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my bag onto the table, sliding her magazine into her lap.
    She narrows her eyes and stands up, adjusting her too small tank top. “Didn’t I tell you to keep the TV down? I have elderly neighbors.”
    She grabs her magazine and holds it against her hip. “It wasn’t loud,” she says.
    I stare blankly at her with one hand in my open school bag and the other hanging loosely at my sides. God help me.
    She finally sighs. “Well, I’m out of here. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She grabs her cell phone and marches into the living room. “Bye, Maddox,” she says before shutting the door behind her.
    Thank, God.
    “Maddox, baby, have you eaten?”
    “Yep! Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich.”
    What? I glance over my shoulder at the instructions for dinner sitting on the cabinet. “Are you still hungry?”
    “No!” Maddox yells.
    Of course. Asking a kid if they’re hungry is like asking him if he wants to go to school. “Did you do your homework?”
    “Yes! Beth helped me with the letters.”
    I’m surprised she knows them herself. “Okay,” I clap my hands. “Time for a bath and then bed!”
    I read over my History notes while Maddox plays in the tub. History is my last elective and a piece of cake compared to my biology classes. Maddox is making shooting noises and crashing his toys against one another. Water laps over the edge of the tub and I reach down and place a towel there to catch it.
    “Momma.”
    “Hmm?”
    “Are we ever going to go see Daddy?”
    My book falls from my lap and smacks against the tile bathroom floor with a thud. We have only talked about Maddox’s dad a couple of times before. He doesn’t really remember him, but he has seen the pictures. And knows the stories, well, the good ones. It’s not easy to tell a four-year-old that his dad is a crack head and I hope he never has to see him again.
    Looking down, Maddox is staring up at me. His big green eyes, like mine, wide. But he has his daddy’s hair. And face. “I don’t think so, Maddox. Why do you ask?” This is a stupid thing to ask him. Of course he wants a dad. Other kids have them. I’m not sure he even understands why he doesn’t have one.
    “My friend James from class has a dad. He picks him up from school.”
    I frown. How do you answer these types of questions? I’m not ready for this. I need a manual.
    His little eyebrows pull down in focus. “Well, will I get a new daddy?”
    God . How do you answer that? “Baby,” I say, sliding to the floor. I press my thighs against the damp outside of the bathtub and run my fingers against his wet forehead. “Your daddy will always be your real daddy. But, maybe, in the future I may find a husband and he would be your daddy. Do you understand?”
Picking up his hand out of the water, he runs it over the car in his hands. “Okay.”
    It feels like a knife has been stabbed into my gut. His little mouth is turned down into a frown. “Hey,” I say. “Time to get out. How about I go get us some ice cream before bed?”
    Throwing his hands in the air he shouts, “Yes!”
    After drying Maddox off, I get him dressed in his Spider Man pajamas. His tiny feet swing off the kitchen chair as we share a bowl of ice cream. I watch him as he hums underneath his breath and scoops mouthfuls of ice cream into his mouth. We don’t need a dad. He’s a great kid. I can do this. I have for two years alone.
    After we finish our ice cream I tuck Maddox into his bed. He’s growing so fast, I can’t imagine him starting Kindergarten next year. “Momma,” Maddox says as I turn to leave.
    “What is it?”
    “Can you take me to a game for the Muleriders soon?”
    I hold back my laugh. Maddox is obsessed with football. He watched a game with Erica and me a few months back and it’s all he can talk about now. “I’ll take you to the first game. How about that?”
    He smiles, turns and presses his face into the side of the pillow. “That’s great,” he whispers before falling instantly