Page 67 of Foster

“Will you marry my dad and be my stepmom?” she asks earnestly, her eyes actually filled with hope.

And I freaking panic.

“Oh wow… honey, I don’t know. I mean… this thing with your dad is new. It’s way too soon to think about that stuff.”

“But you care about him. I can see it. I don’t think Chet really cares for my mom. I think he just likes that she’s young and pretty. You can hear it in his voice when he talks to her, and I can see that he doesn’t really listen to her when she talks. Not the way Dad listens to you. It’s just… different. I just wish my family was whole.”

“I get what you’re saying,” I tell her, choosing my words carefully. “But remember… family is whatever we want it to be. It’s not always just a man and woman having a baby and living within that tiny nucleus. Family can be something as simple as you and your dad. You’re a family. And you and your mom, you’re a family, although a rocky one right now. It’s me and my stepbrothers, and my stepdad adopting me. It’s Leo coming over to family dinner. Family is who you care about and who makes you happy.”

“I care about you,” Bowie Jane says, and there’s something about the way she’s staring at me so intently that feels like there’s a hard message within her words. She needs me to know her feelings are true.

“I care about you too. So much. And yes, I care about your dad. What you need to remember is you have so many people who love and care for you that you are never truly alone. Your family is just… unique.”

Bowie Jane considers that a moment and then nods. Her gaze cuts to the book. “Okay… you can read now.”

That means she’s done talking about it, but I’ve come to know this kid well. She’ll process and then she’ll want to talk more. Dive deeper. That’s the way she is because she’s the type of kid who needs knowledge. Needs to know where she stands and where those around her stand. My job is to do everything in my power to give that to her so she feels safe and secure as she navigates her new life.

CHAPTER 25

Foster

As I step into the Strip District Brewery—a huge, converted warehouse—the first thing I notice is the industrial chic ambiance and I’m digging it. The polished concrete floor reflects the dim lighting from the exposed filament bulbs hanging from the high, metal-beam ceiling. The walls, a mix of exposed brick and reclaimed wood, are adorned with vintage posters and neon signs. The furniture is an eclectic mix of stainless steel high-top tables and iron stools that are most likely a nod to the long-defunct Pittsburgh steel industry. The cavernous space is softened by the scattered placement of lounge furniture, including crushed velvet-covered couches and round ottomans.

The bar itself is a long, polished wood counter, backed by a wall of gleaming liquor bottles and a chalkboard menu listing craft beers and cocktails.

It’s nearing nine p.m. and as I take in the crowd, I note it’s a diverse mix of young and old who chat animatedly in the very relaxed atmosphere.

Three people work behind the bar and waiters and waitresses flit about the tables and lounging sections, the staff all dressed in graphic tees with the bar’s logo, jeans and a short white apron tied around their waists. They hustle with trays full of drinks or steaming plates of food. I’d heard this place was popular and it makes me proud that Mazzy is singing here tonight.

I invited my line mates as well as the other new guys to come out tonight. All accepted except for Penn, which is not a shocker, but we’ll keep trying. I told them Mazzy would be here singing with her friend Leo. They all know Mazzy because I’ve talked about her and they’ve seen her in the family lounge on occasion when she brings Bowie Jane to the games. But they have no clue that we’re an item or that we went out on a date. That we’ve got something special going on.

I’m not hiding it, but I haven’t had the opportunity to tell anyone. Guys don’t really talk about stuff like that. There’s no, “Hey… guess what, I’m dating someone,” but I suppose I could clue them in tonight. I imagine she’ll come to team functions in the future, so it’ll eventually be obvious, but not before a whole lot of confusion about why I’m macking on my nanny.

When I was setting up a babysitter for Bowie Jane tonight, I also called the manager of this bar and used a little Titans clout to reserve some front and center tables. She was all too happy to accommodate so I told the guys we have reserved tables under my name.

It doesn’t take me much weaving through the crowd to see the stage area set up for Mazzy and Leo, although they’re not there. It’s a small circular raised stage that sits only about six inches off the ground. It’s got a very MTV Unplugged vibe with two stools for them to sit on. Both of their acoustic guitars are in stands and two angled stage lights sit at the edge to shine on them. It’s odd that the stage is in the center of the room and not up against a wall or tucked into a corner. It means that some viewers are going to be looking at Mazzy and Leo from the back, but I see the guys at two tables stacked together, so we’ll have a front view for sure.

Camden, Hendrix, Atlas, North, King and Rafferty all have half-finished beers in front of them, which means they’ve been here a bit.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” I say as I approach the table.

I’m greeted with fist bumps and Rafferty says, “A waitress will be along shortly.”

“And she’s hot,” North says.

“But she only has eyes for King,” Atlas adds on with a guffaw. King’s good looks and how they make women silly is now our running joke.

“I’ll grab a beer at the bar,” I say and head that way, hoping to find Mazzy to wish her good luck before she goes on.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out to see Bowie Jane’s babysitter, Janie, calling me. A knot of worry forms quickly in my belly as I answer.

“Hey, Foster,” she says and quickly reassures me. “Bowie Jane’s fine. She just wanted to talk to you a minute.”

Relief weakens my legs. “Sure. Put her on.”

I wait a second and Bowie Jane says, “Hey, Daddy!”

“Hey, pumpkin… what’s up?”

---