Little Fixes

I don’t remember how to be alone or independent. The kitchen faucet in my tiny apartment has been dripping since early morning. I’m no expert at repairing things. My solutions are temporary ones. Little fixes that won’t solve the problem long-term. Donovan would know how to fix it long-term. I almost call him out of habit because I still have moments where I forget. I still have the urge and the longing to text him or call him when I feel helpless. I still want his comfort and security even though I know my decision was right.

“Use my Play-Doh daddy,” Ayaneh suggests. Her small hands squish the yellow-colored dough, and I can’t help but admire her innocence. I’ve always admired her this way since the day we'd brought her home. She’d been a dream. A fantasy that turned into a reality when the adoption agency gave us the call. It changed our lives forever.

“I think it will take something a little stronger than Play-Doh.” I take the Play-Doh from her hands and begin to mold it into a ball. She watches me with big, brown, excited eyes. My hands shape the yellow dough into the head of a cat, and Ayaneh bounces with anticipation. It doesn’t take much to entertain a 4-year-old.

The kitchen faucet continues to drip as we sculpt and mold the cat out of Play-Doh. I try to ignore the sound of the drip, but I can only think about how I can fix it. The internet holds too many answers, and I’m paranoid I’ll pick the wrong one. I assume it needs some tightening with a tool I don’t even know the name of. I consider duct tape, a quick and little fix for now. I know it won’t solve the problem though.

“Daddy, are you always going to be my daddy?” Ayaneh asks suddenly, her gaze stays focused on molding the leg to the body of her Play-Doh cat. It’s a question I was not prepared for and asked with such ease that it surprises me.

“Of course, baby. Always and forever.” I reassure her as my hand runs through one of her jet-black pigtails. It’s soft and tangle-free, and she looks up at me with a toothy grin.

“Okay. I like having two daddies.” She places the completed cat into my hand before wrapping her arms around my neck. Her squeeze has a force, and intensity that is stronger than her usual hugs. She’s been holding on longer and tighter lately.

I was never prepared for divorce. We had waited years for the legalization of marriage and then in 2015 it finally came. Donovan had taken a suspicious package out of the closet that had been wrapped in brown paper. He’d brought it over to the table and set it down in front of me while beaming from ear to ear.

“What did you do?” I asked, obvious suspicion in my voice as I began to unwrap the package.

Inside I found a black bottle of champagne. It was Nicolas Feuillatte Palmes D’Or. The $150 price tag on the bottle was ridiculous to me. He insisted there was no better time to drink an expensive bottle of champagne. Under the stars on the roof of his apartment building, on a warm summer night in June, Donovan proposed. It was the first time I’d felt complete bliss in my life. I’d never had anyone love me the way he did.

“We’re always going to be your daddies, Ayaneh. You are our light and our souls.” I squeeze her back, cherishing the moment. It breaks my heart to know that she will have to go through the motions of a broken home.

“I want you to come back home though,” she says, through shaky words. Her bottom lip quivers as the impending tears began to build up in her eyes. She is killing me with words and doesn’t even know it. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay composed for her.

“I live here now,” I whisper, afraid if I say it too loud, I’ll have to finally accept it. I still hear the dripping from the faucet, and I want to rip the whole sink out. “You live here too for one week then you go back to daddies for another week. He will be back to pick you up on Friday.” I wipe at my own eyes before the tears can form.

“I don’t like it here. It’s too tiny. I want to go home. Let’s go home!” She tugs on my fingers with a strength I didn’t even think she was capable of. I squeeze my eyes shut and wonder how all the other parents in the world do this? How do they survive the very first few days, weeks, months, even years of separation?

“We will get used to it,” I say while rising to my feet. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I once more tackle the handles on the faucet. I twist them both with all I have but still, it is not enough to stop the drip. I’ve tried ignoring it and I’ve tried stopping it myself but still, it keeps dripping. Running my fingers over the back of my neck I stare out the window only to see an eye-level view of the sidewalk. It makes me miss the view of Mrs. Callaghan’s front garden. The Dorsey’s extravagant Christmas decorations. The sound of Cassie’s cleaning music blaring on Sundays. Neighbors that made us feel so welcomed into their community. My new neighbors are younger, focused on other things and themselves. There’s no sense of community in our building, and we hardly wave to each other in passing.

Ayaneh begins to dismember the yellow Play-Doh cat. A distraction from the reality that she is sitting on the secondhand sofa in a tiny apartment. I’m in awe at the beautiful little lady she is becoming. Her warm brown skin glows under the lamp in the living room. I could watch her for hours, and at the same time, I am worried that now I will miss more life-changing moments. Donovan promises to send videos and pictures of times he labels as ‘precious’. It wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it in person though. I know I should do the same, even though I’m not sure that the dismemberment of a Play-Doh cat counts as a ‘precious moment’.

“Daddy, can you make spamisghetti for dinner?” She asks, finally tiring of the yellow ball of Play-Doh and placing it back into its container. “It will help me feel better.”

“I don’t know what spamisghetti is, but I can make spaghetti,” I say, gently correcting her mispronunciation.

“That’s what I said,” she argues and joins me in the kitchen. Her gaze lands on the two unopened moving boxes on the counter. “You don’t have any food.”

“I know, it’s okay that just means we can go to the store,” I say, forcing a smile as I grab my keys off the cluttered countertop. She bolts past me for her coat hanging over the dining room chair and starts pulling it on. I should have waited until I was more settled before agreeing to have her stay over. I couldn't bring myself to go another night without kissing her goodnight. Without reading her a bedtime story, and tucking her in. We were halfway into Paddington, and it killed me that Donovan had been reading it to her over the past week. I was glad that he was, but I was angry that it couldn’t be me always.

“How come you don’t have any snacks and stuff?” She asks as I help her button her coat up.

“Because I’ve been busy working and buying new furniture so you could stay over. I just haven’t had time, but now we can go together.” I kneel in front of her, taking her small face in my hands. She smiles and kisses me on the nose before hugging me.

“I love you, daddy,” she says in a small voice. It swells my heart and for a few seconds, I feel nothing but bliss.

The cold New York City air hits us both mercilessly as we make the short walk to the grocery store. Ayaneh holds onto my hand while skipping along the sidewalk. Once we reach the store, the vibration from my phone buzzes inside my coat pocket. A sudden wave of anxiety courses through my body at the sight of Donovan’s face on my screen. I hesitate for a moment before answering the call. “Hey.” I breathe, hoping to bury any emotion in my tone.

“Hey. I’m sorry I’m calling. I forgot to give Aya her umbrella. It’s going to rain on Tuesday, and she will need it. I can drive there and drop it off.” His voice sounds far away, and I can tell he is calling from his car.

“I can buy her a new one. Unless you’re already on your way. You are, aren’t you?” I can’t hide the irritation any longer as I browse the pasta aisle. I try to grab the angel hair, but Ayaneh points to the linguini.

“Would you be mad if I said yes?” Donovan asks, his voice sounding unsure and regretful all at the same time.

“No. We’re just at the grocery store down the block.” I sigh, annoyed that he didn’t ask before heading our way. Ayaneh continues to place items into my red basket. Marinara sauce, croutons, and a small can of sliced olives.

“I’ll be there in 10. I’m sorry.” Donovan apologizes before ending the call.

Ayaneh starts to skip again as we make our way back home, and her sneakers light up with each skip. She looks happy, and I hope she continues to find that joy even through this. I carry the brown paper bags filled with groceries in one hand and hers in the other.

“Daddy!” She yells with excitement, except it’s not me she is calling. I tense when her hand slips out of mine as she runs to the entrance of my building. Donovan is standing in front of it, his arms spread wide waiting for her impact.

I wish I still felt that same joy when I see him. I miss the feeling of being in love, slow dancing in a dimly lit kitchen with a newborn Ayaneh. The two of us were so wrapped up in complete amazement that we were married, and parents.

Donovan picks our daughter up with ease and sit her on his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, and I wonder if she's squeezing him as tight as she squeezes me. His eyes meet mine and I force a smile while taking out my keys.

“I have the umbrella in the car, do you need help carrying the groceries inside?” He asks while lovingly rubbing her back as she plays with the longer strands of light brown hair on his head. I realize this is what Donovan meant by a 'precious moment.'

“The apartment is a mess and I have a dripping faucet. I don’t think it’s a good idea you come inside. I’ll go put this downstairs and come back up.” I don’t give him time to object and leave them both outside as I sprint into the building.

I'm nauseous while descending the steep stairs. I’m ashamed that I miss us being a whole family, not a broken one. I wanted to be better than this. We fought so hard for the right to get married and now it’s over. I shouldn’t feel so embarrassed about our marriage ending but I do.

I want to cry and scream, but I’m afraid to break. If I do, Ayaneh will see the fear and saddness I have for this new life the three of us are living now. I set the groceries down and force myself to take a few deep breaths while standing over my dripping sink. I want to smash it into pieces to make it stop, but I know that isn’t the solution. I can’t keep taking shortcuts. No more little fixes.