Just another magical crack fic

The Play Date

Despite my lifted spirits and marginal increase in friends, the next week went on like a prison sentence. Gray, dull, monotonous, and unending. Even Charlie was actually busy with work, offering me no distractions. Another Thursday dragged on, and I didn't even bother checking to see if I had a sex lunch or coffee happening to attend. Tate hadn't been in contact with me since the party, and my heart was so sore when I thought of him and what he might be doing. I knew he had come a long way since his coke-fueled orgies, but I would hate to have him go back to those dark places again because of me. Jack hadn't been completely silent, like Tate was, but we certainly had not gone out of our way to interact. I hate being left on read, and so I played this game with myself where I would definitely not be the last person to text Jack something. If I texted him, it was a question or something that required a response. This was harder than I could ever have imagined due to my propensity to text like eight individual thoughts in a row. I felt like a psychopath.

After dinner, when I was getting situated for my night job, I got a text from Jack that wasn't just a reply to something I had written. He texted me twice in a row, even. "Hey, I am just checking if you are still up for watching Lana while Charlie and I go out of town next weekend." The second text said, "Sorry if it's weird but if you aren't available, I have to find someone to watch her." My stomach found a boulder that I didn't know was there. I had totally forgotten about agreeing to take Lana for Jack and Charlie's trip. Glancing around my home at all the sharp objects and wine just all over the place, I worried my bottom lip between my teeth and typed back, "No problem at all. I'd love to take her." FUUUUCK. I am so not ready for this. All my Lana-centric plotting had been put on hold while I dealt with my friendship heartache. Jack had given me an out. Why didn't I take it? What was I thinking? I think I was thinking that I needed to cut back on how often I say fuck if I'm spending like 72 hours with a six year old.

Eight days later, Jack showed up at my office at 4:30 to pick up Charlie and drop off Lana. I still had some work to do for the day, so she sat at one of the underutilized chairs in front of my desk with an ipad to keep her company. She watched youtube kids for like, god knows how long while I finished up a report. I scrubbed my face with my hands and murmured, "Motherfu--" before I realized Lana was staring at me. Her wide doe eyes blinked and her mouth gaped at me for a moment before I said, "Ok, kiddo, let's get the f-- let's get out of here." We rode back to my place in relative silence. Lana was sitting in her gigantic, 40-pound car seat, narrating a scene between Otter and Manny the Manatee. We pulled in at my house, and my phone pinged. HQ has no orders for me tonight. I'm not complaining, but this just happened a few weeks ago, the night of the party, so it's odd that it happened again. I guess it works out ok, because that way I wouldn't have to figure out how to carry Lana along tonight. I know I am allowed a "passenger" as it were, but I just have never tried. So, instead of collecting teeth, we had a dance party. We ordered Thai food. We built a fort. I argued that we don't need fairy lights because all my lights essentially are fairy lights. We painted nails and braided hair. We watched Aladdin and I realized how problematic the movies from my childhood were. Soon I was tucking Lana, Otter, and Manny into my guest bed. She brought some picture books and she read them to me, and she wasn't sleepy yet, so I pulled out Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, which was my most child-appropriate book, though also problematic, and read to her for a while. At the point there was no post on Sundays, Lana was sleeping. My heart did its little tug for her, and I slipped out of the room.

It was only about 8:30, so I poured myself a glass of wine and settled on the couch in the den. I considered that I should probably read more, and I scanned my bookshelf instead of skimming through Netflix. On the coffee table next to the bookshelf was a piece of paper, hamburger-folded, with two stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun drawn on it in crayon, "Lana" and "Kara" scrawled over their heads. The little skip of my heartbeat and scramble of my brain stalled me for a moment before I texted Annie. This whole evening and the weight of my recent struggles reinforced how much I wanted to help and protect Lana. She needed me, and due to the precarious situation I was in with her father, this might be my only chance to establish some kind of support system for her.