Page 54 of Goalie Lessons

I open the fridge and find it stocked almost to the point of hilarity with what I can only describe askid food. Lunchables, juice boxes, those little packs of fruits and vegetables with the dip built in, string cheese, pudding, yogurt, all the packages with various cartoon characters splayed across the front.

Almost like Grayson went to the store and bought anything that looked like a kid might want. It makes my chest feel strange, warm and loose, so I grab a juice box, shut the fridge, and move to the kitchen island, taking a seat to wait for them, my mouth watering from the smell of the food in the slow cookers.

Five minutes later, the door opens, and I stand like I’m British and the queen has walked in. I need to tone down my nerves, so I slide back onto the stool, striving to look nonchalant. If I’m acting weird, Callie’s going to tighten up, and I don’t want that.

“Astrid?” I hear Grayson call.

“In the kitchen?” The moment I call it back to him, I get another strange feeling, like we’ve just engaged in aHoney, I’m homemoment. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes—What the fuck?—and I focus on my juice box, taking another drink of the ridiculously sweet stuff to ignore everything I’m bombarded with right now.

“Ms. Foster!” Callie comes into the kitchen, drops her backpack on the floor, and immediately sits on a stool across from me.

“Hey, Callie,” I say, but I’m interrupted by Athena, who races into the room, her fine copper hair streaking behind her like a comet. She comes to a stop in front of me, breathing hard and holding up a picture.

By the doorway, Grayson appears for a moment, picks up Callie’s bag, and disappears again. Even while I’m looking at Athena’s picture, I’m seeing him in my mind’s eye, walking to the entryway, hanging Callie’s bag on one of those hooks. Keeping the house neat and tidy.

I file that information away—a healthy home habit, or a coping measure for his anxiety?

“It’s a dog,” Athena says, grabbing the corner of the paper and turning it so her head covers most of the drawing. She points to a part. “And his…booties.”

She whispers the word when she points to the dog’s feet, then bursts into laughter. I can’t help it—it’s contagious, and even Callie is laughing when she rolls her eyes and says, “Bootiesis not a bad word, Athena.”

But after Callie saysbootiesagain, it sends Athena into another laughing fit, her high-pitched giggles so contagious that Grayson is chuckling when he walks back into the room.

“Come on,” he sets a hand on Athena’s shoulder gently, steering her out of the room. “You and I are going to run to the store, grab some cheese for dinner.”

Before I can stop myself, I say, “And whatisdinner, exactly?”

Grayson stops, turning, those warm chocolate eyes finding mine. “My famous chili.” His eyes dart to the slow cookers, and he adds, “And white chicken chili for Callie, who doesn’t like beef.”

“Oh.” My traitorous stomach growls loudly for them all to hear, and Athena starts laughing again.

“You should stay for dinner,” Callie insists, turning to look at Grayson. “Right?”

His gaze on mine seems to sayYou can say no if you want.

But that chili smells good, and this kitchen is warm, and right now there are two young, smiley girls staring at me, waiting for me to say yes.

“Sure.” I grin, then look to Grayson again. “But only if there’s dessert.”

“Yes!” Athena turns to Grayson, grabs one of his hands between hers, and starts to bounce. “Ice cream!”

“Hmm.” Grayson seems to consider. Then, to my surprise, he grabs Athena and lifts her into the air, making her squeal with even more laughter as he flips her over. When he sets her down again, he says, “Okay. We can get ice cream. But only because Astrid is here.”

“You should come every night!” Athena laughs.

Then, Grayson is taking her to the foyer, getting her shoes on, calling out a farewell to us as they leave. We’d already talked about this, agreeing that it would be best for Callie and me to be alone, for her to know that we wouldn’t be at risk of being overheard, but it still feels odd.

I push through the awkwardness, clearing my throat and saying, “Hey, do you know if Grayson has any games or puzzles around here?”

“Yes.” Callie pops to her feet, seeming like she wants an activity just as much as I do. “There’s a game closet,” she says, disappearing into the hallway.

“Great,” I call, pressing my palms flat to the granite and willing my nerves to settle. “Just grab whatever you’re into!”

***

Forty-five minutes later, when Grayson and Athena return laden with shopping bags—far more than just cheese—Callie is in the middle of telling me about her budding friend group at school.

So far, we haven’t talked about anything too intense—going nowhere near the topic of her parents, her grief. But it’s enough that I’m confident it’s worth it. With every sentence, she loosens up, and I can feel the words coming easier to her. According to Grayson, she doesn’t talk to him at all, so it’s probably good for her to have an outlet like this.

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