I owe him nothing, yet everything. He’s missed every court-appointed holiday and visitation. Birthdays have come and gone without a card, but the monthly support payment is made without hesitation. His money is the only thing I can count on from him. I have no doubt he could destroy me in court, with the people he knows, but I would do everything I could to make it a long, drawn-out battle so that when it was over, Lucy would be of age to tell the judge what she wants to do.
Elijah walks to the center of the room before going over to a random girl. She looks to be about eight or so and wants nothing to do with him. He does this to two or three more girls before I decide to intervene. As fun as it would be to see him get tossed out of here, the last thing I need is for him to take me to court. Truth is, I wouldn’t be able to afford to fight him, and he knows that.
“Lucy,” I yell as I stand next to him. He glares at me once again, and I shrug. “All you have to do is ask for a picture every now and again, and you wouldn’t look like a creepy pedophile.”
Lucy comes running and grabs my hand, leading us toward the back of the room where the food stand is. She probably thinks it’s lunchtime, and a quick look at the clock tells me it is. That is something Elijah can take care of while he’s here.
He follows us, standing behind me while we wait to order our food. “What are you hungry for today?” I ask.
“Um…” she says, tapping her index finger against her cheek. “I think a corn dog and fries.”
“Hi, can we have a corn dog and cheeseburger, both with fries and two bottles of water?” I step aside and motion for Elijah to go. He looks at me like I have two heads, while shaking his. “Suit yourself, but you’re paying.” I smirk, daring him to tell me no.
Elijah steps up and places a mumbled order that I’m unable to hear and brings a table number back to where we’ve been sitting.
“Who are you?” Lucy asks as she scoots closer to me. Her legs swing back and forth, and I know exactly when she pops him in the knee. I can’t help but laugh, because she’s doing everything that I want her to.
“I’m Elijah Henry.”
“I go to school with a boy named Henry, but sometimes he goes by Hank.”
“Is he your friend?” Elijah asks.
Lucy shrugs. “Sure, everyone is. It’s a rule. But he picks his nose, and that’s gross.”
“It’s disgusting. You shouldn’t hang out with boys like that,” he says, causing me to frown.
She stops talking as our food arrives. While Lucy and I went for what I call “fair food,” Elijah has opted for a salad. A few other moms walk by and give him a look that has me chuckling under my breath. He has to be that guy all the time.
“Why are you here?” Lucy asks.
“I came to see you,” he says, setting his fork down.
“Oh. But why are you dressed for work? Today is Saturday. It’s a play day.”
He looks down at his clothes and back at me. I cock my eyebrow, letting him know that I agree with her.
“This is how I always dress.”
Lucy seems to accept this answer and goes about eating her lunch, never asking him another question.
His phone rings halfway through, and he answers. By the responses he’s giving, I’m assuming he’s talking to his wife, and I don’t like what I hear, such as “dirty environment,” “out of control,” and “processed foods.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, hanging up.
“Sure you are.” I gather my and Lucy’s empty baskets and leave Elijah at the table while I take Lucy to the bathroom to clean up.
“Who is that man?”
“A friend, I guess.” I don’t know how to answer her, because I’m not going to be the one who tells her that he’s her father. Those words need to come fr
om him, and when she asks where he’s been all her life, he can tell her. I’m going to end up taking the brunt of the emotions that will come after the fact. I shouldn’t have to be the one to deliver the news, too.
“I don’t like him,” she says as she washes her hands.
I don’t either, but I can’t tell her that. As much as I don’t want to, I have to be an adult in this situation, when I really want to stick my tongue out at him and tell him to fuck off.
“Sometimes people hang around even when you don’t like them,” I tell her, hoping my five-year-old can understand the gist of what I’m saying.