Page 17

17

ANDI

This is a last resort.

We’re in Ford’s SUV driving around Hoboken in the dark.

I don’t know what was going on with Tilly, but she would not go to sleep.

I was trying to get her to sleep when Ford got home and he had no luck either, so we’ve strapped her into her car seat and hope the motion and noise of the car will put her to sleep.

So far, she’s quiet.

I lean my head back in the passenger seat and let out a long exhale.

“Wow.”

“Maybe she’s teething.”

“I think it’s too early for that.” But I actually have no idea.

I pull out my phone and open my friend Google.

“Six months, usually.” I really need to do more research.

Maybe there are things we should be doing for Tilly that we’re not.

I’ve been winging it with help from YouTube and Google when I have a question, but I should know more about babies.

“I downloaded this app,” Ford says.

“I was talking to some moms at the park.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m going to try to get Tilly onto a better schedule. I can’t handle much more of this lack of sleep.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

We drive in silence for a while.

“ I might fall asleep,” I say, as city lights slide past in ebbs and flows.

“Go ahead. I got this.”

But I can’t shut my mind off, despite my fatigue.

“What are you most afraid of?”

“Right now?”

“No.” I smile.

“In general.”

He slants me a look and moves his hands on the steering wheel.

“That’s a pretty deep question.”

“Yeah. Tell me.”

He’s silent for a bit, then says, “Needles.”

“Needles? Like medical needles?”

“Yeah. I’ve always hated getting needles. Getting blood drawn.”

I smile slowly.

“What happens?”

“I pass out.”

“Shut up.”

His lips quirk but he stares straight out the windshield.

“No lie.”

“I hate to tell you this, but Tilly is due for her four-month vaccinations.”

“Oh, I can handle it when it’s someone else.”

“Okay, good.” I study his shadowy profile.

His nose is perfect, amazing for a hockey player and even more amazing for a goalie.

But he does wear a big mask on the ice.

I didn’t mean that kind of fear when I asked.

“Actually,” he says quietly, “my biggest fear is that I can’t be a good father.”

Oh.

I roll my lips in.

I think he’s doing great at this parenting so far.

“I’m sure every father is afraid of that.”

“Yeah, probably. How about you? What’s your biggest fear?”

This I already know.

“I guess it’s that I’m afraid there’s something wrong with me, and that’s what led to my divorce.”

His head whips around, then jerks back to watch the road.

“That’s bullshit.”

I shrug.

“You can say that, but you don’t know that. I blame Trevor for cheating on me, absolutely, but was there something wrong with me that led to him doing that?”

“There’s never an excuse for cheating.”

My mouth softens.

“Really? You believe that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never cheated on a woman?”

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of relationships. So no. But I wouldn’t. If I was that unhappy in a relationship, I’d tell her.”

“Sometimes those things are hard to talk about.”

“True.” He considers that.

“But you have to.”

I like hearing that from him.

“Anyway, the divorce wasn’t your fault,” he says.

“Maybe… I worked too much.” I say it slowly, because I’ve never actually said this fear out loud.

Not even to Elodie.

“I worked a lot.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Why did I work a lot?”

“Yeah.”

That makes me think.

“Well. I loved my job. I wanted to do well at it.”

“Uh huh. Why?”

“Because…” I have to ponder that, too.

Why was it so important to me?

Why was winning that award so important?

Because I’d taken some hits to the self-esteem, and I wanted to feel good about myself.

But when Trevor and I were married…

“Well, partly because I had to. I was supporting Trevor and me. He started to make a little money playing ball, but it took a long time for him to break into the big leagues and make real money.”

Ford nods.

“And I guess it was an esteem issue,” I add quietly.

“It always seemed like his career was the priority. He was a good athlete, and talented. Maybe not the best ball player in the world, but he worked his butt off, too, and… athletes get a lot of attention, and…” I trail off.

“I wanted to be good and talented at something, too.”

I’ve never really articulated that.

I did go for some therapy after the divorce, but I think it was almost too soon.

I was still too angry and resentful to be able to look deep inside myself.

“But it worked out okay, because I have a great career,” I add.

His lips twitch.

“You always see the bright side.”

I lift one shoulder.

“I try.” I pause.

“Sometimes too much, maybe.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…” I look down at my hands.

“Sometimes I think being too optimistic and too loyal kept me from seeing who Trevor really was.”

“Ah.” His jaw sets as he looks ahead out the windshield.

“Anything else you’re afraid of?”

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth.

Having talked about my fear that I caused Trevor to lose interest in me makes it less scary.

Now…

what I’m most afraid of is falling in love again.

And losing it.

Again.

Being rejected…

again.

Trusting the wrong person.

Again.

But I can’t say those things.

Those are too scary.

And so, like Ford, I make light of it.

“Peeping Toms.”

He chokes.

“What?”

“Peeping Toms. I always have to have the blinds or curtains shut at night because I’m afraid there’s someone out there watching me.”

“Has that happened?” His voice sharpens.

“No.” I shake my head.

“I think it came from a movie I watched as a kid.”

“Huh.”

“So since you’ve never had a real relationship, I guess you don’t believe in soulmates.”

“Where are these questions coming from?”

“I’m just making conversation! We’re sitting in this car driving around, we might as well have a conversation. Do you believe in soulmates?”

Again, he takes his time answering.

“I believe in them for other people.”

I tilt my head.

“But not for yourself?”

“Well, I haven’t experienced it yet. But I’ve seen buddies fall in love and absolutely lose their minds over a woman. Like Benny and Mabel. They’re so different, and yet they found something together that goes deeper than just being introverted or extroverted. I guess that’s a soulmate?” He shakes his head.

“But my soul is freaky.”

I laugh.

“Oh my God.”

He lifts one shoulder, flicks the turn signal and brakes to slow down.

“You’re not a freak,” I say.

“Maybe a little eccentric.”

“When I was a kid, people thought I was a freak.”

Oh no.

My heart bumps.

I hesitate, then ask gently, “Why?”

“My parents were… different. They believed in following your own path. They were very loving, but also very hands off. As long as I wasn’t hurting anyone, I could do whatever I wanted. But when you’re a kid and you don’t have any boundaries in your life, it can be… scary.”

I nod somberly.

“Yeah. I can see that.”

“So I was different from the other kids. My parents didn’t come to parent-teacher conferences or make sure I did my homework. I begged them for rules, like what time I had to go to bed.”

I stifle the noise of distress that rises in my throat.

“But they just embrace spontaneity and following your id.”

“That’s not very… adult,” I venture.

“Yeah. Exactly. They were like children.”

“It’s great to be free,” I say.

“But also scary.”

“Yeah. Like, they were fine with it when I didn’t want to go to school. And there were lots of days I didn’t want to go to school.”

“Why?” The word is almost a whisper.

“Like I said, other kids thought I was a freak. They made fun of me. Bullied me.”

“Oh no. Because of your parents?”

“Yeah. And partly because of how I looked.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“I was tall and skinny and I wore glasses,” he says with a shrug.

“My clothes weren’t always the latest styles. Mom liked to shop in thrift stores, even though we could afford new things. She has a unique style.”

Hmm.

He must get that from her.

I exhale a long breath, working to keep my voice even.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hockey saved me,” he says.

“When I discovered I loved hockey it gave me something to pursue. My own path to follow. It gave me a purpose. And there were lots of rules and boundaries. And I loved it.”

“That’s so great.”

“It caused some conflict,” he continues, merging into traffic on another street.

“My parents didn’t believe in rules and schedules. So when I had to be at a practice or a game, they waved it off. I got so…” He pauses.

“Anxious, I guess. I was worried that I was like my parents. I saw their loosey-goosey way of life and it bugged me.”

“Oh.” I tilt my head, my chest aching.

“And I didn’t want to be like that,” he continues.

“I was afraid I’d get kicked out of hockey. I didn’t want to be some loser who didn’t show up for games or didn’t work hard and let the team down. As I got older, there were consequences for that. It’s a team sport, and you just don’t do that to your teammates. Mom and Dad didn’t get that. So I was always nagging and arguing with them so I could get to the arena.”

“Ohhhh.” Okay.

I’m seeing what’s going on here.

“That’s why I took up taekwondo. Self-discipline isn’t something you’re born with; you have to learn it. And like any other skill, if you want to master it you have to practice it.”

He’s kind of…

amazing.

“Kids should be allowed to follow their own path,” I say.

“But I think parents need to lay the foundation for that. They should have been there for you to make sure you got what you needed to succeed in hockey.” Oops.

Maybe that sounded critical of his parents.

“Obviously, they did. I’m sure they love you.”

“They do,” he says.

“And yeah, over the years they started trying harder. They saw how important it was to me. And how well I was doing. But it made them miserable. They absolutely hated the weekend tournaments out of town. They had nothing in common with the other parents. They wanted to be sitting at home smoking weed or doing shrooms.”

“Oh.” I blink.

“So I guess they couldn’t exactly get mad at you when you did that.”

“I have never smoked the devil’s lettuce.”

I burst out laughing.

“Riiiiight.”

He grins briefly.

“Okay, I have. I still enjoy the odd edible. But you’re right. That would have been hypocritical of them. So instead of giving me hell, they just didn’t say anything.”

“Ah. That lack of boundaries, again.”

“Like I said, hockey saved me. Although, for a while my parents were worried about how obsessed with it I was. They thought maybe I had OCD or a developmental disorder.” He pauses and shoots me a sideways glance as if he’s afraid of how I’ll react to that.

“What did they do about that?”

“They got me seen by a child psychologist. He didn’t think I had a disorder, but when I talked about my anxiety, he helped me figure out that my need for routine and structure probably related to the lack of rules and boundaries growing up.”

“That makes sense. Kids need limits.”

“Yeah. And I never thought I would be a parent myself. But here we are. I’m gonna need to learn how to set limits for Tilly without being a total dictator.”

“Hmmmm.” Obviously, he’s learned from his experience.

And yet, there are things it seems he hasn’t learned.

“I’m sorry you were bullied.”

“It’s okay. I survived. I learned from it. You were talking about how you wonder if you’re defective… well, I knew I was.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure, it is. That’s why I’ve never had a relationship. But it’s okay. As I kid, I learned that I don’t need anyone else. Other than my teammates.”

I’m silent.

I hate that.

I hate that for him so much.

I hate that he believes that.

And I hate that he’s afraid he can’t be a good dad.

“This has been quite the discussion,” he says lightly.

“Think we can go home now?”

I look back at the mirror that shows Tilly’s sleeping face in the back seat.

“We can try. Fingers crossed we can get her up and into bed without waking her up.”

It feels like we’re both parents, working together, like partners.

We argued like a married couple.

Then he made me dinner like we’re a couple.

But I’m not Tilly’s parent.

And Ford for sure is not my husband.

But is he still just a friend?

I’m getting to know him so much better, and those idiosyncrasies that were amusing and baffling are making more sense.

They’re also kind of…

endearing.

I like this guy.

He parks in the underground parking and carefully carries Tilly into the elevator and up to our floor.

We tiptoe into his condo and he gingerly lifts her out of the car seat and lowers her into her little cot.

I’m right there beside him to help with the buckle and straps and slipping her knit hat off her head.

In the dark, we stand next to each other and wait in suspense to see if she wakes up.

Her eyes stay closed, her tiny mouth a perfect little rosebud.

She really is a pretty baby.

Close enough to feel his body warmth and breathe in his warm, spicy scent, I turn to look at Ford and he turns too.

Our eyes meet.

The quiet shadows close around us, heat building.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

My lips part.

Excitement twists in my belly.

God, I want to taste him.

To feel his mouth, the rasp of his beard stubble, the hardness of his body.

His eyes go heavy-lidded and I’m drifting closer to him, lips parted, a heavy ache pulsing low inside me.

Then he glances down at the sleeping baby and steps back.

He holds a finger to his mouth in a “shhh” motion then shoos me out of the bedroom.

Right.

Right.

There’s a sleeping baby.

Ford’s baby.

Sweet salty Jesus.

What was I doing?

I’ve lost my goddamned mind.