Page 126 of Pucking Strong

“Itisa pretty dress. I like this white one too.” I point to the Black girl on the page. She’s wearing a strappy gown with glitter on the bodice.

“Som en brud,” Karro murmurs, her eyes heavy with fatigue. I always know she’s exhausted when she stops translating her Swedish.

I’m sitting on the edge of her bed, reading to her by the glow of her twinkle lights. We got home from Henrik’s game about forty minutes ago, having left before it was over. Karro was getting pretty cranky. When she dropped a piece of popcorn to the ground and burst into tears, I knew it was time to go.

Her Karlsson jersey is slung over the top of her Barbie playhouse. She wouldn’t let me take the streamers out of her hair. But I got most of the glitter off her cheeks. And we brushed her teeth. If this girl gets cavities, it won’t be my fault.

Now she’s snug as a bug, surrounded by her stuffed animals

“Hey.” I brush a hand over her hair. “What does ‘Door minman’ mean?”

She blinks her eyes open, fighting sleep. “Vad?”

“What does ‘Door minman’ mean?” I repeat, trying to say it the way Henrik did. I’m probably getting it wrong. When I plugged it into Google Translate earlier, it asked me if it was Dutch.

She mumbles something in Swedish, which is completely counterproductive. But then why am I asking the five-year-old?

“You know what? Never mind.” Closing the book, I slip off the side of her bed. I glance down at her and smile. She’s toast. Lips parted, she breathes in and out, totally lost in dreamland. I put her book back on the shelf, click off her twinkle lights, and tiptoe out, leaving her door cracked.

I stand in the corner of the living room and look around at the mess of the day. Toys everywhere, coloring books, the apple peels from Karro’s snack. I click on a few lamps and dim the overhead lights.

The apartment feels too quiet after the roar of the arena crowd. And I feel like I have a hive of bees in my chest. I check the time on my phone. Henrik should be coming home soon. Any minute, really. And then what?

He wants to practice wanting me, whatever the fuck that means. And tonight, he kissed me. Did he even like it? I think he did, but maybe I’m just projecting how muchIliked it. He said he’s never felt sexual attraction before. When he’s gone through the motions in the past, he said he felt nothing.

My god, nothing?

I can’t even imagine—

Wait. What if he was kissing me and he was, like, running back game tape in his head? What if he was counting by fives or making a grocery list? What if he feltnothing? I don’t think I can let him tell me. We’ll have to develop some kind of hand signal instead, and I’ll just disappear into the sunset.

Squashing down my scary thoughts, I try to make myself busy by cleaning up Karro’s art supplies. We’ve been working on her fine motor skills in therapy, so I got her a gem art set. It comes with all these premade designs, like rainbows and five-layer cakes. She uses a stylus to pick up the gems and place them in the right color order to make a picture. She’s obsessed.

And yes, we used some of the gems to make fairy wings on our faces while I introduced her to the magic that isSpirited Away.

I shuffle all the papers together, put them in her art box, andclose the lid on the gem kit. I’m still on my knees, reorganizing her colored pencils, when I finally hear the click of a key in the lock.

Oh god.

I refuse to do anything but act cool, even if inside I’m aching to be at the door when it opens, shouting, “What does this mean?!” Instead, I start separating the coloring sheets, setting aside the ones she’s already finished.

The door opens, and Henrik is there, looking like a god in a tan linen suit, white shirt, and no tie. His eyes lock on me, and my heart starts to thrum. “Hey,” I say on a breath.

“Hej,” he replies, hanging his keys on the hook by the door.

“Did y’all win?”

“No.”

Fuck. I was really hoping they’d pull out a win so his mood would be elevated. A good thing with Henrik is that he’s not the type to wallow. Wins happen, and so do losses. Even as an intern, I admired his ability to just focus on the next game.

“I looked for you after the game.”

I wince. “Yeah, sorry. We left early. Karro was turning into a pumpkin, and Colin had an early morning. The Jags play tomorrow.”

He glances down the hallway towards her room. “Is she well?”

“Oh, she’s fine. Just too much sugar. I washed most of the stickiness off her hands and put her to bed. And I’m throwing away the rest of the cotton candy … unless you want it?”

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