Page 73 of Foster

Mazzy’s footsteps coming down the stairs quiets us and when she appears from behind the couch, I see her carrying two guitars, the one she gave to Bowie Jane to practice on, and one of her three others.

“What’s this?” I ask as Bowie Jane rolls off the couch to take the guitar.

“We’ve been working on a song for you,” Mazzy says. “It’s the first complete song that Bowie Jane has learned to play and trust me when I say she’s a natural. She’s been practicing really hard, and we thought it would be nice to preview it to you while you’re sick.”

As cruddy as I feel, a surge of joyful energy sweeps through me. I sit up even straighter on the couch. “I can’t wait. Give it to me.”

Mazzy and Bowie Jane both stand on the other side of the ottoman and loop their guitar straps over their shoulders. Mazzy leans forward, makes sure that Bowie Jane’s hands are properly placed, and then asks, “You ready?”

My kid swallows hard, clearly nervous but nods. “Ready.”

“You got this. Just like you practiced, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go ahead,” Mazzy encourages, and I’m surprised when it’s only Bowie Jane who starts strumming. It’s an opening melody and while she has to look at her fingers on the strings, her transitions between chords are smooth.

I’m charmed when Bowie Jane starts singing “You Are My Sunshine.” I’m so caught up in how great she’s doing on the guitar and how sweet her voice is, I’m stunned when Mazzy starts playing an echo to Bowie Jane.

Bowie Jane sings a line of the song and as she moves on to the next one, Mazzy repeats it in a soft, higher harmony.

It’s beautiful but it hits me hard that this makes the song incredibly difficult. Bowie Jane has to play with the distraction of someone else singing different words and playing different chords. It’s a complexity I’m stunned to see my daughter mastering, and it honest to God brings fucking tears to my eyes. I don’t move to wipe them away.

My gaze moves to Mazzy and I see she’s watching me intently. She’s reading the emotion on my face and her own expression softens, a quiet gratitude that I’m open in my vulnerability.

That’s one of many reasons I know Mazzy is the one I’ve been waiting for.

CHAPTER 27

Mazzy

Bowie Jane precedes me into the house and as soon as her feet hit the kitchen tile, she lets her school backpack slide to the floor. She makes it no more than two steps before I halt her. “No, ma’am,” I chastise. “That doesn’t go there.”

She groans as she turns back to me. “I was going to get it when I do my homework.”

I close the door to the garage and nod toward the discarded bag. “Get it now. You know better than to throw things on the floor.”

Bowie Jane grumbles but does as I ask because she’s a genuinely good kid. Does she have moments where she gets sassy or pushes boundaries?

Absolutely.

But that’s part of growing up and finding her way. I also believe in consistently enforcing rules, even something as simple as not throwing things on the floor.

Once her bag is on the table, she heads to the pantry to get a snack. We agreed she could have an hour before she has to start homework to relax or do whatever she wants. Often, she’ll watch TV or play the guitar. If it’s a nice day out, she’ll go swing on the big wooden play set Foster got over the summer.

When she exits the pantry with a small bag of Cheez-Its in hand, I say, “We’re having salmon for dinner. Do you want broccoli or green beans?”

“Green beans,” she replies before stuffing a handful of crackers in her mouth.

“What do you have for homework tonight?”

She talks through the mouthful of food but I give her a look… one that has her grinning abashedly at me as she chews and swallows before speaking. “Three pages of math, reading for twenty minutes and spelling.”

“All right,” I say, glancing at the kitchen clock. “Be ready to start around four thirty. Until then, go forth and do that crazy thing you do, whatever that may be.”

Bowie Jane heads upstairs, most likely to watch TV in her playroom, but I’ll bet within twenty minutes or so, I’ll hear her plucking at the guitar. She’s gotten really good, really fast, and I feel an overwhelming flush of pride in her. I’ve never had one of my charges be interested in learning the guitar. Most of them played piano, which is all well and good. I play and love it, but there’s something very endearing about Bowie Jane following in my footsteps.

I don’t have to start dinner right away because the salmon will go in the air fryer and the green beans I’ll nuke right in the bag and then sauté them with olive oil and garlic. I check my phone to see if Foster texted, but nothing since his last one a little over an hour ago. He’s in Toronto for a game and he was leaving the hotel for the arena. He may or may not attempt to FaceTime with Bowie Jane, but that all depends on his pregame preparation and if he can spare a moment. At the very least, he’ll send me a video to play for her before bedtime, and I love that he’s always reminding her of his presence, even when he’s not here.

---