Secondary Contact
I’m sitting at my desk, watching a douchebag from Sales named Trent Packer flirt with Holly out at her desk. He has no reason to be on our floor at all. It wouldn’t bother me so much, but she seems to be receptive to his bullshit. She laughs at whatever stupid shit he’s saying to her. She feigns interest in the other stupid shit he’s saying. I try to tell myself that I shouldn’t let this get to me, that she’s not my girlfriend, that I have no claim, that I’m technically still fucking married. It doesn’t help.
My cell phone rings. It’s Andy’s preschool. His teacher, Mrs. Banks, says, “Hello, is this Andy’s father?”
I say, “Yeah.”
She says, “Sorry to bother you at work. Your wife is listed as Andy’s primary contact, but we couldn’t get in touch with her. You know it’s incredibly important to list the contact that is most likely to be available during the day, otherwise we end up spending a lot of time trying to contact that contact and we could just be trying to contact the secondary contact, which is what you are.”
My heart is trying to bust through my throat. All I can think is that Andy fell off the monkey bars and split his fucking head open, or lost his arm in some weird merry-go-round accident, and this bitch is going on about the importance of who gets listed as the fucking primary contact. I say, “Right. Is Andy okay?”
She says, “Oh, heavens. Yes. I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s just come down with a touch of something and he seems to have, well . . . vomited a little bit. He’s in the nurse’s office now, and I was just calling so you can arrange to have someone pick him up.”
I say, “Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
As I drive across town, I build up a nice head of steam wondering where the fuck Alyna is and why she wouldn’t have answered her phone when she saw it was a call from Andy’s preschool. I conjure images of her fucking some other guy, which doesn’t piss me off as much as it should, and not because I’m fucking someone else, too, but because I find that I just don’t really care. I imagine her out at a brunch that went too long with her cunt friends complaining about what an asshole I am, and all of them agreeing with her as they suck down mojitos and put more cellulite on their asses. Then I imagine her dead. No matter how irrational it may seem, I imagine her in a twisted heap of metal on the freeway somewhere and I momentarily feel good, like a weight has been lifted off me. If she were dead, I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this shit. I’d get the kids and the house and I could fuck Holly and that would be that. I tell myself that I don’t actually hope she’s dead, but I kind of do. It would just make life so much easier.
When I get to Andy’s preschool, the nurse tells me that he’s been drinking 7-Up and he’s been complaining of a stomachache. When he sees me he lights up and says, “Daddy! I thought Mommy was going to pick me up.”
I say, “I think she’s busy, bud. You’ll have to settle for me.”
He says, “I like this better,” and as much as I don’t want either of my kids to get caught up in whatever shit goes down between Alyna and me, I’m glad he seems to be on my side. I say, “Come on. I’ll take you home,” and we leave.
Once we get in the car Andy says, “I feel better. Can we get McDonald’s?”
I say, “Didn’t you just puke?”
He laughs and says, “Yeah, and I pooped.”
I say, “In your pants?”
He says, “No, Daddy, in the potty.”
I say, “Okay. That’s cool.”
He laughs and says, “No, it’s not. It’s gross.”
I say, “What do you want from McDonald’s?”
He says, “Ice cream.”
I say, “Okay,” and kiss him on the cheek. My nose gets close enough to his face to tell that his mouth still kind of smells like puke.
As we’re pulling away from the drive-thru, I get a call from Alyna. It comes through the car speaker, so Andy can hear it, too. She sounds frantic. She says, “I got four missed calls from Andy’s preschool. Do you know what’s happening?”
I say, “Yeah. Do you have Jane?”
She says, “Yes. Of course she’s with me.”
I say, “Good,” knowing that not filling her in on what’s going on with Andy is eating her alive.
After a second of silence she says, “Well, fucking tell me what’s going on!”
Andy laughs and says, “Mommy, you said a bad word.”
She says, “Oh my god. Did you abduct him?”
I say, “What the hell are you talking about?”
She says, “Why is he with you?”
I say, “Because he got sick at school and they tried calling you but you didn’t answer so they called me. His secondary contact.” I want to get into it with her, but not with Andy listening. I feel like I have a pretty firm hold on being his favorite parent and I want to keep it that way.
She says, “Well, you have to take him home right now.”
I say, “We’re on our way. See you in ten minutes,” then I hang up on her.
Andy says, “Why was Mommy so mad?”
I say, “I don’t know, bud. Sometimes people just get mad.”
Andy says, “You never get mad, Daddy.”
I say, “I’ll never get mad at you.”
As he smears ice cream all over his face I wonder how old he should be before I start trying to convince him to never get married.