Page 25

CALLIOPE

T om left early this morning for practice, and Kelsey had a midday flight back to Boston.

I left her and Crew alone until it was time to bring her to the airport.

Yup, I cried for them when they said goodbye.

Watching Kelsey struggle to be strong for Crew was painful to watch.

Even worse was Crew’s sadness leaving her behind.

I had planned to bring him to the pool in the condo complex.

Both Tom and Kelsey had mentioned that Crew loved swimming.

But even after I had him dressed in his swimsuit, he still was fixated on when he would see his mother again.

Before we went to the pool, I found a whiteboard and made a chart for him where we could count down the days until he would see his mother again.

I charted the following two transitions and drew a cartoon figure to stand for each of his parents.

“Here, buddy. This is today,” I said, showing him where we were on the calendar. “And here is the day we fly back to see Mommy.”

He nodded, counting the days and repeating the numbers after me.

“One, two, free…”

“And today,” I said, we’re going swimming. “How does that sound?”

While we were at the pool, Tom texted me several times, though his and my responses were sporadic. Between his practice and my watching a very active toddler around a large body of water, our responses were short and to the point.

Tom: How is he doing?

Me: Happy to be with you but misses his mom. Swimming helps.

Tom: [Image of woman and two small children] If you see her, introduce yourself. Her name is Mariana.

Me: Okay. Thanks.

Crew and I were both swimming when Mariana and her children arrived at the pool. I estimated the son to be about four years old and the little girl slightly older than Crew. I waved to her, and she recognized Crew.

“Hi, Crew!” Mariana yelled towards us in the pool, and her kids quickened their pace, working on their pool floats so they could join us in the water.

Crew immediately perked up. Seeing the other kids, he kicked his legs, pushing his floatation device toward the side of the pool to meet them.

Mariana waved, but neither of us had hands available for a handshake. “You must be Calliope. I’m Mariana. I was hoping I would see you here today!”

“Call me Callie. Also known as Kiwi,” I said and gestured towards my sidekick. “Tom mentioned you were the official welcome committee,” I said as Mariana and her two kids eased into the water.

She laughed easily, “I guess so. I try to do for others the things that would have been helpful for me when I was new to the league. It’s not an easy lifestyle. Several of us live in this neighborhood, so you’ll run into many WAGs at the pool.”

She introduced me to Alex Jr., or AJ, and Luciana, who went by Lucy. I had estimated their ages correctly; AJ had just turned four, while Lucy would be two in October.

I loved listening to Mariana and her children’s accents as they flowed back and forth between English and Czech.

Growing up, my parents hired an au pair who immersed us in the French language and focused on teaching us Spanish at an early age.

Because we were young when first exposed, we were fluent in both languages.

“How did you all end up in the same complex?” It was strange for so many players to live in one place.

“Word of mouth, the units here offer privacy and security. The guys talk, the wives talk. Fans, especially female fans, can make privacy difficult to come by.”

“How bad can the female fans be?” I asked, trying to understand the issues they dealt with better.

“You’ve heard of puck bunnies?” she asked, and I nodded.

“A bit, but only what I’ve read about online,” I clarified.

“Well, last year, one of the guys had a stalker. She would sneak into his hotel rooms and found her way into his house.”

“Did she end up in jail?” I asked.

“Well, they got married in July,” Mariana said with a shrug.

I burst out laughing, “He married his stalker?”

“Yeah, what a way to set an example for the rest of the bunnies. Now they all figure if they ramp up their efforts, they’ll get the guy.”

We chatted easily as the kids splashed and played in the pool.

Several more women joined us, and while Mariana introduced me, I was having trouble keeping up with them.

Mariana listened carefully as I shared my story of how I met Tom and why I had followed him to Colorado.

She knew I was the nanny, but the other women joining us did not.

I explained that we had met while I was singing at an open mic, and Tom had offered to buy me a drink.

I left the details as bare as possible. The more color I added to the story, the more likely we could poke holes in it.

“How can you drop everything in Boston and fly out here?” a blond woman named Kayleigh asked.

I decided to share my internship experience, only leaving out the fact that Zander and I were dating.

The women listened raptly, and I could see them getting angry on my behalf.

Yep, we’ve all been leaders in a group project where someone else stole the glory.

It must be another one of those universal experiences.

“What are your plans moving forward?”

“I’m not sure. But with Tom’s travel and the free time I have on my hands, I figured I would make myself useful and take care of Crew in the meantime. I’ll be grinding in Boston half-time and be here when Crew visits. We also will be traveling to some away games.”

“What’s his mother like?” asked Camille, who went by Mila. I had learned earlier that her husband was Andre Benoit, and they were both French Canadians from Montreal.

“Kelsey? She’s wonderful. She’s been great to me, and there’s no drama, which is the most important thing.”

Mila and Andre had one daughter, Anna, who was three years old, and he had a six-year-old son from a previous relationship.

Julian only got to see his father when they were in Montreal, and it sounded like the custody arrangement was contentious.

What surprised me was how open these women were with each other.

Maybe it was the proximity of their living arrangement?

Or perhaps it was because they were each other’s sole support system.

“When will the weather change around here?” I asked, wondering how long the pool would remain open.

Mila responded, “It’s unpredictable with the mountains.

We can have eighty-degree days, then the weather can quickly change, and snow can be in the forecast. The pool will close the first week of September.

We all have memberships in an indoor club to keep us swimming throughout the year.

I’ll send you the information later. What’s your phone number? ”

I gave her my number, and she added it to her contacts.

I made a note to discuss the indoor club with Tom.

Monica had already provided me with a credit card and a debit card attached to a bank account that I could use for Crew’s routine care.

Kelsey and Tom both shared in funding that account, but I wasn’t sure they considered buying a pool club membership as part of routine care.

We stayed by the pool most of the morning, but as the younger kids started to get crabby, we all returned to our respective homes for nap time. While Crew slept, I prepped dinner for tonight so we could pop it in the oven and then spent a little time working on my latest song.

After I had worked through a particularly challenging bridge, I sent a text to Tom.

Me: How is your day going?

I wished I could take back the text as soon as I sent it. Was I supposed to check in with my boss at midday? Maybe not, but I wanted to. He was the only other adult I knew here in Colorado. Yeah, I had spent the morning with the WAGs, but I wouldn’t classify them as friends yet.

Tom: YouTube link sent.

I opened the YouTube link, which brought me to a video of John Denver playing Rocky Mountain High. I laughed and sent him the video I had recorded of the song I had been working on earlier.

His response came shortly after in the form of a phone call. “Did you write that?”

“I did,” I answered shyly.

“Fuck, that’s incredible, Callie.”

His compliment made my heart speed up and caused a flip of excitement in my gut. His praise meant more than it should from my boss.

“It’s not finished yet. I was working on it while Crew slept. When will you be home? I can time dinner for when you arrive.”

“We’re finished now. Showering and headed back. But you didn’t need to make dinner.”

“Umm, what else am I expected to do while Crew naps?” I asked.

“Anything you want, write songs, read a book. I didn’t hire you to cook and clean,” he explained.

“Well, I like to cook. That’s not a problem for me. Oh, hey. I hear Crew. He’s just waking up. I’ll see you when you get home?”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

I loved my music but could never handle it when others praised or criticized it.

I might blame my family for deciding to forego Berklee, but it was me and a lack of confidence.

I feared what would happen if I put everything into my music and failed.

It had taken me months of lurking on the app before I felt comfortable enough to post my first video and another six months before I put any original work up.

Before heading to get Crew from his nap, I finalized the post I’d drafted and put it up for the world to either love or hate, set my phone down, and walked away from it.