My Daughter Chose My New Wife Chapter 2

The next afternoon, I was in the kitchen making lunch.

Zoe was in the living room watching cartoons, the volume turned up high enough that the house echoed with the Paw Patrol theme song.

I was cracking an egg into some ramen when the doorbell rang.

I went to open it.

Lauren stood on the porch.

No makeup today. She was wearing a casual gray hoodie, her hair thrown into a messy ponytail.

She looked like a completely different person from the high-maintenance woman at the mall yesterday.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I came to see Zoe."

My instinct was to close the door.

But she was here to see our daughter, and I couldn't bar her from doing that.

Lauren kicked off her sneakers and walked in, sitting on the living room sofa.

Zoe glanced over from the TV.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetie "

"You're back again today," Zoe said, putting a heavy emphasis on "again".

Lauren’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Mommy missed you."

"Oh."

Zoe turned back to her cartoons.

Lauren sat on the sofa, her eyes scanning the room, before settling on her real target.

"Ryan, come here. We need to talk."

I turned off the stove and walked into the living room.

"That woman yesterday "

"Claire."

"Fine, Claire," Lauren said, crossing her arms. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"None of your business."

"How is it not my business? Zoe is calling her 'Claire' like they're best friends you’re letting our daughter hang out with a stranger?"

"Lauren," I said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. "We are divorced. Who I see is my choice."

"Can you think about our daughter for once? Zoe is only six, and you’re parading all these women in front of her "

"All these women? There’s only been Claire."

"Even one is too many!"

She stood up, her voice rising.

"Ryan, listen to me. I don't care who you see, but you will not mess up Zoe "

I opened my mouth to shoot back.

But someone beat me to it.

"Mom."

Zoe had muted the TV.

She was holding a bowl of instant ramen I hadn't even finished cooking, and she’d already raided the pantry.

"Are you really here to see me?"

Lauren’s voice instantly softened into maternal sweetness. "Of course, sweetie. Mommy missed you so much "

"When was the last time you came to see me?" Zoe asked, tilting her head. "I don't really remember. Daddy, when was the last time Mom visited?"

Me: "...About six months ago."

"Oh," Zoe said.

Her tone was entirely flat.

Like she was just confirming the answer to a math problem.

A crack appeared in Lauren’s polished facade.

"Sweetie, Mommy has been so busy with work "

"Daddy is busy too," Zoe said, slurping a noodle. "But Daddy picks me up from school every single day. Even when it rains, even when it’s windy. One time he had a fever of 101, and he still came."

She said it casually, like she was telling a story about someone else.

But every word was a direct hit.

Lauren couldn't hold it together anymore. Her eyes welled with tears.

"Zoe, Mommy knows she hasn't been perfect "

"Mom, don't cry."

Zoe set her bowl down, pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table, and handed it to her.

"I'm not mad at you."

She paused.

"But you shouldn't be mad at Daddy for dating, either."

There it was.

The double-tap. My daughter's verbal hits always came in pairs.

"Daddy needs someone to keep him company too," Zoe said in a highly reasonable, matter-of-fact tone. "After you left, Daddy had to work and take care of me all by himself. Why shouldn't he have someone to help him?"

Lauren’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

Like a goldfish.

I leaned against the doorframe, my mind blank except for one recurring thought:

"My daughter is six. Six."

Her logical reasoning was tighter than any product manager I’d ever worked with.

Lauren sat there for a few more minutes, silent.

Finally, she got up, grabbed her purse, and left.

Her exit today was much slower than yesterday's. Without her high heels, her footsteps were quiet, as if the energy had been entirely drained from her body.

The door clicked shut.

I looked at Zoe.

Zoe curled back up on the sofa and picked up her ramen bowl.

"Daddy, the noodles sat too long. They're soggy."

"...When did you learn how to make instant ramen?"

"Last winter, when you had to work late until eleven."

My chest tightened with a sudden, sharp ache.

But Zoe didn't give me time to wallow.

"Daddy, do you want to add an egg? There are three left in the fridge."

"...Sure."

"Go cook it then. I'm almost done with this bowl."

As I turned back into the kitchen, I wondered.

"Was this kid a debate champion in a past life?"

No, even debate champions weren't this devastating.

"Maybe she was a cognitive behavioral therapist."