“Peyton,” she says her name slowly. “Yes, she graduated with me. Don’t you remember us doing that massive fundraiser for her? She was the one who left school because she was in a horrible accident.”
“Oh yes, now that you mention it, I do remember something, but not specifically her.”
“You might not have met. She lived off campus her senior year. Why?”
“Well, the sportscaster at work says she lives here, and I thought I’d reach out, one alumnus to another.”
“Oh, you know, now that you say this, yes.” Veronica fumbles with her phone and then apologizes. “I think Peyton is married to someone in the NFL. I don’t remember off the top of my head.”
“She works for the team, from what my co-worker says.”
“Oh, maybe that’s it. Do you have her email? You should send her a message.”
“I don’t. I’m sure I can find it in our alumni book.”
“Here, I’ll give it to you. Tell her I said hi though.”
Veronica rattles off the email address. We stay on the phone for another ten minutes or so before she has to go. I keep good on my promise and send her pictures of my apartment before sending an email to Peyton. Chances are, she may never respond, but if she does, hopefully we can meet up for coffee. Having a friend that isn’t a co-worker would be lovely.
Four
Julius
Behind me, Reggie talks about last night's football practice and how Miss Meghan kept yelling for him to tackle the other guy. "Only," Reggie says, "the other guy is on my team, and we're not supposed to tackle. I told Miss Meghan we could only tackle during games. Not practice."
I glance over my shoulder in time to see Reggie shake his head and sigh. It's comical. He's very dramatic, especially when it comes to football. He's told me many times that I'm his role model, but he's also told my best friend and teammate, Noah Westbury, that he's also his role model. Honestly, I'm not sure where I stand with my son in this sense.
"Daddy, I spill." The sweet voice of my daughter, Roxy, sings out. Instantly, I'm next to her and cleaning up the small dribble of milk that came off her spoon.
"It's okay, baby girl," I tell her as I run my hand down her hair. I've worked hard to keep my frustration with their mother hidden. They don't need to see the anguish she's putting me through, because they're going through their own pain. I come from a long line of married family members and have a hard time accepting that my marriage is over.
"I sorry," Roxy says, looking up at me and batting her big brown eyes.
"I know you are. We cleaned it up. Everything is good." Roxy is like this because her mother would yell at her, which I've deduced is because Elena felt guilt over what she was doing to our family. Maybe there's another excuse for flying off the handle and screaming at the kids over something as trivial as spilled milk, but I doubt it.
Roxy goes back to scooping her cereal into her tiny mouth without a care in the world. This is how her day should always be, carefree and without worry. Reggie watches me. Is he waiting for me to freak out, to start yelling? It's not going to happen, at least not in front of my kids. I'll let myself go when I'm at the practice facility where I can punch a bag or scream out on the field, and no one would know why. The thing is, they'd likely start screaming with me, thinking I'm trying to hype myself up or something.
“Eat up, Reg. It’s almost time to leave for school.”
“I go to practice?” Roxy asks. As much as I’d love to take her with me, today is not the day.
“Miss Meghan will be here soon. I think today is story time at the library, and then I believe she’s taking you to the zoo.”
Roxy nods as if she has her schedule with her nanny down.
“Is Miss Meghan taking me to my practice?” Reggie asks as he gets up from the table. He carries his bowl to the sink and then places it in the dishwasher. I have to say I’m rather impressed with him right now. We had a long talk after Elena went back to Los Angeles about stepping up with his sister, and he’s taken it to heart. He knows that Miss Meghan is here to care for him and his sister, but not wait on them or clean up after them.
“Yes, but if that changes, I’ll let you know.”
Reggie finishes in the kitchen and then heads off to his room. It’s just Roxy and me. I pull the chair out from under the table and sit down beside her. “I’m going to eat your breakfast.”
She smiles brightly and giggles. “No, you not, Daddy.”
“Uh-huh,” I tell her. My hand starts moving toward her spoon, and she laughs louder. She squirms in her chair and then holds her arms out for me. “Are you all done?” I ask as I bring her toward me. Her dark hair is a mess of curls, going every which direction. I’m thankful Meghan is around to help me. Otherwise, I’d feel lost when it comes to my kids. I kiss Roxy on the nose. “I love you, bug.”
“I lub you too, Daddy.”
“Come on, let’s clean up.”
Roxy gets down from my lap and takes her bowl over to the sink. I hoist her up onto the counter and let her wash her bowl before setting it into the dishwasher. The front door opens, and she screeches out Meghan’s name. I’ve barely put Roxy on the floor before she’s off and running toward her nanny.
“Good morning, Mr. Cunningham.” Roxy is in her arms before I can even mutter a good morning.
“Morning. Thank you for staying with the kids yesterday and last night. If you need a day off this week, let me know.”
“It was my pleasure. We had a good time, right guys?”
Both kids nod.
“I’m going to take Reggie to school now,” I say. “You’re picking him up, right?”
“Yes, but you’ll call me if anything changes?”
“I will.” I kiss Roxy on the cheek and then holler for Reggie. He tells Meghan good morning before following me to the door.
We live on the top floor of a new apartment complex. Technically, we have a penthouse, but it’s nothing over the top or extravagant. I’m not the guy who spends an ungodly amount on living expenses or frivolous things. I want to make sure my children have the best education possible and can go to college. I was lucky, I had football to pay my way, but Reggie’s path may differ. Same with Roxy.
Our building is on the waterfront and within walking distance to most things—even Reggie’s school. During the season, I drive Reggie to school. In the spring, we walk. Most days, even in the fall and winter, we walk around our neighborhood, do our shopping, or hang out in the park. I love it here in Portland, because no one cares that I play professional football. The gossip hounding media, on the other hand, is a whole other story.
“Is Mom coming home?” Reggie asks when we step into the elevator. He knows I went to see her yesterday, but I haven’t sat him down to tell him we’re going to divorce. I don’t even know how to start a conversation like this with my son. Part of me thinks he’s too young to hear about all this adult drama, but the other half of me doesn’t want to lie to him. When he goes to L.A. to see his mother, something tells me she doesn’t plan to hide her new boyfriend from the kids, and they should know about him ahead of time. Do I tell them, or does Elena? Is it possible we can be amicable enough to sit down and tell them together?