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Someone in my building would want to watch Alice. I hoped. I added my contact information at the bottom and made a copy for the laundry room, the bulletin board in the front hall, and a third to slip under my neighbor’s door. As odd as he was, I liked him. And I thought my baby might as well. I’d even gone as far as calling Rick to ask some more questions about him. I’d confirmed that his prior landlord’s reference had, in fact, been good. Erik was an ideal tenant—responsible, quiet, clean—but the man had put all of his properties on the market, and Erik couldn’t afford to buy. So his move to our building hadn’t been brought about by anything bad on his part, aside from not having enough money to take on a mortgage.
    I waited all day for my phone to ring, for an email, a knock on the door.
    Nothing.
    So I took a big red permanent marker, tromped down to the main hall, and slashed angrily through the words on the paper. Childcare Wanted—$600 a month. I changed the one in the laundry room as well and, just for good measure, taped one on every door in my hallway.
    Nothing.
    Much more, and I would be getting close to daycare prices. How about six fifty, people? Seven? I knew there was a stay-at-home mom on the third floor. Surely one more baby wouldn’t matter that much, would it? Seven fifty. Christ, that was almost as much as rent on the lower floors. Someone had to do it. Seven fifty was more than the price of Wee Care. But I wasn’t sending her to that place. My baby couldn’t go to that place. I’d do whatever was necessary to make sure of that, even if it meant taking on extra hours at the Tom Tom.
    [31]

    Piper Vaughn & M.J. O’Shea

    I made fresh, pretty signs for the hallway and the laundry room advertising my new (cringe) rate. Out of some form of petty prissiness, I put one under Gatorade’s door too. Just think of how much toxic sludge juice you could buy with that much more money a month!

    IT WAS the day before I had to start class again. My short reprieve was over, and I had a choice looming. I could either quit school and admit I had no future beyond bartender and ridiculous flirt, or take my precious baby to the Wee Care Institute for Youngsters, where she was sure to pick up cholera, gangrene, scabies, and Lord knows what else. I hated both of those choices for her and for me. She needed a father with a real career, not some over-the-hill club boy, and I needed to know she was safe and healthy every day when I was out trying to get that career.
    I was stuck. So I did what my mom always used to do when she was frustrated about something. I cleaned. Guess I managed to learn one thing from her—well, two, actually. I avoided all forms of relationships like a pro as well. (I still have no idea how Dusty snuck into my heart.) But truly, cleaning helped me when I felt like I couldn’t control anything else. It might not solve the problem at hand, but at least my apartment would smell nice and fresh when I was done.
    I stuck my favorite rainbow headband back on and didn’t even bother changing out of my sleeping shorts and tank. Alice was still, thankfully, passed out, so I started with the kitchen. I turned my music on low. Then, to the beat of “Bad Romance,” I started scrubbing. I cleaned the counters and the sink, organized the fridge, and mopped the floors. When the kitchen was spotless and I’d gone all the way through The Fame Monster , I started with the living room. I didn’t want to wake Alice by vacuuming, but there was a ton of dusting, and I hadn’t put leather conditioner on my couch in a really long time.
    I had the feather duster out and was sweating and shaking my butt to Ke$ha when my doorbell rang and nearly scared the heart out of me.
    Of course it also set Alice off to screaming at the top of her lungs.
    Of course .
    [32]

    one small thing

    Damn, damn, damn….
    I kept lunging back and forth between the door and her nursery, unsure of where to go first. I’m sure I