#FlashFictionMagic: A Starting Place

No one had ever told Dave about toddler beds. When he was a kid, the progression was from crib to big boy bed, with no random rocket-ship shaped sleeping place in between. But today the moms at library story time had asked him when Grace was going to make the transition, and now that he knew these beds existed, obviously she had to do it today. Immediately after story time, he’d stuck Gracie in her carseat and driven off to a furniture store. 

In the store, his mantra - what would Imogen do - echoed on repeat through his mind. It was maddening how little discussion they’d had about anything that mattered. The hours spent researching the side effects of epidurals should have been spent discussing everything Imogen wanted for their daughter. Because she was gone now, and there was no way he could get any of this right without her input. The toddler bed was just the beginning. There were bras in his future, and tampons.  

He settled for the bed that looked like Cinderella’s coach, mostly because Gracie said it was pretty. He felt certain Imogen would want him to indulge their little princess, so he made the purchase, had some salespeople load it into the SUV, stuck Gracie back in her seat again and headed for home.  

Now there was a new problem. He couldn’t get the bed out of the car. The box was heavy and unwieldy, and lifting it was definitely a job for a husband and wife to take on together. He was more and more convinced every day of the brilliance of God’s two-parent plan,  and he deeply hated that there was only one of him. 

Irritated with himself for not anticipating this situation, Dave was just about to give up and go inside when a voice sounded behind him. Instinctively he cringed, afraid of being accosted by one of the pitying neighbors who had brought a casserole after the funeral last year. He lived in constant dread of the moment they came over and asked for their dishes back. He hadn’t kept track of whose was whose and at least one had broken in the dishwasher. 

But when he turned, a woman he was sure he had never seen before was crossing the driveway of the house next door. She was wearing gray jeans and a sweater that was some specific shade of blue he didn’t know the name of. “Need some help?”  she was saying. 

She’s pretty, registered in the back of his mind, because he was widowed, not dead, but he quickly shoved that thought aside. “I think so,” he said, faking an upbeat attitude he did not feel. “Toddler beds are pretty heavy, it turns out.” 

“Well, I’ve got two arms,” she said. “I’m Fern. I moved in next door last weekend.” She put out a hand to shake, and Dave took it, giving his name and then Gracie’s. 

“Think you can help me lift this thing out of here and get it up on the porch?” 

“Only one way to find out.” Fern stood beside Dave and put her hands on one side of the box. He mirrored her position on the other side. “Ready?” 

They counted to three, then pulled, and Dave was surprised by how much lighter the burden had become. They deposited the box on the doormat in thirty seconds. Dave unlocked the door and then together they slid the box into the entryway. Then he went back to the car for Grace and hoisted her onto his hip. 

“Thank you,” Dave said to Fern. “I was really wondering what I was going to do. Fortunately, most of the time, being both parents doesn’t require having two bodies.” 

“That can’t be easy.” Fern gave a soft, sympathetic smile, and stroked Grace’s hand with a finger. Dave thought, She’s so kind. 

Silence descended for a moment, and Dave felt a sudden surge of panic at the thought of Fern going back home. It was easy to suppress the loneliness when there were no immediate remedies at hand, but the possibility of continued adult conversation had him feeling desperate. Suddenly he couldn’t face another single minute alone with his toddler and everything he didn’t know how to do for her. 

“Can I make you a cup of coffee to say thanks?” he blurted. 

Fern smiled then, and nodded, and said, “I’d like that.” 

Dave smiled, too, sheepishly, and that’s how it began.