I slowly peel myself out of the lounge chair and stretch my arms above my head, trying to iron out the kinks in my neck and back. Gathering up my empty coffee cup, I walk back into the house to spend the day with my little girl.

“I have your spot all ready, Daddy,” she says, pulling back the blanket on the couch. I put the DVD into the player and snuggle in next to her.

“Thank you, baby,” I say, and kiss the top of her head as she settles into the crook of my arm. “Gracie, I was thinking that after the movie we could go shopping and get everything you’re going to need for preschool this year. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Okay, Daddy, but you have to promise that I can pick out my own backpack. Last year you made me get that Care Bears bag, and they are not cool. I want a Hello Kitty backpack with sparkles.”

“How do you know what’s cool?”

“I’m four, and four is old enough to know cool, and Care Bears are not cool.”

“Well, all right then. Hello Kitty it is.” I laugh.

“I want a lunchbox, too.”

“Don’t push it, little girl.”

She lets out a little sigh and then shakes her hands excitedly, shushing me when the opening credits come on. We have seen Cinderella more times than I can count, and yes, she makes me sing the songs. I may not sing on key, but I know every damn word, and I figure that’s what counts.

She settles back against my chest, and we enjoy our father/daughter moment. I never thought I would have children unless it was with Vivian, but then I got the surprise of my life, little Grace. I was never with her mother–let me clarify that, I was never in a relationship with Grace’s mom. She was a reoccurring one-night-stand that resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. She didn’t want to have the baby, and well, I did.

I felt that a child could be my chance at redemption. I talked her into having the baby, promising to raise her on my own. She agreed to sign over her rights, but only after I paid her a hefty sum for what she called ‘the destruction of her body.’ I said I fucked quantity, and Grace’s mother goes to show that I didn’t exactly care about the level of quality.

“Grace, I don’t think you need all of these school supplies for preschool. I’m pretty sure they have everything there for you; you just need to take a backpack,” I say as Grace throws another package of glitter pens into the cart.

The child has gone insane in the school supply section of Target. My four-year-old is leading me around on what has become the biggest nerd-shopping spree known to man. I love her to death, but seriously, I was expecting a five-minute in-and-out trip to get her damn Hello Kitty backpack, and maybe splurge on the lunchbox, but I may have to whip out the platinum card for this haul.

Grace steps around the side of the cart, places her hands on her waist, and sticks out her hip in pure attitude mode. Good Lord, if she’s like this now, Heaven help me when she’s thirteen.

“Daddy, you never know what you might need, and what if my teacher gives me homework? I need things at home just in case. We should make me my own office like yours at home. Can we, Daddy? Pleeeease?”

Yeah, how do I argue with that? No matter what kind of a demanding dick I am at work, this little girl dissolves every bit of that hardness, and I’m putty in her hand. What’s worse is I think that she knows it. Dammit.

“Okay, Lovebug, but we need to rein it in a little bit. We have enough markers in the cart to provide a stock pile for the entire school district.”

“Hey, they are different sizes and colors; all of them are important, Daddy!” she exclaims. “How horrible would it be if I needed to draw a picture of the ocean for my teacher, and I didn’t have light blue, only regular blue? You wouldn’t be able to see any of the fish in my picture, and then my teacher would hate it and think that I didn’t know that fish were in the ocean, and then she would hold me back. I wouldn’t get to go to kindergarten! We need them all, Daddy!” Grace’s arms are flailing about in the most animated fashion, and her voice has turned into a high-pitched squeal.

Yep, I totally lost that battle. “No one’s flunking anything, Lovebug. The teacher will know that you know there are fish in the ocean, because I’m sure you’ll tell her plenty of times.”

I sigh, knowing I can’t let her completely win. I refuse to have one of those kids at preschool; you know, the kind that thinks they can have anything. However, I also don’t want to be one of those parents that have to carry his screaming and kicking four-year-old out of Target either, so a compromise is entirely necessary in this situation.

“You can have two boxes of markers, but that is it, Gracie Lou,” I say, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

She huffs a little, and then exhales an extreme, “Fine. I’ll go put them back.”

She gathers up the other boxes and starts around the corner to the next aisle. “I’ll be right behind you; put the markers back where they go, please.” I figure that I can fall behind and clear out the cart a little while she’s not with me. I can hopefully avoid another office supply confrontation.

I swear getting things away from this child is a planned event. I have to smuggle broken toys and crayons out of the house; it’s like our own episode of Child Hoarders.

She ignores me, and as soon as she turns the corner, I begin to gather anything non-essential that I can fit in my arms, and throw the items on the shelves. No, I’m not concerned about how I return the objects, as long as they are out of my cart; desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll be sure to give an extra thank you to the check-out lady since I just made a mess of the school supply section.

As soon as I’m satisfied with the amount of space I cleared out in the cart, I make my way to the markers, only to find the aisle empty. I see where Grace has dropped off the discarded markers; her mess looks similar to mine. “Grace,” I call out, trying not to panic. Grace is usually pretty good about not wandering off, so for her not to be here puts my stomach into knots.

I walk quickly down the aisle, my low tone turning into a holler, “Grace, where are you?” I stop suddenly in my tracks when I hear her little voice conversing with the only other voice that has been burned into my memory. I pause to listen to the conversation, enjoying the moment that I wish would have been my reality all along.

“So, Care Bears are not cool anymore, huh?” Vivian asks my little girl.

“No, I told my Daddy that I needed a Hello Kitty bag this year. He’s going to buy me all kinds of stuff today for school.” Good Lord, I never had a chance.

“Well, what a lucky little girl you are. Where are your mommy and daddy, sweetheart?”

“He was right behind me; he’s probably trying to sneak some of my stuff out of the cart,” she explains.

Well shit, how do I have a toddler that is one-step ahead of me? There’s only one of me; that doesn’t seem quite fair.

“Well, I think we should go find him so he’s not worried.”

I know that my opportunity for eavesdropping is over, so I turn the corner to see a sight that I only could have dreamed of. Grace is holding Vivian’s hand, smiling up at her. Holding Grace’s other hand is a little girl with adorable blonde tendrils that bounce as she moves, and on the opposite side of Vivian stands a little boy who looks just a little older than the girls. Fuck, I wish this was my life, that this was my family.

“Munchkin, you left me behind. You were supposed to be by the markers,” I tell her. I strain not to smile at Vivian’s incredulous expression. She is clearly surprised to not only see me, but I’m guessing that she was not expecting me to be a father. Yeah, join the club.

Grace looks to me, unsure of how to explain herself; she then looks to Vivian to help bail her out.