jason at my father’s dinner table. I possibly had twenty-seven hours and five minutes before he started asking questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.
Was there any good way to tell a man that he was, in fact, a father?
