Longtime readers will be unsurprised to learn that at the end of spring, before school was even threatening to let out, I arranged camp for both of my girls, since I knew I would be doing some kind of work this summer and they would need fun safe things to do. Once I had done the sign up, paid the monies, and had gotten confirmation, I very quickly cranked a schedule out to Franny’s father, who generally takes her for half the summer now. We have settled into a routine–once he moved off in 2007 or so after leaving brief notice on my voicemail that I “would be ‘handling’ Franny most of the time, if that was okay” he picks her up every other weekend and takes her for two weeks of the month in the summer.

As always, I try to plan the schedule so drop offs and pickups are close to the middle and end of the month and call for a minimum of contact between us. Things have been rather terse between me and his new wife since he forged my name to get Franny out of the country, so that avenue is kind of out as well. I heard no response from him regarding the summer camp schedule, which was both unsurprising (the not hearing back) and designed to make things as easy for him as possible, as far as explicitness and avoiding his evil bitch ex-wife. His father, who was CC’ed on the mail for his own information, replied within a day, so I know it did not just bounce.

The last time I saw him, which was a couple of weeks ago when he was picking Franny up from my house an hour after camp closed (I am very glad the little man in my stomach was telling me he was not going to show, and to take her home when I picked up Strudel) he claimed never to have seen such a camp schedule in his everloving life. Who? What? Where is camp again?

“Okay,” I said. What could I say? No apology for being late, no interest in knowing what was going on, really. This is the man I am legally obligated to send my child off with every so often.

Can I tell you? He looks old now. He is slightly stooped and his eyes are getting beady. His hair is getting frizzy with grey. He has put on weight, which, I know. Life happens. Still, it is shocking when this is the man who people would ask me what I was doing with him and how I landed him because he was just so handsome and I, apparently, was the dog’s breakfast. “Are you two…siblings?” He looks like he has been hit by a bat. I reckon child #3 has caught up with him.

In theory I am supposed to see Franny tomorrow evening after camp. Will he find the schedule? Will he figure it out? Starting on Friday he began emailing, calling, and texting me in an attempt to ditch her early (today) because he happened to be in West Seattle. But I should meet them there after the party they attended because that is only “fair.”

Don’t tell me about fair. Really. No. I was at the courthouse on business on Friday and I went in through the wrong doors. The murals on the ground came swooping up towards me and my head started pounding–I could hear my heart up in my ears. The worst day in court six years ago came rushing back to me and I began crying uncontrollably as I walked through the metal detector, down the halls, towards the elevator bay. No one seemed fazed, really. I imagine there is a ton of crying at the courthouse.

So…this person…still blithely asks me for favors that are not going to be forthcoming, as if I ever ask him for everything, as if we have some kind of arrangement, as if we have some kind of exchange. This person had the temerity to ditch our child with me and move away, and yet fuss at me for claiming her on my taxes this year. What do you do with this?

I did not return any of his calls or texts. I have to file these things under “sounds like a personal problem” and not engage because if I give anything it will be endless and draining and there will be no return on it. I guess you just have to say “whatever, dude” and keep living your life and be there when Franny’s face falls when he is late again.

P.S. He just texted me to say that since he has not heard from me this weekend he is making “alternative arrangements” for her care. In spite of the fact that she is all set for camp and has been for months. Off. His. Rocker. I replied that as far as I was concerned the camp schedule was still valid. I’ll keep you posted.

P.P.S. Now he is texting that he does not know what “please reread the camp schedule” means. Head, have you met my friend, Desk?

Denouement: I had to call him after he spent a few exchanges pretending like he didn’t know what I was talking about. He actually countered some of my arguments with “SHUT UP” and “NO U.” Awesome. This is a very proud day for his people.