Page 16 of Big Balls
The last time I’d tried to take my daughter out to a restaurant, she went into angry, screaming spaghetti legs mode, and I’d had to tuck her under my arm like an oversized football and carry her out, leaving me red-faced and apologizing to everyone we passed.
I know plenty of those people were murmuring about what was wrong with me or Katy for a long while after we’d made our escape. And I’d always assumed that meant we couldn’t go out in public, especially not somewhere that was crowded, or where we would have to wait before we could eat.
But then Zoe came along and fixed it. Easily, without ever saying a word about or acting like there is anything wrong with my Katy. And just thinking about that is enough for a knot to form in my chest. Because nobody has ever been able to deal with my daughter as easily as Zoe.
Not even me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my daughter more than I love any other human being on the planet. But sometimes when she has one of those giant, bang-her-head-against-the-floor-type meltdowns, it’s embarrassing. It’s not always easy to be her dad, especially when people are staring at me like I must have done something wrong for her to be acting like that.
But Zoe fixes all that. She’s never embarrassed by Katy, never scared by her, never even bothered by her highest-volume shrieking meltdown. Zoe has a knack for knowing when to engage and when to leave her alone, and it seems like my little girl is calmed down in practically no time, every single time.
And this is why it’s so important that we keep everything completely professional. I can’t afford the risk of having Zoe get all hung up on me when it’s clear that Katy and I need her in our lives.
My heart twists painfully in my chest. I’ve gotten used to being the only one who could handle Katy. I’ve always believed that it was the two of us against the world. And I’ve always hated it when I’m not around and had to leave Katy in someone else’s care, but now I’m jealous of them, too.
I want to be the reason for Katy’s peace. I want to wrap myself up in Zoe’s sunshine.
We pull up to our house and find Zoe’s lime green VW Beetle parked in the driveway. She’s sitting on the front steps, and raises one hand to wave at us as she stands up. She’s beaming like she’s happy to see me.
Katy, I mean. She’s happy to see Katy. Zoe isn’t here for me, after all. She’s nothing more than my employee.
Zoe, who I kissed, who I dream about kissing, who I want to kiss again. Zoe, who’s changing my daughter for the better with every new adventure.
I have to get my wayward thoughts under control because I know I can’t be the one to mess this up. It’s probably all for the best that I’m heading to my away game next week, where I can focus on my job of making the big plays and then making dreadful small talk with the press afterward.
Meanwhile, Zoe will be here in my house, roaming around barefoot. Making a cup of that cinnamon tea she likes, and then forgetting about the cup until it goes cold. Apparently she’s planning to build an entire treehouse with Katy by the time I get back home.
“Auntie Zoe,” my daughter cheers as she goes flying into her arms. “Daddy won’t play with me.”
I give the two of them my most baleful look. “That’s not what I said. I said I didn’t want to beit.”
At my extra crabby pronouncement, Zoe fails to stifle a series of giggles. She’s always a few seconds away from smiling or laughing, no matter what is going on or how ill-tempered I am.
When she finally calms down a bit, Zoe leans over and theater-whispers to Katy, “Probably he’s just scared.”
I snort. Apparently loud enough to set off another round of giggles, this time from the little co-conspirator.
“I’m never scared,” I scoff, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
I’m lying, though. I’m always afraid, every single day of my life since Lisa died.
I’m afraid of something terrible happening to Katy. I’m afraid of getting traded because I don’t make nice with the press. I’m afraid of having to start over somewhere new and losing everything, especially my best friends.
And right now, I’m afraid of doing something really stupid with Zoe. Like pressing her up against the wall, slanting my mouth across hers, and showing her exactly how often I’ve been thinking about our kiss. How scorching hot a real kiss between us would be.
I take a deep breath. I’m acting like a wreck, and it’s way past time to cool it. I’m obsessing about a Disney movie kiss, and that’s ridiculous. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone other than my little girl.
But more importantly, I can’t give Zoe a reason to leave, not when she’s got my feisty little girl wrapped around her delicate finger.
My eyes trace along the shape of the two of them, huddled together and having a quiet, mischievous conversation. And then both of them erupt in giggles.
I narrow my eyes at them, feigning irritation. I’m good at being irritated. My face knows the shape of pissed off better than any other emotion.
“You two are up to no good, aren’t you?” I growl the words out, then lunge for Katy and give her a fierce tickle.
“Daddy, no! That’s enough tickling.” Her little voice shrieks. “Now tickle Zoe.”
My hands still on Katy’s extra-ticklish ribcage, and I gently lower her to the ground. I clear my throat and glance over at Zoe, who’s definitely avoiding looking at me right now.
