Page 28 of Foster

I ignore the ridiculous proposed concoction, knowing that she’ll load it with fresh veggies because it’s not the first time she’s made one for me.

“Have fun last night?” Mazzy steps back from the fridge, arms loaded with eggs and Ziploc baggies of cut vegetables.

I glance over at Bowie Jane after putting my cup under the coffee spout. She’s still munching on bacon with one hand and coloring with her other. “Yeah… it was nice getting to know the new guys a little better.”

“I imagine it’s important to connect off the ice if you can,” she muses as she whips eggs in a bowl.

Very astute but I wouldn’t expect anything less from Mazzy. I’ve come to learn that her brain is always firing on all cylinders. “It definitely makes for a better bond on the ice. I imagine we’ll tighten things up next week at practice.”

We have one week until the regular season starts. The cuts will have been made from training camp with final lines announced in the press probably on Monday before our first skate. Over the next two days, Coach will personally reach out to each of us to confirm our line positions and with any feedback from observations made during camp.

Then Monday… we go to work. We’ll have practices, team meetings, video reviews, sessions with the personal trainers and nutritionists, as well as formal photographs in our uniforms. It’s odd to think that we’re only a week away from our first regular season game, which will be on Saturday. I went ahead and got a pair of season tickets for Mazzy and Bowie Jane to attend as many games as we can muster, but I’ll have to balance that with school and keeping late nights to a reasonable minimum.

As Mazzy works on my omelet, I sip my coffee with a hip resting against the back counter. “I printed the full team schedule and I’d like to go over it with you at some point. I want to get your days off scheduled.” Mazzy and I talked about this already. When I’m in town and have home games, I’ll be able to take over more of Bowie Jane’s care, and that’s something I’m looking forward to, but I’ll still need Mazzy’s help to cover my games and practices. “I don’t have the practice schedule yet, but I figure we can go ahead and set your days off and if necessary, I can supplement with babysitters.”

Mazzy shrugs. “I’m flexible and don’t mind covering it all.”

“No doubt,” I reply drolly. “But I’m not happy with you working seven days a week. I can’t afford for you to burn out. I don’t want you killing yourself in this job.”

Mazzy’s gaze lifts from the pan where the eggs are sizzling and she doesn’t look at me, but rather at Bowie Jane, a soft smile on her face. “This job is not a hardship at all. Your kid’s kind of great.”

Bowie Jane, who had been presumably ignoring both of us as we talked, says, “I’m awesome.” She then looks up from her work to Mazzy. “Can you teach me some guitar today?”

Mazzy glances down at her watch. “Sure, but I have to be out of here in about an hour.”

“Hot date?” I ask and then want to kick myself in the ass for doing that. First, it’s midmorning and who would ever have a hot date at this hour?

Well, Mazzy would as she’s supremely hot, but it was a stupid-as-fuck question.

I hate that it’s relief I feel when Mazzy snorts in denial. “I wish. But no, I’m playing over at Sola Coffeehouse in the Strip District from noon to two, with my friend Leo.”

It doesn’t quite penetrate what she just said and I can feel my expression puckering with confusion. “You’re doing what?”

Mazzy turns her attention back to the skillet as she explains. “My best friend Leo and I sing and play guitar at various coffee shops and bars around the area. Sola is one we do quite often, usually for the Saturday noon crowd.”

I stare at her dumbly. “Don’t I pay you enough?”

Mazzy tips her head back and laughs with gusto, her sparkling green eyes landing on me with censure. “You pay me plenty. But I do this because I love performing for people. I don’t do it for the money but for the joy of it. Besides, Leo gets all the tips. Most of our audience seems to be women and well, they fall all over him.”

I’ve learned now that her best friend is a man named Leo and he’s apparently very hot and talented. Why isn’t Mazzy with him then?

The question is pushed from my mind as a plate with a steaming omelet is held out to me. I blink away the curiosity and take the offering, moving to the stool next to Bowie Jane.

I eat my breakfast and drink my coffee, watching as Bowie Jane draws a hummingbird sipping from a flower. My kid’s artistic ability boggles my mind.

I also let my mind wander, wondering what Mazzy will do this weekend, since she has it off. Obviously, she’ll be playing in a coffee shop today but I wonder if she’ll jam out in a bar or something.

When I’m done eating, Mazzy takes my plate and I head off for a quick shower. Less than ten minutes later, I’m dressed in a T-shirt, cargo pants and running shoes. I don’t know what trouble my kid and I will get into today, but whatever it is, it will be casual. I no sooner step out of my bedroom than stop dead in my tracks as I listen to Mazzy instructing Bowie Jane on the guitar.

Mazzy’s voice is soft and patient. “You put this finger here, this finger here, and this finger here. That makes a Dchord. Make sure to press hard. Now, strum down with the pick.”

The guitar resonates as the strings vibrate and Bowie Jane exclaims, “The strings hurt my fingers.”

Mazzy chuckles. “Here… feel my fingers.” I’m standing far enough back in the hallway they can’t see me and I can’t see them, but I can imagine Mazzy taking Bowie Jane’s hand in hers, having her explore the hardened skin on her fingertips built up from years of playing.

“That is so cool,” Bowie Jane says. “How long before my fingers get that way?”

Mazzy laughs again. “It will take a while.”

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