You Wouldn't Believe Me If I Told You

6:30 is way too early to be awake. But somehow, over the past two years and 10 months, it just became a habit; wake up, take a ten minute shower, make a bottle for Riley, make breakfast for Karen and myself, then head off to work for 8. It’s just routine anymore. For a while, it sucked. But as soon as Riley was old enough to smile at me, the mornings turned into something to look forward to.

As the day began, I turned my ten minute shower into an eight minute shower when I heard a screaming cry coming from my daughter Riley’s room. I wrapped a towel around myself and ran into her room.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” I asked, huffing and puffing. My little, red-headed angel sat in her crib, smiling up at me. At the age of two, she had mastered the art of manipulation. She knew the second she started crying, I would come running. Apparently, she had decided to wake up a little earlier than normal. I shook my head with a smile and picked her up out of the crib, my hair getting her PJs wet. “You know, this whole crying thing is getting old.”

“I know!” she giggled, putting her little hand over her mouth. Since the day she was born, I talked to Riley like she was an adult. I knew she didn’t always understand what I was saying, but I didn’t mind. Now that she was old enough to respond, it was much more fun.

“C’mon, goofball. Want to help me pick out an outfit?” I asked, kissing her head multiple times as I carried her into my bedroom.

“Yes!” she said excitedly, squirming out of my arms. She ran over to my bed and jumped onto it. My bed was taller than she was, but she had no difficulty with it. She sat what she would call ‘crisscrossed’ and looked up at me, her hands folded neatly in her lap. I pulled out a few different shirts and set them on the bed in front of her.

As she looked at each shirt carefully, I couldn’t help but watch her. She’d been on this earth for over two years already, and it was still hard to believe she was mine. But when I look at her, I’m reminded so much of her father. She looked so much like him.

Riley’s father is Rupert Grint. When most people find this out, they don’t believe me. Unfortunately, it’s the truth. It was just over three years ago. I was working as a bartender in a high class club in Time Square. The club was rented out for the Harry Potter premiere after party. I had never been much into Harry Potter, so I didn’t think much of it; to me, it was just another night. However, as my shift ended, I was approached by one of the movies stars. I recognized him immediately as Rupert Grint. A few hours and a bottle and a half of Jack Daniels later, we were up in his hotel room.

It wasn’t my proudest moment, considering it was the only time I’d had sex. At 18, being a virgin wasn’t something I admitted often. Especially not to famous movie stars. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up with a hangover and note on the pillow next to me that said ‘Had a great time. XO, Rupert.’ No number. No contact info. Nothing.

I guess I was stupid to expect anything out of it. But three weeks later, when I found out I was pregnant, I wished I had a number or contact info.

I made the best of my situation. Like I said, I love my daughter. Plus, I have my mom, Karen. She’s my best friend, and was there for me every step of the way. Now I have a happy, healthy toddler. A lot of people ask me if I would ever take it back. My answer is and always will be no. I love Riley, even if her father is an asshole.

Riley handed me a shirt to complete my outfit. I tied my wet hair into a tight bun and scooped Riley up off the bed. She giggled loudly and I carried her downstairs to the kitchen.

“You look hot! Who are you trying to impress?” my mom asked, standing over the freshly filled coffee pot.

“I have a job interview today, remember?” I asked, rolling my eyes as I placed Riley in her high chair.

“Oh, that’s right! Kill ‘em with your looks. That’s my girl!” she beamed, stirring her coffee. I poured out a pile of Cheerios onto the tray in front of Riley, and she dug right in. I made my way over to the coffee pot as well, kissing my mom’s temple.

“I get the looks from you, don’t I? Might as well show them off,” I joked with a smirk, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“My thoughts exactly!” she said, leaning against the counter. As I poured my coffee, I glanced over at her.

“You’re up a little early, aren’t you?” I asked, looking back down at my mug.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said shortly, her smile dropping from her face. I nodded, knowing I shouldn’t try and pry anything out of her. I glanced over at her again. She was tightening her bright orange bandana around her head.

My mom has ovarian cancer. She’s been going through chemotherapy for a few months now. When she lost all of her hair, she went out and bought at least a hundred different colored bandanas. She wears a different color every day. Sometimes, I wonder if she’s using the brightly colored bandanas to cover up how dark her thoughts really are.

“Well, wish me luck today!” I said, closing the lid on my mug of coffee.

“Good luck! You’ll knock ‘em dead, I know it,” my mom said, her smile returning to her face. I smiled and nodded, walking over to Riley’s high chair.

“Be good for Gram today. I’ll be home early, so we’ll go to the park when I come home, okay?” I asked, kissing her head.

“Okay!” she said, a mouth full of cereal. I laughed lightly.

“Love you, Bug,” I said.

“Love you, Mommy,” she said. I kissed her head again and walked out the door, ready to kick some ass at my interview.