Page 43 of Foster

Shrugging, she pokes at her pancakes, refusing to look me in the eye. I wait her out and eventually her head lifts. “It’s just… I’m happy here. Things are great and I know things won’t be great with Mom and Chet. I just don’t want to have to move again and start all over.”

“I don’t blame you.” I reach across the table, grab her free hand. “You deserve stability and to be happy. I don’t understand what’s going on with your mom, but if you tell me that you want to stay here and she tries to change that, just know I will fight with all my resources to keep you.”

Even though I know that is exactly the reassurance my daughter needs, I can also see the guilt swimming in her eyes. “But you know I still love Mom, right? And I was happy there with her… until Chet came along. Like, if Chet weren’t around, I’m not sure what I’d want to do.”

“Honey… Bowie Jane.” I squeeze her hand and wait for her to focus on me. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now about anything. I know exactly how much you love your mom and there’s nothing I’d love more than for her to get back to the way you want her. I truly hope that’s what happens. But until then, you’re with me and you’re safe and nothing’s going to upset that, okay?”

Bowie Jane relaxes so much with those words, she melts a little in her chair. She smiles at me gratefully. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat and pick up the discarded bacon to take another bite. I watch her carefully to see if she still wants to hash out her concerns about her mom, but she cuts back into her stack of hotcakes and takes another bite.

Mouth full, she asks, “What did you want to talk about?”

Anxiety hits me hard, and once again, I drop the bacon. I grab the paper towel I’d pulled off the roll to serve as our napkins and wipe my hands. Next, I sip my coffee, suddenly ill-equipped in all ways to start this conversation. I’m not even sure what to say when ten minutes ago, I was ready.

Bowie Jane’s insecurities regarding her mom have left me feeling unsure if this is the right time.

“You know what… it’s not important,” I say breezily, taking my knife and fork in hand to cut into my stack of pancakes.

Bowie Jane—in all her ten-year-old glory—stares at me with skepticism. My gaze drops to my plate and I ignore her, but I’m acutely aware that she doesn’t move a muscle. She doesn’t resume eating and she doesn’t say a word.

I lift my head to find the same expression on her face. We engage in a staring contest.

And then she literally guts me. Cuts me off at the knees. Puts my heart in a vise. “I think anything you have to say is important.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, placing my utensils on my plate and rubbing my hands over my face. I lock eyes with her across the table and take a deep breath. “Okay… here goes. I wanted to talk to you about dating.”

“I’m too young to date,” she deadpans, and this is exactly how I know she’s mature enough to talk about the subject. Because she’s so fucking quick-witted and confident, plus she’s already shown resiliency and strength the last two years that her mom and I have been divorced.

I roll my eyes, realizing that I’m mimicking Mazzy because I’m not sure I’ve ever done that in my life. “I’m talking about me dating.”

“You’ve never wanted to before,” she points out.

“I’m thinking I do now.” Why are my hands sweating? “And I want to know how you feel about it in general, because it’s clearly not been a good experience with your mom dating Chet.”

Bowie Jane ponders that a moment. “I don’t think I have a problem with mom dating, it’s just the person she’s dating. It’s Chet I don’t like or the way she changed when she started seeing him. And I don’t like how he talks to me.”

That’s definitely a relief since I know it won’t be an issue with Mazzy. At least I know that Bowie Jane adores and respects her, and I know Mazzy will treat Bowie Jane as if she were her own.

But… that doesn’t alleviate my worries. “So, here’s the thing,” I say, pushing my plate to the side so I can cross my arms on the table. “I was thinking about…”

My words trail off, another wave of nerves closing my throat. There have been so many times in my life when I’ve had to ask permission for things—asking my parents for the keys to the car, proposing to Sandra, asking her permission to go out with the guys at night—but nothing is as daunting as needing my daughter’s approval right now.

I’ve never had to ask for it before, and she’s my toughest critic and the most important thing to me. If anything I want conflicts with Bowie Jane, I don’t get it. It’s that simple.

“Dad,” Bowie Jane says, the corner of her mouth curving up. “Just get on with it. My pancakes are getting cold.”

A tiny burst of confidence prompted by her demand hits me and I blurt, “Do you mind if I ask Mazzy out on a date?”

Except each word runs into the other, overlapping and slurring, so it sounds like, Dyu mindisks mazzeow date?

Bowie Jane frowns. “What?”

Slow down, asshole. I let the words out slowly, and probably over-enunciate so it sounds even weirder. “Do you mind if I ask Mazzy out on a date?”

My daughter’s mouth forms into a surprisedO before dropping wide open. I can tell this is something that has never once crossed her mind, not that I expected it to. But the fact she’s so stunned tells me this is a big freaking deal and I’m glad I decided to talk to her bluntly about it.

“I know this probably seems weird,” I continue, rushing to get the words out. “But… I like Mazzy. First and foremost, as a friend. But also in a different way. A romantic way. But she’s also your nanny. So that means she’s yours first. Not like you own her. Just that the first priority is you. And if this is weird or you’re adamantly opposed—adamantly means your mind won’t be changed—then I will accept that and move on. But if you’re okay with it, then… well, I suppose I will ask her out. I guess. I’m not sure.”

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