Page 3 of Insta [FAM]

MIKA

“Taku whaiāipo, we’re going to be late,” I call up to my six-year-old daughter, Aroha. She’s at an age where she’s intent on dressing herself. My younger sister, Nyree, usually helps her, but she’s taken the weekend off, so it’s just me, and my little hellion.

“I’m coming, Papa,” she calls back, and I check my watch. Fortunately, it’s a Saturday morning, so I’m not completely pressed for time, but I do need to get to the animal shelter in Tarrytown. I’m busy packing a backpack for her to stay busy while I’m doing my shift when I hear her footfalls on the staircase.

“Papa, can you please help with my hair?” she asks, skipping into the living room. She’s wearing denim overalls, with a sparkly top underneath, and white sneakers. I take a moment to look at her because it feels like just yesterday, I was changing her nappies and putting her in onesies on my own. I’m still doing it all alone, but my little girl isn’t so little anymore, and it makes my heart pinch. I take a seat on our couch and have her stand between my legs. “You want pigtails today, or a braid, baby?” I learned the hard way that it's important to ask her first. Hell hath no fury like a six-year-old who wanted a ponytail and got a bun.

“Hmmm.” She tilts her head to the side as she thinks it over, and I know, without seeing her face, that she’s taping her chin as if deliberating how to solve world hunger, and not how she wants to wear her hair today.

“A really high ponytail, please,” she replies. That I know how to do. My sister taught me how to braid Aroha’s hair, but I’m not the best at it — not that my daughter complains.

I brush her hair, and even with my big hands, and my big fingers, I manage to tie it up the way she wants it, and when she spins around, her smile is wide. “Thank you, Papa.” She leans forward, and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“I packed your bag, is there anything I forgot?”

She bends over and inspects the contents of the bag. “Where’s Maui?”

“Where did you leave him?”

Aroha has been obsessed with Moana ever since she could understand her own heritage — I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve not only watched the movie, but the number of times I’ve had to sing that damn song with her because, “Papa, The Rock does sing it with his little girl, so you must sing it too.” She laughs at me every time, which is why I sing it when she asks me to. My kid doesn’t ask for much, otherwise, and I would do just about anything to make her happy. I guess a large part of me still carries guilt about her mother walking away from us shortly after Aroha was born, but I remind myself every day that we’re just fine without her mother, and for now, I’m all she needs. She spins around. “Oh, he’s under the coffee table.” Before I can tell her I’ll get it, she’s on her hands and knees, crawling under the coffee table. She scoots out, butt-first, and stands. “Okay, we can go now. I’m ready to say hello to the aminals.” I chuckle and shake my head. Too freakin’ smart, and too much freakin’ sass. My mum would be proud. Once I’ve locked up, I help Aroha into the back of my Ford pick-up and allow her to buckle herself in because “I’m a big girl now, Papa, I can do it.” When I’m confident she’s secure in her booster, I hop in the front, and turn to look at her. “Any music requests?”

“Taylor Swift,” she replies.

“Of course,” I mutter, plugging my phone into the dash. Aroha knows every song by Tay-Tay by heart and likes to show off her pipes — which is the only good thing she got from her mother — by belting out every song as if she’s performing at the Grammys. My sister has told me I should send Aroha for singing lessons, but I feel like she’s too young for that. I have, however, enrolled her at a ballet studio for dance lessons, and Pee Wee soccer for girls. She gets her athleticism from my side of the family — Dad and I both played professional rugby for the New Zealand All Blacks. I glance at her in the rearview mirror before starting my truck and pulling out the driveway. The drive to the Tarrytown Animal Shelter isn’t long, so Aroha gets two songs before I’m stopping at the back end of the shelter. She unbuckles herself and waits for me to get out. I open her door, and turn my back, pretending to stumble when she jumps on my back. “Ooof,” I grunt, making her laugh. “I think your whaea keke is feeding you too many snacks after school.”

“She is not, Papa,” she giggles, wrapping her thin arms around my neck. I hold her up with one hand, lock the pick-up with the other, and start walking. We pass the dog cages, and I greet the volunteers who are already here before walking into the main office.

“There’s our girl!” Josie cries, her smile wide. Aroha hops off my back and makes a dash for Josie. They’re thick as thieves, and Josie is great about me bringing Aroha with me to the shelter on Saturdays when my sister is off. “We’ve missed you around here, sweetheart.”

“You can stop missing me,” Aroha replies, smiling up at Josie. “I’m here now.”

Josie laughs and looks up at me. “Smart kid.”

I shrug. “She’s mine, what can I say? I’m going to head back to the clinic, I packed some stuff to keep her busy, and there’s some snacks in there too.”

“Perfect, Mika.” She leaves Aroha for a minute, and we step outside her office. That’s when I know what she wants to say can’t be said in front of my daughter. As much as I love bringing her to the shelter, I try my best to protect her from some of the harsher realities of my job. The only time I’m really honest with her is when I’m on call because she’s somehow already equated it with saving an animal. I’m quite happy to allow her to keep thinking that, knowing it’ll upset her if she knew I can’t save every animal. Josie lowers her voice, and says, “We got a litter of kittens this morning, and another litter of puppies, they all need to be checked out. The kittens were found in a taped-up box on the side of the road, and the puppies were found on an abandoned property in Sleepy Hollow with no sign of mom, we suspect she might have been hit by a car and I’ve got a few people out looking.”

“Christ,” I mutter, letting out a breath. “I’ll look at them first, but if you hear anything about the puppies’ mum, let me know.”

“They look fine,” Josie replies. “But you know we can’t be too careful, and we can’t feed them until you’ve examined them. Aside from that, we have a few vaccinations to do today, and there’s a dog that’s been brought in to be neutered, Hannah and Sky are busy prepping your table.”

“Okay, I’ll get started then.” I poke my head back into Josie’s office. “I’ll see you later, puawai.” Aroha waves without looking at me, and as soon as Josie sits down at her desk, Aroha starts recounting her week at school, forgetting about dear ol’ dad already. At least for now. I change into some scrubs, and make my way into the clinic, greeting the nursing staff. This is not my primary place of employment, I own a private veterinary practice in Dobbs Ferry, but I volunteer my time here every second weekend, and sometimes when they have an emergency. I do an examination on the four kittens, and the five puppies, and have them all hooked up to IVs for dehydration, and have Sky, one of the veterinary nurses, start bottle-feeding them while the other veterinary nurse, Hannah, assists me with the unlucky dog who needs his balls chopped off. It’s better for his health, of course, and we encourage most cat and dog owners to spay or neuter their pets, but as a man, I can’t help but feel his loss. I move him to a cage while the anesthesia wears off, and get through the few vaccinations, making sure to check weight, gut health, and gum health as well. It’s well after lunchtime when I’m done, so I change out of my scrubs, and go in search of Josie and Aroha. They’re outside, talking to Holland, who also volunteers here on Saturdays, but rather than go greet her, like I normally would, I wait inside the clinic. Not too long ago, I had dinner with Holland at her apartment after she adopted two blind Daschund puppies and asked her on a date because I like her. She’s beautiful, and smart, and I thought we had a spark, but I royally fucked up my chance when I had to bail on our date for a work emergency. And when I wanted to ask her out again, I heard she was married to a colleague. Our interactions have been minimal since then, and I’m choosing not to think about why. There are a few giggles coming from Josie’s office, and when I walk in, Hannah and Sky are looking at something on a phone.

“Oh, God,” Hannah laughs, “she’s not wearing pants!”

Sky snorts. “And she had the nerve to tag both the shelter, and Mika’s personal Instagram accounts.”

I frown. “What’s going on?”

Their heads snap up, and they both look like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Uh,” Hannah looks at Sky, and then back at me. “You remember that lady who came in with the three kids, and her parents? They adopted the little doe?”

I cross my arms across my chest. “Yes, what about her?”

“Well,” Hannah clears her throat, “she, uh, was recorded running down her street in a shirt, and panties, trying to catch the bunny, and the post has gone viral on Instagram. She followed it up with a post, basically slamming you for lying about how bunnies are perfect house pets. She said—”

I reach my hand out. “Let me see.”

They both look unsure, but if mine or the shelter’s reputation is brought into any kind of disrepute on social media, I need to know. The shelter relies heavily on donations from the public, even if Holland is our biggest benefactor, and any negative publicity on social media reflects poorly on us, for obvious reasons. And while I haven’t played for my national team in years, I’m still considered a high-profile public figure, and what I do can still reflect on my former team. It’s why I keep my private life away from public scrutiny, and if my personal account was tagged in a post, its content reflects on me. Hannah stands and crosses the room to hand me what I assume is her phone. Ignoring the video that’s gone viral — I don’t need to see that, thanks — I read the post I’m tagged in with the shelter. The blonde woman — whose handle is (Dion) — is holding the bunny up, probably for what she thinks is a cute selfie, but looks like she’s strangling the animal, and refers to it as, “The mother-fluffing bunny from hell.” She then comments on how I lied about the bunny being a great house-pet, and that I should consider a change in profession. The post infuriates me, so I stop reading. Handing the phone back, I tell Hannah, “Report it for defamation of character, and slander. Do we have an address on file for Miss Spencer?”

Sky logs onto the shelter’s database on Josie’s computer, and scribbles something down before standing up. “She lives pretty close to you, actually.” She blushes when she hands me the sticky note. I know Sky has a crush on me, and sure, she’s attractive, but she’s too young, and I’m not about to shit where I eat. I’m also extremely selective — see full of shit — about who I allow into Aroha’s life as far as women are concerned. And it’s probably why I haven’t dated, or gotten laid, in a while. “Thanks.” I take the note from her, and walk out, checking the address. 70 Heatherdell Road is in fact around the corner from me. Fortunately, Holland is gone when I spot Josie and Aroha outside.

“Hey, puawai. You ready to head home?”

Her long black hair, now out of its ponytail, flies as she turns her head and runs in my direction like she hasn’t seen me in forever. It's a reaction I’ve vowed never to take for granted because in a few years, she won’t run to me like I’m the most important person in her life. She throws herself at me, and I pick her up, swinging her around until she’s laughing from her belly. “Looks like someone had a great day,” I remark when I’ve stopped spinning.

“The best day, Josie let me sit with the punua,” — which is Māori for kittens — “and the papi,” — which is Māori for puppies — “and they’re the cutest ever.” Not only am I impressed with how well she’s taken to learning Māori, but I’m also impressed with how she doesn’t ask me if we can take one of something home. She’s been hinting about getting a pet, but I’ve managed to stay firm in my decision to wait at least another year. I can’t have my sister as a housekeeper of sorts, a live-in baby-sitter for Aroha and a pet-sitter. Our lives are just too busy at the moment to add looking after an animal. I’ve seen too many cases in my private practice, and at the shelter, where people adopt an animal, only to return it, or surrender it, when they underestimate how much time, and care, it requires. They’re living, breathing beings, too, and a lot of people forget that.

“Grab your things from the office,” I tell her, putting her down, “and say goodbye to everyone, okay?”

Aroha skips away, and Josie takes in the sudden change in my demeanor. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just need to do a welfare check on the bunny we had adopted out,” I tell her, not wanting to hide it. “The owner blasted us on Instagram, and I’m worried about the animal. Still no sign of the puppies’ mum?”

“No, not yet, but I’ll give Shane a call if they find her so you don’t have to come in.” Shane is the other vet who also volunteers here, and works at my veterinary practice in Dobbs Ferry. “Keep me updated anyway,” I tell her just as Aroha comes bounding back outside. She gives Josie a hug, and then walks with me to my pick-up. We follow the same routine as earlier — I help her into the pick-up, she buckles herself in, I check the harness of her booster chair — but instead of Taylor Swift, Aroha asks for, “That apple song by the country singer.” She’s talking about Fancy Like by Walker Hayes, and I can’t even criticize her choice this time. It’s my fault she listens to country music. And Nyree’s fault for all the Taylor Swift on my damn Spotify playlist.