Rebound by Evelyn Sola

“Don’t just sit there like a ninny, boy. You think I have time to waste? I could be spending time with my wife right now, but I’m here lollygagging with you over this malarkey.”

“I did nothing with the nanny,” I say evenly when all I want to do is give him the same type of attitude I would give my father. “I treated her with respect.” Other than looking more than I should have, but he doesn’t need to know that. “As for the other things, I haven’t done anything since Jasmine came to live with me full-time. I didn’t create that dance, and I was only with women who wanted to be with me. I didn’t force anyone or lead any of them on. I never lied to a woman. They knew exactly what I was willing to give, which was only the physical. I’m trying, Mr. Valen,” I utter and wonder why I’m always cast in the role of caregiver.

“I love my daughter, and I have to live with the guilt and shame of not wanting her to be mine when I found out she was a possibility. She’s mine, and she didn’t ask to be here, and since her mother is gone, she’s now my responsibility. I own that, but my father should not be my responsibility too. Not when he’s only forty-six years old, and I’ve been taking care of him for a decade already.

“Keep your willy in your pants. Next time, hire a damn nanny that’s old enough to be your mother. Ginny hires all the staff. I have nothing to do with it, and that’s the way it should be. Men, for the most part, are nincompoops who don’t know anything about running a house.”

I want to tell him that I beg to differ. I’ve been running a house since before I was a man. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve, and I’ve done okay.

“Yes, sir,” is all I say.

“In fact, find your own goddamn wife, Seth. That’s my advice. And find a good one to help you raise that little girl. If I have to summon you here again, I’m going to get upset, and you don’t want that. Ask my wife what happened the last time one of our kids pissed me off? It’s not pretty. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I say again.

I’ve never had a dressing down in my life, at least not from a parental figure like Mr. Valen, and I know one thing; I don’t like it. Not when I’m doing everything I can to get my life together so my daughter can have a good childhood.

He stands and gestures for me to do the same. I nod and lower my head as if I’ve been chastised, but he hasn’t said anything new. The irony is that my father has been spewing the same shit since I told him about Jasmine, but whatever my father says to me goes in one ear and out the other.

I follow Mr. Valen through the first floor to his gourmet kitchen. This space alone is about three times the size of the shitty trailer I grew up in. His wife has her back to us. She’s no longer holding Jasmine, and Jasmine is now in the arms of a man I’ve never seen before.

He looks like he’s in his thirties and is well over six feet tall, although several inches shorter than me. He tosses her in the air, and she lets out a big belly laugh. Jasmine is a daredevil and fearless. The higher he tosses her in the air, the happier it makes her. Mr. Valen smiles at the scene and so do I.If only this was her life.

If only Mr. Valen was her grandfather and this guy throwing her in the air was her uncle. But no. She was given a shitty hand in the family department. Not as shitty as me, but close enough.

“Seth, this is my grandson Ryder. Get to know him because I’m retiring soon and he’s taking over,” he says. “He won’t put up with any of your nonsense.” Ryder barely looks at me as he makes faces at Jasmine.

“Hey, Seth,” he says. “Cute kid.” He grabs a cookie from a nearby plate and hands it to her. Jasmine shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Ryder smiles and puts her on his hip. He crosses the room and extends his hand to me. I shake it and reach for my daughter. She practically jumps into my arms.

“Ryder’s a good boy,” Mr. Valen says of his grandson. I can see the pride in his eyes when he looks at him, and I can only imagine what that’s like. “First boy in the family,” he says proudly. “Maybe you two can be friends,” he suggests. “You look like you can use a friend.”

Ryder looks at me and back to his grandfather. From the smirk on his face, I know he’s not interested in being my friend. Besides, he looks like he’s at least ten years older than me.

“Sure, Granddad,” he says, and I know full well he’s lying.

“So much for Mr. Valen’s claim of being able to tell when someone is being dishonest. Ryder pulls out his wallet and hands me one of his cards, which I’m sure I’ll never use.

Jasmine eyes the plate of cookies and starts to point at them.

“I think you’ve had enough cookies, Jazzy Girl,” I say before I kiss her temple.

“Poppycock,” Mr. Valen says. That’s the second time he’s said that word since I’ve been here. He’s the first person I’ve ever known to use that word. He reaches over and snatches Jasmine from me. “A few cookies won’t give her the collywobbles,” he says.

“The what?” I ask.

“The collywobbles. Ryder gets them every time he has dairy, don’t you, Ry?” He cackles and Ryder flares his nostrils in aggravation. “Remember that time you got them on the yacht? Milkshakes and ocean waves do not agree with you. You spent half the day puking into the ocean.”

“I think that’s enough of that,” Ryder grumbles.

Mr. Valen ignores him, puts Jasmine down, and puts a cookie in each of her hands. “Now,” he says, turning back to me. He points at a chair at the kitchen table, and I sit. “Let’s go over what we talked about,” he says as if I’m a little kid who just got in trouble.

Ryder snorts from across the room. I eye him, but he grins, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall.

“I’m waiting,” Mr. Valen says.

“My grandpa is waiting,” Ryder practically cackles.

“Uh, I’m going to stop my shenanigans,” I say, making sure to use his words. When he nods in agreement, I continue. “Cut the malarkey and keep my willy in my pants.” This time Ryder lets out a loud bark of laughter but quickly attempts to look serious when his grandfather looks his way.

“And find a wife,” Mrs. Valen says with her back turned to us.

“Well, that one might be tricky,” I say as I run a hand over my head. I don’t know what century these people are from, but marriage has never been a solution to anything.

“Well, uncomplicate it then,” Mr. Valen says. “Without my Ginny, who knows what would have become of me.”