Page 119 of The Wild Card
Still laughing, she says, “I’d ask you to put me down, but I kind of like it when you pick me up.”
“I know.” Tilting my head, I kiss her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. The laughter leaves her face as her lips part on a little sigh. But lest I lose focus and get lost in kissing her—something I know from experience I’m particularly prone to do—I straighten up and clear my throat. “Okay. Are you ready, Molly-girl?”
“Yes.”
“Then take off the blindfold.”
She rips it off and tosses it unceremoniously at our feet, blinking in the sun’s red-gold glow. I say nothing though, watching her expression as she takes it in.
“You had the road paved,” she says first. “And there’s a sign! Oh, my gosh—it’s really happening! This feels very official.”
“It is.” I’ve never had to deal with so much bureaucracy as I have in the last month.
Molly tightens her arms around my neck and leans her head against my chest. “Collin, this is amazing. You’re really doing it. Walk me closer to the sign? I want to get a picture.”
In the past, this kind of picture would have been for posting on social media. But now, Molly sends the best ones to me or shares them in our family group chat, which she insisted we start. Notifications are going off all the time—mostly because Pat can’t shut up—but I’m not sure how we went so longwithouta family chat. And I love that this small, safe space is now where Molly wants to share her life.
“I love it,” she says. “I mean, I know this isn’t the final logo or anything, but the name is perfect. This is going to be amazing.”
The name I landed on after discussing with Molly as well as a team of marketing people is The Oven. There’s a little nod to Sheet Cake in there, of course, but literally, the summers are roasting here. Even now that the sun has dipped behind the trees, the temperature holds and sweat gathers on my neck and lower back.
But more than that, the name speaks to the idea that you can have all the right ingredients, but you need heat and time to help put them all together. That’s what I hope to see with the athletes who come here. And through my partnership with Jacob and the agency he works for, I feel confident we’ll do just that.
“We’ll break ground in two weeks,” I said. “I think we should have a big party out here to celebrate. But tonight, I just wanted it to be you and me.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Molly says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “You’re really doing this.”
“We’redoing it. You and me. Together.”
Gently, I set her down. Molly immediately wraps an arm around my waist and leans into me, patting my chest.
“There’s something else,” I tell her, tugging her closer. “Though I feel like you’ve really helped me realize this dream and it is ours, I want you to have your own dream. I want to gift you what Tank gifted me.”
“You’re going to give me a field?” Molly asks, brow furrowed.
I chuckle. “No. Tank gave me the field, but more than that, he gave me permission and freedom to dream big. And I want to do the same for you. What I’m offering is whatever support you need and the time, freedom, and safety to dream your own big dreams, Molly-girl.”
Her blue eyes search my face as though looking for a catch. I’m learning that, even with me, Molly’s natural inclination is to expect some kind of catch. Or strings to any offer. Her dad ensured that this would be her default setting. But she’s getting better about it, and a smile overtakes her expression as she throws her arms around me in a full hug.
I’ve also learned that Molly really, really loves hugs.
“Thank you,” she says. “But I’m not sure I have big dreams.”
“They don’t have to be big in the eyes of the world or anyone other than you,” I tell her. “Big is a relative term, and it’s about what you really want for you. Not about what anyone else deems grand.”
“What if that dream is not a career but being a mom—raising kids and having a family?” Her question comes out hesitant, like she fully expects me to tell her this dream isn’t good enough.
Meanwhile, my brain is already spinning off into scenarios where I imagine mornings where I’m handing off a cup of coffee to a sleep-rumpled Molly with a gaggle of brown-haired, blue-eyed kids surrounding us. Whether or not she chooses some other career, some other dream, I do love this one.
I press gentle fingers underneath her chin until she lifts her gaze to meet mine. “That’s just it—you pick the dream. And that’s a great dream, Molly-girl. Sometimes I think motherhood—or parenthood in general—is afforded less honor than a career. But it’s an absolutely honorable choice to make. As long as it’syourchoice.”
“Ours. I want to make it with you in mind. If this is whatyouwant too.”
I shake my head. “Do I want you to think about your future with me in it? Absolutely. Can I imagine us raising a family together? One hundred percent. But I don’t want you to make a decision about your dreams related to how it fits intomylife. Whatever you choose foryou, we’ll make it fit for us. If youwant some kind of career then kids, great. If you want a careerwhilehaving kids, awesome. If you want to forgo some kind of career to focus on a family, also awesome. Okay? So, make your dreams without having me as some kind of boundary line.” I stretch my arm toward the field, now shrouded in long gray-purple shadows. “Give your dreams as much room as they need to grow. And I’ll be right here alongside you.”
Molly’s smile wobbles a little, and her eyes fill. “That’s the sweetest, best thing anyone has ever said to me, Mr. Biceps.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Why thank you, sugar.”
