Chapter 1 · I'm Not the Father

Chapter 1

David Johnson was on a business trip. With one phone call, he left his four-year-old daughter with me.

Looking at her adorable little face, I got lost in thought.

No way that David, who only got a 400 on the SAT math, could father a kid like this.

With nothing else to do, I snapped a pic of her eating ice cream and posted it on Instagram.

Three minutes later, my phone blew up with 47 messages. My mom was calling me nonstop.

Then an unknown number texted me: [Hello, is Lily with you now?]

*****

It all started on a Friday afternoon.

I was sprawled out on the couch, grinding ranked games, when David's call came in. "Ryan! Dude, you have to help me out."

I glanced at my character getting chased down on screen and put him on speaker. "Shoot."

"I've got a last-minute business trip, and my wife can't get away. Lily's got no one to take care of her."

"Nope."

"Just three days."

"Nope."

"I'll send you a thousand dollars."

"What time?"

David was chuckling like a fox who'd stolen a chicken. "Someone will drop her off in half an hour. Just stay home and wait."

I hung up and stared at my living room, which looked like a bomb had gone off. I was lost in thought for a brief moment.

One thousand dollars for three days of babysitting a four-year-old. That was over 300 bucks a day.

For the first time in my twenty-seven years, I felt like I was worth something.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door.

Standing there was a middle-aged man in a black suit, his face so stern he looked like a debt collector.

Behind him was a little girl with two pigtails, hugging a teddy bear nearly as tall as she was, looking up at me.

She had round eyes, soft skin, and a face as perfect as a child model's on a magazine cover.

I looked down at her, then back up at the guy in the suit. "Who are you?"

The guy in the suit kept a straight face. "Mr. Johnson asked me to bring Lily over."

David had scored a 400 on the SAT math and couldn't tell left from right. I was surprised that his daughter was treated like a little princess.

"Alright. Drop her off here," I said, stepping aside.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how weird that sounded, like I was signing for a package.

The guy in the suit wheeled in a pink suitcase and handed me a folder.

"Here's her schedule, allergy list, and emergency contacts," he said.

I took it. The folder felt pretty heavy.

A schedule? An allergy list? Was David seriously dropping his kid here with an instruction book?

"Also," the guy in the suit said, pulling a card out of his pocket, "this is for living expenses. The PIN is six zeros."

I froze. David's salary flashed through my mind, and then I thought about that PIN again.

"Wait, who are you?" I asked.

"Mr. Johnson's driver," he replied, then turned and walked away.

The sound of his dress shoes faded down the hallway.

I couldn't believe that David had a driver.

I closed the door and looked down at Lily.

She was hugging her teddy bear, tilting her head at me. In her sweet, childish voice, she said, "Hello, Uncle Ryan."

My heart melted a little, but my brain was still sharp.

David was a salesman making 3 thousand dollars a month. Why did he have a driver?

I poured Lily a glass of warm water. She cupped it with both hands, sipped it slowly, and when she finished, she said, "Thank you, Uncle Ryan."

I was stunned by her manners, upbringing, and poise.

I glanced at her face, then thought about David's. Was it a genetic mutation, or was David's wife's genes that strong?

At David's wedding, the bride came down the aisle with a veil over her face. From a distance, she looked gorgeous.

But I was pretty drunk that day, so I couldn't remember what she looked like.

"Uncle Ryan, can I have some ice cream?" Lily asked, sitting on the couch with her little feet dangling and swinging back and forth.

"There's some in the fridge. Wait a second," I said.

I grabbed one for her. She scooped it up with her tiny spoon, and the sunlight streamed in from the balcony, lighting up her face. She looked like an oil painting.

Since I had nothing else to do, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of Lily.

It was a shot of her profile as she ate her ice cream. Her lashes were incredibly long, the spoon going into her mouth, her cheek puffed up a bit. She was so adorable it felt unreal.

I posted it on Instagram with the caption: [Look at that little face. Can't believe she's her father's daughter.]

What I meant was that she looked nothing like David.

After posting, I tossed my phone onto the couch and went to watch cartoons with Lily.

Chapter 1

David Johnson was on a business trip. With one phone call, he left his four-year-old daughter with me.

Looking at her adorable little face, I got lost in thought.

No way that David, who only got a 400 on the SAT math, could father a kid like this.

With nothing else to do, I snapped a pic of her eating ice cream and posted it on Instagram.

Three minutes later, my phone blew up with 47 messages. My mom was calling me nonstop.

Then an unknown number texted me: [Hello, is Lily with you now?]

*****

It all started on a Friday afternoon.

I was sprawled out on the couch, grinding ranked games, when David's call came in. "Ryan! Dude, you have to help me out."

I glanced at my character getting chased down on screen and put him on speaker. "Shoot."

"I've got a last-minute business trip, and my wife can't get away. Lily's got no one to take care of her."

"Nope."

"Just three days."

"Nope."

"I'll send you a thousand dollars."

"What time?"

David was chuckling like a fox who'd stolen a chicken. "Someone will drop her off in half an hour. Just stay home and wait."

I hung up and stared at my living room, which looked like a bomb had gone off. I was lost in thought for a brief moment.

One thousand dollars for three days of babysitting a four-year-old. That was over 300 bucks a day.

For the first time in my twenty-seven years, I felt like I was worth something.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door.

Standing there was a middle-aged man in a black suit, his face so stern he looked like a debt collector.

Behind him was a little girl with two pigtails, hugging a teddy bear nearly as tall as she was, looking up at me.

She had round eyes, soft skin, and a face as perfect as a child model's on a magazine cover.

I looked down at her, then back up at the guy in the suit. "Who are you?"

The guy in the suit kept a straight face. "Mr. Johnson asked me to bring Lily over."

David had scored a 400 on the SAT math and couldn't tell left from right. I was surprised that his daughter was treated like a little princess.

"Alright. Drop her off here," I said, stepping aside.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how weird that sounded, like I was signing for a package.

The guy in the suit wheeled in a pink suitcase and handed me a folder.

"Here's her schedule, allergy list, and emergency contacts," he said.

I took it. The folder felt pretty heavy.

A schedule? An allergy list? Was David seriously dropping his kid here with an instruction book?

"Also," the guy in the suit said, pulling a card out of his pocket, "this is for living expenses. The PIN is six zeros."

I froze. David's salary flashed through my mind, and then I thought about that PIN again.

"Wait, who are you?" I asked.

"Mr. Johnson's driver," he replied, then turned and walked away.

The sound of his dress shoes faded down the hallway.

I couldn't believe that David had a driver.

I closed the door and looked down at Lily.

She was hugging her teddy bear, tilting her head at me. In her sweet, childish voice, she said, "Hello, Uncle Ryan."

My heart melted a little, but my brain was still sharp.

David was a salesman making 3 thousand dollars a month. Why did he have a driver?

I poured Lily a glass of warm water. She cupped it with both hands, sipped it slowly, and when she finished, she said, "Thank you, Uncle Ryan."

I was stunned by her manners, upbringing, and poise.

I glanced at her face, then thought about David's. Was it a genetic mutation, or was David's wife's genes that strong?

At David's wedding, the bride came down the aisle with a veil over her face. From a distance, she looked gorgeous.

But I was pretty drunk that day, so I couldn't remember what she looked like.

"Uncle Ryan, can I have some ice cream?" Lily asked, sitting on the couch with her little feet dangling and swinging back and forth.

"There's some in the fridge. Wait a second," I said.

I grabbed one for her. She scooped it up with her tiny spoon, and the sunlight streamed in from the balcony, lighting up her face. She looked like an oil painting.

Since I had nothing else to do, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of Lily.

It was a shot of her profile as she ate her ice cream. Her lashes were incredibly long, the spoon going into her mouth, her cheek puffed up a bit. She was so adorable it felt unreal.

I posted it on Instagram with the caption: [Look at that little face. Can't believe she's her father's daughter.]

What I meant was that she looked nothing like David.

After posting, I tossed my phone onto the couch and went to watch cartoons with Lily.