Page 63 of Foster

Finally, he says, “I always worry about Bowie Jane. I always wonder if I make good decisions as a parent. I fret constantly over her security and I often feel like a failure.”

I spin in his arms. He loosens his hold to allow this and when we’re face-to-face, I chastise him. “You’re an amazing father. Bowie Jane couldn’t be luckier.”

“But did we rush?” he asks, circling back to my original concern. “I can’t say if we did or not because I’ve seen no negative fallout yet. By all accounts, Bowie Jane is as well-adjusted as she can be. Will that be the case tomorrow? Next week? I don’t know that either. So our choices are to keep pushing this forward—this thing between you and me—or we abandon it before things get too deep.”

“They’re already too deep.”

He doesn’t deny it, merely stares at me expectantly, leaving the ball in my court. His unwillingness to pull away tells me exactly how he feels, and it makes me feel marginally better because I trust Foster. He’d never do anything to hurt his daughter and he’s taken all the steps necessary to make sure he was fully transparent with her so she understood.

“Come here,” Foster murmurs, pulling me in close. I turn my head, place my cheek against his chest and am lulled into security by the steady drum of his heartbeat and how he holds me. His hand strokes my lower back, soothing me with touch, and before long my eyelids grow heavy.

CHAPTER 24

Mazzy

Very few things transport me back to childhood, but one is my mom’s Sunday cooking. It’s chicken and dumplings tonight and the chicken is still stewing in the big pot. When it’s done, Mom will cut it up, pick it clean and put the meat back in the stock. When that’s simmering, she’ll add the homemade dumplings, currently spread out on the counter in a coating of light flour so they don’t stick. In the oven, a cherry pie bakes, and that will be served with vanilla bean ice cream. My stomach is already growling in anticipation.

It’s a rare luxury I have my mother to myself and I’ve enjoyed the last hour helping her roll out the pastry dough and cut squares to make the dumplings. Mason and Landon are at the shop with Dad, working on equipment maintenance. Even though my father’s business is successful enough to hire someone to do that stuff, he loves tinkering with engines and teaching the boys how to do those things as well. He did the same with Tim and Brian, and I’ve heard their wives praise their handiness on more than one occasion. It’s an attractive quality in a man.

Foster is that way. He’s one of those guys that if something’s broken, he knows how to fix it and has the exact right tool to do it. And yes… it’s hot.

While Mom checks on the chicken, I fix two glasses of freshly brewed sweet tea from the nearly full pitcher. Glancing at my watch, I know Foster will be here soon to drop off Bowie Jane. He’s on his way to the West Coast to play both of his former teams, the San Francisco Bay Brawlers and the Vancouver Flash.

I asked him this morning if that felt weird… playing his former teams. I woke up in his bed after an incredible night—he rocked my world like it’s never been rocked. We took a quick shower together which was a bad idea—or good, depending on how you viewed it—and he fucked me against the tile wall from behind. While we enjoyed a quick cup of coffee after, we talked about his former teams.

“It’s part of the business… being traded, finding a new home and team. You maintain relationships with those you were close to but when you step out on that ice, you’re enemies.”

Such an interesting dynamic.

After coffee, Foster headed over to the Norcross mansion to pick up Bowie Jane so they could spend the day together, and I came here to my parents’ house and have been hanging out, enjoying the downtime and relishing specifically in mom time.

Foster and Bowie Jane were going to get lunch and then see a new Pixar movie. Because my parents’ house is on the way to the airport, we agreed he’ll just drop Bowie Jane here to have dinner with my family and that will allow him maximum time with his daughter.

Before we left his house this morning, Foster invited me to join their day out, but I declined. He and Bowie Jane needed daddy-daughter time, especially since he’s leaving for five days. Foster readily accepted my reasoning and didn’t push me on it, but he did make a fair point.

“You know… the three of us need to spend some time together,” he said.

“We’re together a lot,” I replied as I put my phone in my purse and grabbed my jacket from the coat rack near the door.

Foster took it from my hands, helped me slip it on. “We’re together here at the house in your capacity of a nanny and my capacity as your employer. We need time together away from that role so that Bowie Jane can see we’re a couple. She knows we’re dating, but I want her to understand that this isn’t casual.”

That caught me off guard because it really affirmed that Foster was looking at this as something way more meaningful. It matched the way I felt but had been unsure of how we navigated it around Bowie Jane. As ever, Foster is about transparency and so I agreed… we need to spend time away from the job role. We took a few minutes to look at the calendar and it wasn’t easy finding something we could swing anytime soon. He comes back from Vancouver on Thursday evening, he’s doing a family event with the team on Friday while I have the day and night off, and then this Saturday I’m playing with Leo at a downtown bar. Sunday Foster has a game and then we’re right back into a school week and two more home games.

We looked into the following week and settled on Saturday, which is the next day Foster has completely off. I told him I would plan the day given that I’m a native Yinzer and know the best places to entertain a ten-year-old.

After a long kiss goodbye, he took off in one direction to get Bowie Jane and I went in the opposite to my parents’ place where I’ve been all day.

With the two glasses of sweet tea in hand, I sit at the kitchen table and wait for my mom to join me. I inherited her red hair and green eyes, but Landon and Mason got Dad’s brown hair and brown eyes. It’s a running joke in the family that Mom and I are the ones with the hottest tempers, and everyone says it’s because of our red hair.

After a critical once-over, she replaces the lid back on the pot. “About another half hour and it will be done.”

She sits in the chair adjacent to mine and takes a long sip of the sweet tea.

I nod toward the stove where the whole chicken simmers. “I thought you said Tim and Brian weren’t coming tonight. Why such a large pot?”

My brothers, along with their wives, try to come to most Sunday dinners but my mom recognizes they have lives too. There are occasions they pass because they have other plans but it’s rare.

Mom’s green eyes twinkle. “I’m feeling particularly sorry for Leo lately, so I’m going to send leftovers home with him.”

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