Page 24 of Delay of Game
“Kit.” I’d only met Kit a handful of times, but she put up with Trent’s bullshit and didn’t talk my ear off, so she ranked as one of my top ten favorite people.
“Right. She’s sweet. She and Gracie would get along like a house on fire.”
“Sure,” I agreed, surprised I hadn’t thought of the idea sooner. I paint a couple of rooms, fix some leaky faucets, and then hand her over to my younger teammates, people more in line with Astrid’s age and social needs. “I’ll shoot her a text.”
“Now?” Mom’s eyes lit up as I placed the stack of laundry into a basket.
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. You’re going to suggest I send a bunch of emojis and gifs. I’ll text her later, when you’re not hovering over my shoulder.”
“This week though?”
“Maybe this week.”
Mom smiled despite the soft promise, kissing my cheek before holding the laundry room door open for me as I brought the basket upstairs.
Mila had her toys splayed out across the floor, two sets of teacups and pots arranged on a center blanket. I glanced at a clock over the fireplace. Half-past eight.
With school only a few days away, I’d have to enact an earlier bedtime.
“It’s late, girl,” I said, startling her. “We need to get ready for bed.”
Her face crumpled into a frown. “But I’m not even tired.”
“You’re not tired now.” I navigated around the safari in my living room and scooped Mila off the ground. “We’ll clean this up in the morning.”
She didn’t put up much of a fight on the way upstairs, half-heartedly pawing at my arms until I set her down in the bathroom.
“Want a song to brush your teeth to?” I asked, pulling my phone out of my back pocket and navigating to my playlist of Mila-appropriate songs.
She nodded, pigtails bouncing as she sloppily squeezed toothpaste onto her pink unicorn toothbrush. The familiar chords of an upbeat pop song about oral hygiene filtered out of my phone, and I navigated away from the music app and into my contacts.
My fingers scrolled past “A” and then “G,” and then back up again before finally finding her number under “E” for Evans. My thumb hovered over the text button but choose “Edit contact” instead.
Astrid Evans.
My thumb hovered over the star symbol, but doubted I’d need to use her number for long. I’d swing by her house, make a couple of repairs, and then introduce Astrid to the crew of players and girlfriends her age.
Mom says you need some help around the house. Want me to swing by and see what I can do?
That sounded dumb as shit. I erased the message.
I heard you have a dilapidated house. Need some help?
Alright, that sounded rude even to me.
I heard you need some help with home repairs. I’m actually pretty handy.
Another erased message. I raked a hand through my hair, covering my face.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Mila peered at me through the mirror, toothpaste dripping from the corner of her mouth.
“Nothing,” I answered as the final chords of the song came to a close.
Mom said you needed help selling your house. What time should I come over to check the place out?
I pressed send and pocketed the phone before I second guessed myself. Third guessed myself. No, fourth guessed.
“What are we reading for bedtime?” I asked Mila, mouthing along when she replied immediately with, “The Pigeon HAS to Go to School!.”
