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It’s a nice neighborhood.
Winnie likes it, which is a welcome change from Melbourne. City life hadn’t been fantastic for raising a kid solo, so the second Fido found a job he could do from home, he’d packed them up and shipped them cross-country to Brisbane— specifically, Paddington. It’s a charming little suburb both quiet and populated enough for kids, and with a little help from his savings, they find a nice little condo on the edge of town.
And Winnie actually likes it. She likes the quieter streets, the lusher plant life, even the upstairs neighbors who either have a pet giant or an elephant, Fido can’t tell. She’s set to start school next week at the local elementary. Fido’s not too worried; she’s good at making friends.
Better than he is, anyway.
Single parenthood doesn’t leave lots of room for socializing, and he tries to tell himself that’s not a problem. He would— and he does— gladly give up bars, clubs, and cafes for the sake of his daughter, but even though he knows it’s worth it, part of him wonders what he might be doing now if not for her.
He wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure— here being the local park, at 6:30 in the morning. Winnie rises early, and he’s learned that a morning outing helps her get some energy out before the rest of the day.
Someone’s already there when they arrive; another dad and daughter. The girl’s playing by herself under the slide, while her father watches from the bench. He looks one yawn away from a twelve-hour nap. Still, he’s here, and that counts for a lot.
Winnie hurries to the other girl, excited for a playmate, and in the span of ten seconds they’ve decided on a game and introduced themselves.
The other dad catches his eye and they both nod, the unofficial greeting between parents worldwide. The other dad looks back at the playground, and Fido takes the opportunity to suss him out. He’s definitely the girl’s father; they look practically identical, save for the size and age difference. And there’s something about him that’s so quintessentially dad, something Fido can’t define with words but can see plain as day. Maybe it’s the bags under his eyes.
After a few minutes the other dad pulls out his phone, which Fido takes as his cue to do the same. It shouldn’t be; Fido’s still trying to kick the habit of copying other parents, always unsure of his own choices. He hadn’t gotten much time to plan before Winnie came along, but though he tends to blame his parenting insecurities on that fact, he’s also not sure an entire lifetime’s worth of research could have prepared him for the actual thing.
And he’d thought that feeling was somewhat universal, but some parents just seem to get it.
Fido gets it every once in a while, when Winnie brushes her teeth without being asked or says ‘please’ before grabbing something off the dinner table. But most of the time it’s like treading water, just barely keeping his head afloat. Last week she’d asked him about where babies come from for the first time, and he’d resorted to switching the blender on and pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Dad?” twin voices call from the slide.
A minute later he’s squishing his legs beside the other dad, looking anywhere but in his eyes. It’s embarrassing to think about, but Fido hasn’t been this physically close to anyone else— besides Winnie, obviously— in years. Probably not since Winnie was born. They’re not touching— a miracle, since this table was obviously made for toddlers— but it almost feels like they are. It’s a nice cool morning, but Fido can feel the other dad’s leg radiating warmth even though they’re inches apart.
“Hey, mate,” the other dad says, giving a little wave. “Bandit.”
Bandit gets it.
Fido’s never met anyone like him. He and his kid are so in sync it’s almost scary— every time the kid pipes up with a new twist and turn in her game, Bandit nods and plays along like they’ve rehearsed it for a week. Better yet, Winnie loves his daughter.
“I told her I had a sister too,” she admits when they get home.
“What? Why?” Fido spatulas two eggs onto her plate, and she cuts into them with vigor.
“Because she said she had one.”
“Well, honey, that’s no reason to lie to her. If you see her tomorrow, can you tell her the truth?”
Winnie sighs. “Okay.” She pokes her eggs. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
Winnie hesitates. She pokes her eggs again. “Um. Nothing.”
Abandoning the stove, Fido sits beside her. “Winnie, what’s wrong?”
Winnie eats her breakfast and thinks about it for a while. She gets through one and a half eggs before finally answering.
“She’s got a big family. And… we’ve got a small one.”
Fido sighs. He’s been waiting for this to come up. “Yeah, it’s just you and me.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, honey.”
“But—” Winnie sets her fork down. “But aren’t you supposed to have two parents? Everyone else does.”
“Not everyone.” Fido shakes his head. “Families on telly are all the same, but families in the real world are different. There’s all sorts. Some kids just have a mum or a dad, not both. Some kids don’t even have a mum or a dad, they live with their grandparents, or their aunts and uncles.”
The only reason he knows what to say now is because he’s rehearsed this a hundred times in his mind.
“Whoa. Why?”
“Well, sometimes life just works out that way.”
“Will I ever get a mum?”
“No,” Fido says quickly. “Er— I mean—”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
This part he hasn’t practiced.
Luckily— or unluckily— Winnie changes tack without missing a beat. “What about another dad?”
Fido swallows. Winnie’s still looking at him, her eggs forgotten, probably cold by now.
He sighs, and thinks about the other dad at the park, thinks about sharing an invisible slice of banana bread. “I don’t know. Maybe someday.”
“Oh, okay, good.”
And she tucks into her breakfast, humming a tune Fido thinks he recognizes from a cereal commercial.
He beats Bandit the next morning. Winnie had pawed at the door thirty minutes early, demanding to see her new friend again. But, of course, showing up to the park at 6:00 sharp had meant finding an empty park, and Fido only consoles Winnie by saying that her new friend might come, if they’re patient enough.
And, sure enough, at 6:15 they have company.
“Back for more?”
Bandit shrugs. “Gotta be done.” He heads for his bench, but before he can sit down the kids call for them and they’re back at the ‘café’ table.
Bandit, to Fido’s disappointment but not to his shock, is married. He has two children, works part from home and part on site as an archeologist, and quite unfortunately is the nicest, most approachable, easiest-to-talk-to person Fido’s ever met. He doesn’t miss a beat between talking about his daughter’s elementary school and cooing over the mess of sticks his daughter deems sugar packets, and he doesn’t waste a second causing a ruckus in the ‘café’.
Somehow, they wind up stuffed inside a slide, and Fido has a split second to experience the sensation of his face pressed up against another person’s body— albeit with the twin sensation of being electrocuted by a children’s slide— before they’re out the other end, dashing under the rope climber while Winnie and Bluey trip over themselves in chase.
One of the sugar packet sticks winds up in his fur and makes it all the way home, and when Winnie points it out he sticks it in a little glass jar on the kitchen windowsill.
“What would you like to order? And do you like my dad?”
Kids are always so blunt.
Bluey and Winnie have that in common, along with their imaginations. Bluey’s a little bossier, but that’s not a problem. Winnie’s not shy, but she’s usually not the first one to say hello, so a little assertiveness from someone else is well-received. Plus, now that she’s got one friend in town, Winnie’s stopped having nightmares about starting school next week. So Fido’s pre-dispositioned to like this kid.
“Croissant, please,” he tells Bluey, “and yeah, I do like your dad.”
It’s true enough. Winnie’s old enough to know the difference between liking someone and liking someone, so Bluey must be too, but he doesn’t have to tell her which one he’s just admitted to.
Bluey ‘writes’ his order down. “Good.”
“Because he likes you,” Winnie adds, handing him a woodchip.
Fido eyes her carefully. Honesty has always been one of Winnie’s best qualities— save for a few occasional missteps— and Fido likes to think that particular character trait is his doing. He’ll take a blunt kid over a cheeky one any day. But virtue as it is, it also means he doesn’t know exactly what Winnie means. Does she think Bandit likes him, or does she think Bandit likes him?
Instantly, he feels like he’s her age again, asking questions like a primary schooler. He schools himself, taking a minute to remind himself that Bandit is not only married, but also a practical stranger. Fido’s got no business thinking past random, surface level fantasies that the nice, handsome, amazing-with-children guy is gonna slip his number across the playground. Which isn’t going to happen, obviously. Bandit’s got enough kids on his plate already, and Fido’s not about to try breaking up a marriage.
Besides, if Winnie thought someone had a crush on him, she’d be giggling up a storm.
“And we’re all out of croissants!” Bluey yanks the woodchip from his hand, dragging him out of his head and back to the playground. Right. He’s playing customer solo this morning, since Bluey’s sister wanted to play on the swings. Bluey and Winnie scheme about their next café pastries, and Fido glances over his shoulder.
Bandit’s looking at him.
The second they make eye contact he looks away, back to his younger daughter— Bingo, that’s her name. They chat about something, and then Bandit’s shoulder’s slump.
Fido sips his ‘tea’.
“But why don’t I have a mum?”
She’s migrated to his bed tonight, after a few hours of trying and failing to sleep. He doesn’t tell her off, only because she’s still a little worried about school. If she keeps doing it after next week, he might put his foot down, but until then he’s more than happy to share his bed.
“You do, but it’s complicated.”
Bailey hasn’t called in a few months, not since Christmas.
“How’s it complicated? You either have a mum or you don’t.”
“Well—” Fido clears his throat. “You know how you’re really good at drawing, but you don’t really like to read?”
“Uh huh.”
“Some people are really good at being mums and dads—”
“Like Bluey’s dad!”
It hurts, a little, that that’s her first choice. But Fido can’t blame her. Bandit’s parenting style seems to be to take every occasional moment of good parenting Fido’s ever managed, and stitch them into his entire personality. “Right, like Bluey’s dad. But some people don’t like it.” He scratches between Winnie’s ears. “It doesn’t mean they’re bad people, it just means they’re… different.”
Winnie thinks this over. “So… my mum doesn’t like being a mum?”
“No.”
He braces himself for so why’d she have a kid, then? There’s only so many times he can avoid the birds and the bees until he finally snaps and just explains it all, or buys a book— though he’d probably have to read it aloud to Winnie, which negates the point of buying a book to leave around and avoid conversation with.
But that’s not what Winnie asks.
“Do you like being a dad?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He flops onto his back, tugging Winnie on top of him, and hugs her tight. “I love it.”
Fido wakes up the next morning still reeling from his dream, trying to remember the details before they slip from his memory. It’s no use; by the time he’s out of bed, the only thing he can remember is a blue arm against his own, and the faint smell of biscuits.
Winnie wakes up at 6:30, demanding to know why Fido had let her sleep in, and refusing to accept his pitiful excuse that, since she’d stayed awake an extra hour, she’d slept in an extra hour.
Still, she begs to go to the park to meet Bluey. Personally, Fido doesn’t know what the chances are that Bandit will take Bluey there three mornings in a row, or that they’ll stay late enough that Fido and Winnie will catch them. But he agrees, only because he knows Winnie be inconsolable if they don’t go.
And maybe, also, a little bit because of something else.
“Bluey!” Winnie calls, the second they reach the fence. Fido almost wants to chide her about keeping her voice down, but this is a playground, after all.
Besides, he sort of feels like shouting too when Bandit lights up at the sight of him.
“Sorry we’re late,” he says, a little breathless from the jog— and from the same something-else. “Bugalug slept in.”
“No worries,” Bandit assures him. “We were just heading back for brekkie.”
Winnie’s ears fall. “Aww.”
Fido swallows. “Oh— okay. No worries.”
It’s the same thing he writes at the end of every email to Chet, after asking him for the updated invoice for the third time in a week. It’s the same thing he tells mum when she has to cancel a brunch date or a holiday plan because her back is hurting too much.
It’s the same thing Bailey said when he told her the truth, six years ago.
“Well, um,” Bandit stammers, snatching Fido back to the morning. He looks down at Bluey and Winnie, who both look crestfallen. Fido’s heart pangs; as much as he envies her for having childlike worries, they can’t be easy for her.
And then Bluey smiles.
Bandit smiles back, a little apprehensively, and scratches the back of his neck.
“Would you like to come to our house for breakfast?” he asks Winnie. Her eyes light up, so do Bluey’s, and their tails wag in perfect sync. Fido has to forcibly stop himself from doing the same.
“For real life?” Winnie gushes.
“Only if it’s okay with your dad,” Bandit adds quickly, looking sheepishly at Fido. “I mean, it’s pretty short notice.”
Fido swallows.
He should say no. It’s a little late already; Winnie needs to burn off some steam this morning if she’s going to get to bed on time tonight. And they have a new box of blueberry waffles in the freezer that Winnie had begged for, last night at the shops. Not to mention Fido’s… other reservations.
But Winnie pulls her trump card.
“Can we, dad? Please?”
She and Bluey look so happy together, happy and hopeful, and she holds her hands up in the pretty-pretty-please pose, and Bandit smiles at him. And Fido knows he doesn’t have a choice.
Bandit and Bluey live on Red Hill, in a beautiful house overlooking the Story Bridge.
Bandit’s wife greets them without preamble when they meet, quickly extinguishing Fido’s growing worry that she won’t be as welcoming as her husband.
Winnie has no such anxiety, and immediately hugs Bluey and her sister— Bingo, that’s right— the second they step inside.
“So you’re Fido,” Bandit’s wife says, as Bandit bustles around in the kitchen fixing sausages. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Er— yes.” What else is he supposed to say, exactly? And what can Bandit have told his wife about Fido? He hasn’t told Bandit that much, apart from Winnie’s age, her new school, and their general location. It’s not like he goes around swapping tax file numbers with every guy that gives him a once-over.
“I’m Chilli. I’m sure Bandit’s told you nothing about me.” She smiles.
“Only that you work in—” Fido tries to remember, but details about the wife-of-the-cute-dad-in-the-park are not forthcoming. “Accounting?”
“Airport security.” She winks. “You’re close.”
Bandit returns at last with a mountain of sausages and doles them onto everyone’s plates. Bluey and Winnie each grab one and start making sword noises. Bandit doesn’t bat an eye.
“It was sweet of you to come over,” Chilli says, grabbing a slice of toast. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re leaving someone home alone?”
Bandit freezes, a forkful of sausages hovering over Fido’s plate. Chilli doesn’t appear to notice.
“No, er—” Fido shakes his head. “It’s just me and Winnie. We just moved into a little condo over in Paddington.” He scrapes the sausages from Bandit’s fork onto his plate and starts cutting them. “Your house is beautiful,” he adds, awkwardly.
Bandit clears his throat. “Thank you. We’ve put a lot of work into it.”
Fido looks down at his plate. God, what are they going to talk about next? The weather? Six years away from socialization is showing its toll; he can’t have a single regular human interaction anymore, not unless Winnie’s around to tell him what to say and do, and whether or not he has wings and is also a dragon.
They eat in silence for another minute or so— silence save for Winnie, Bluey, and now Bingo’s giggling character voices on the other side of the table.
“Paddington’s a nice place,” Chilli says at last, when she’s finished off her toast. “Lots of good restaurants over there. And bars, if you’re looking to find a nice girl.”
Fido shoves a forkful of sausage slices into his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed on the table.
“Or a nice bloke,” Chilli adds.
Bandit’s fork slips over his sausage and hits the plate.
Fido coughs around a mouthful of food and swallows it with difficulty. “I’ll— keep that in mind.”
Chilli sips her orange juice.
Eventually Winnie and Bluey calm down long enough to actually eat their food, and the two Heeler kids run upstairs to get ready for school. Fido helps Winnie find the bathroom, grateful for an excuse to catch a breath for himself, and almost reaches the kitchen again when he hears voices around the corner.
“He’s sweet,” Chilli says, over the sound of running water and clinking dishes. “You picked a good one.”
“I didn’t—” Bandit breaks off. “Look, he’s probably not even interested.”
“He said yes, didn’t he?”
“He was just being polite. Can we drop it?”
“Fine,” Chilli says, sighing. The tap shuts off. “But I think you’ve got a shot.”
Footsteps sound, then, getting closer. Heart pounding, Fido rushes back to the bathroom and just manages to lean back on it casually when Bandit rounds the corner.
“Oh,” he says. “Hey, mate. You in line?”
Fido shakes his head. “Just waiting.”
Bandit nods, and doesn’t say anything else.
It’s like they’re back in the park that first morning, trying to look anywhere but in each other’s eyes. Except three mornings ago there’d been nothing to say, and now there’s so much Fido wants to say that he can’t say anything at all.
What had Bandit meant by interested? What had his wife meant by picked a good one? By I think you’ve got a shot?
Are they swingers? If so, Fido’s about to have an unbearably awkward conversation, followed by the second-worst coming out of his life. His own mother doesn’t even know, for god’s sake. But he’s known Bandit for three days and he’s already preparing a speech in his head.
Bandit clears his throat. “Thanks for coming over, mate, it meant a lot to Bluey. She’s been asking for days.”
“Really?” Fido blinks. “She likes Winnie that much?”
“Well, yeah.” Bandit shrugs. “That, and she really wanted us to be friends.” He smiles awkwardly. “She doesn’t really understand that kids and adults make friends a little differently.”
Fido nods wistfully. “Yeah. I wonder when you lose that.”
“Some time after primary, I guess. Though I hope Bluey doesn’t stop.”
“I hope Winnie doesn’t, either.”
Right on cue, the toilet flushes and Winnie hops out of the bathroom. Fido turns her right around, and a minute later she comes out with clean hands.
“Right, we should go,” he says then, patting Winnie between the ears until she giggles. “I’ve got to take this one shopping for school clothes today. She starts next week.”
“Yeah, all right, I won’t keep you.”
Bandit sees him to the door, while his wife helps the kids with their shoelaces. She gestures him over and he gives Fido one last pat on the shoulder— another touch Fido hasn’t felt in an embarrassingly long time— before heading back to Bluey, Bingo, and his wife.
Fido’s little chapter in their story is probably over, now, and it’s time for them to go. Maybe they’ll see each other at the park again, maybe they’ll even arrange a playdate between the kids if Winnie ends up in Bluey’s class. But more than likely this will be another example of people crossing paths briefly, blithely, before passing on to the rest of their lives.
Fido hefts Winnie onto his shoulders, knowing she won’t be up for walking much after a heavy meal, and they head out the door and down the steps.
“Wait,” Bandit calls.
Fido waits.
Bandit jogs to meet him, looking a little flushed. “Listen,” he says, looking away. And then he takes a breath and looks Fido in the eyes. “I don’t know if you’re, uh, interested. But if you wanted to meet up again sometime…” He holds out a slip of paper with the QANTAS airline logo embossed at the top. Scribbled over it is a string of numbers.
Fido takes it. “Yeah,” he says, without thinking. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
“I mean I could get Chilli to watch the kids for a while,” Bandit adds meaningfully. “If. If you’d like.”
Winnie taps his shoulder and leans down, cupping her hand to her mouth.
“Dad,” she whispers. “I think he likes you.”
“Thanks, bugalug,” he whispers back, patting her ankle. She sits back up and Fido looks back up— and Bandit’s looking at him.
“Well,” Fido says. “If you ever want to stop by my place, I can whip up some banana bread.”
Bandit smiles.