His relationship with his father sounds about as bad as mine with my mom. “Is he still in Arizona?”
He points to the floor. “He’s six feet under.” It comes so evenly and surprises me.
“Oh. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, but he died fifteen years ago. I’m all good now.”
“Was it hard at the time?”
“I was in college, and he had a heart attack.” He exhales, then shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s about to say. “Have I mentioned he was with his mistress when he had the heart attack? He was having an affair with the next-door neighbor and died at her place.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh God. For real?”
“Indeed,” he says with an ironic laugh.
“And I thought my life . . .”
But I don’t have to finish. “I’ve got some soap opera in my background.”
“Seems we both do.”
“And that’s just one of many reasons why I’m determined to be the best father I can for my kid. I want to show her what it’s like when a man sticks around,” he says.
My heart expands, doubles in size. Then it lodges in my throat. “You are pretty dang cool,” I choke out.
“So are you,” he says, then dials up the flirt in his voice. “And I can’t wait to see you. And tie that apron around your wrists. Third time’s a charm.”
I murmur, my mind shifting quickly to dirty land again, and liking the return trip there. “Can’t wait either. But I think tonight was the third time. This feels like a date. A damn good one.”
“Then I will see you soon for our fourth date.”
And even though this time four months ago, four weeks ago, heck, four nights ago, I wasn’t ready, I am now.
I won’t make the same mistakes.
I’ll take my time.
Get to know him truly.
Take baby steps rather than run full-speed ahead.
As long as I do that, I won’t be played for a fool again. I’ll stay one step ahead of my emotions.
I’ve got this.
12
Harlan
On Tuesday morning, Abby crunches into her peanut butter toast, kicking her purple Converse sneaker-ed foot back and forth. “What are you doing today, Daddy?” she singsongs around the food in her mouth.
After I take the last gulp of coffee, I set down the mug. Give her a stern stare. “Making sure my little bear doesn’t talk with her mouth full.”
She casts her gaze down, covers her mouth, chews.
Chews some more.
A little more still.
Finally, she swallows. She gulps loudly. Smiles weakly. “Sorry.”
I stifle a laugh. She’s too cute when she’s contrite. I walk around the counter, ruffle her hair. “Thank you for saying so.” I park myself on a stool. “To answer your question, it’s a Tuesday, so I’m working out with some of the usual crew after I take you to school.”
She lifts her hand, counts off on one hand. “Cooper, Chance, Jones, Jason, and Shane?” She screws up the corner of her lips, relieved. “I think I got them all.”
I whistle in approval. “They’re not all coming today, but well done. You just named a future Hall-of-Famer QB, a World Series-winning pitcher for the Cougars, my receiver buddy, the quarterback for the city’s other team, and the All-Star British closing pitcher. You are fire, and your brain is sharp.”
She points at me, a challenging look in her hazel eyes. “But can you name all my friends who are coming to your game next weekend?” My girl pops the rest of her toast in her mouth, waiting for me to rattle off the names of her peeps.
“Ye of little faith. Gabriella, Caroline, and Audrey. Booyah. The Fab Four. Do not doubt me.”
Abby giggles, then finishes her toast and smiles. “But I don’t want to watch a boring game. Sometimes football is kind of dull and if it is, we might want to watch something else instead. On Mommy’s iPad,” she says, since her mom brings her to the games when the owner invites them. “Like maybe Girl Power, that new show about ten-year-olds who have superpowers.”
I scoff. “You might want to not come to the game and not hang out in the owner’s booth if you plan to watch your mom’s iPad. Sheesh.”
“Or we could do cartwheels in the hall, since my new gymnastics class is awesome,” she says, and that makes me smile. The fact that she loves the class, not her suggestion of doing acrobatics at the stadium. “And I love that you love Gym Buddies. But you can’t do cartwheels in the hallway at the stadium. Got it?”
“Got it. But maybe we’ll watch gymnastics instead. I could watch Simone Biles all day long.”
“Understandable. She’s the bomb.”
Abby’s all earnest as she hops off her stool and asks, “But once you’ve seen Simone, don’t you think football is boring?”
She brings her plate to the sink, rinses it, then sets it in the dishwasher as I answer. “No disrespect to Simone, who is world class, but . . . no. Never. Ever. Football is fascinating, fast-paced, fantastic, and fabulous. And that’s alliteration. So, not only do you get sports knowledge with me, but I’m practically an English teacher too. Now, the first bell rings in twenty-five minutes, Miss I Made My Dad Cry by Calling His Job Boring.” I frown, like I’m going to sob.
She runs the few feet to me, grabs my legs, and hugs me hard. “Don’t cry, Daddy. Football is fun. Just be careful.”
I scoop her up, drop a kiss on her cheek. “I promise. And I’ll see if I can get over it . . . if you brush your teeth.
“I’ll do it.”
Fifteen minutes later, her red-brick school comes into view on the corner of Octavia Street, not too far from my gym on Fillmore. She tugs on my hand. “You never told me what else you’re doing today. After you work out with your friends. What will you do tonight?”
I stiffen momentarily.
This is a quandary.
Do I bring up my date?
She’s only six, so she doesn’t need to know.
I’ve certainly dated here and there since Abby was born without sharing, since again, no need to. I’ve even had a couple girlfriends, but nothing that lasted too long. Dating has never been a huge issue.
Except for once.
During the last off-season, I broke up with someone I truly didn’t realize I’d been dating—a single mom, Cassie, who I met at Abby’s old gymnastics studio. Cassie was fun, clever, and the mom of a girl Abby liked in her class, a kid named Izzy. Cassie and I hit it off as we watched the kids cartwheel, so when Cassie asked about meeting for a playdate the next weekend at a local park, I said sure.
We met and the girls clambered up monkey bars as Cassie and I chatted.
She suggested we do it again the next weekend.
Abby liked the idea, so I said yes. More swings and slides for them, then the girls were hungry, so we all grabbed lunch. Cassie got the girls their own table, and the two of us sat and ate grain bowls together.
Hmm.
It felt a little too date-y for my taste, but maybe that was a normal parents-after-a-playdate activity.