Chapter 16

Foster

My hands are sweating and my stomach rolls with nausea. Having a talk with my ten-year-old daughter shouldn’t be this hard, especially not with the open communication we’ve always enjoyed.

But as I watch her dig into her blueberry pancakes, knowing that I want to talk to her about Mazzy, I’ve got massive apprehension over how this will all play out.

There’s never been a subject off-limits with Bowie Jane. The recent drama with her mom has been a hot topic of discussion and in some ways, it’s bonded us even more as she knows I am a safe sounding board. She can be as emotional as her little heart wants and I won’t judge her for those feelings.

Hell, I’m the one who had to have the sex discussion with Bowie Jane because Sandra was too nervous. That was this past summer and we agreed it was time because my next-door neighbor’s dog had gone into heat and it prompted all kinds of questions from my kid. I found an age-appropriate book and we read it together. Granted, there was the one part where it explained how the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina that Bowie Jane had a moment where she wanted to check out.

“Stop,” she had exclaimed, bolting off the couch where we’d been sitting side by side. She turned to face me, cheeks red. “I don’t want to learn anymore.”

“That’s fine,” I assured her, struggling hard not to crack a smile. I could tell she was embarrassed but I knew she’d get over it once she processed.

The very next day, she approached me. “Dad… can we finish that book? I’ve got some more questions.”

It truly only taught the basics of reproduction. Sperm, egg, penis, vagina. It didn’t go into much else, but it also led to a discussion about periods and what she’ll be facing in possibly as little as two years. Christ, she’s growing up fast.

Yeah… those were easy times.

“How come you’re not eating?” Bowie Jane asks, eyeballing my plate.

I cooked her favorite pancakes, hoping that the right frame of mind would be beneficial for this discussion. I pick up a piece of crispy bacon and bite it, though I have to force it down with a sip of coffee.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I say as I drop the rest of the bacon on my plate. Bowie Jane freezes in mid-chew, her fork hovering. The fear on her face squeezes my heart and I quickly reassure her, “It’s not about your mom.”

She blows out a sigh of relief. “I thought you were going to say I have to go stay with her.”

All thoughts of talking to her about Mazzy evaporate and my brow knits with concern. “Baby… no. You don’t have to do that but why would you think that?”

Shrugging, she pokes at her pancakes, refusing to look me in the eye. I wait her out and eventually her head lifts. “It’s just… I’m happy here. Things are great and I know things won’t be great with Mom and Chet. I just don’t want to have to move again and start all over.”

“I don’t blame you.” I reach across the table, grab her free hand. “You deserve stability and to be happy. I don’t understand what’s going on with your mom, but if you tell me that you want to stay here and she tries to change that, just know I will fight with all my resources to keep you.”

Even though I know that is exactly the reassurance my daughter needs, I can also see the guilt swimming in her eyes. “But you know I still love Mom, right? And I was happy there with her… until Chet came along. Like, if Chet weren’t around, I’m not sure what I’d want to do.”

“Honey… Bowie Jane.” I squeeze her hand and wait for her to focus on me. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now about anything. I know exactly how much you love your mom and there’s nothing I’d love more than for her to get back to the way you want her. I truly hope that’s what happens. But until then, you’re with me and you’re safe and nothing’s going to upset that, okay?”

Bowie Jane relaxes so much with those words, she melts a little in her chair. She smiles at me gratefully. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat and pick up the discarded bacon to take another bite. I watch her carefully to see if she still wants to hash out her concerns about her mom, but she cuts back into her stack of hotcakes and takes another bite.

Mouth full, she asks, “What did you want to talk about?”

Anxiety hits me hard, and once again, I drop the bacon. I grab the paper towel I’d pulled off the roll to serve as our napkins and wipe my hands. Next, I sip my coffee, suddenly ill-equipped in all ways to start this conversation. I’m not even sure what to say when ten minutes ago, I was ready.

Bowie Jane’s insecurities regarding her mom have left me feeling unsure if this is the right time.

“You know what… it’s not important,” I say breezily, taking my knife and fork in hand to cut into my stack of pancakes.

Bowie Jane—in all her ten-year-old glory—stares at me with skepticism. My gaze drops to my plate and I ignore her, but I’m acutely aware that she doesn’t move a muscle. She doesn’t resume eating and she doesn’t say a word.

I lift my head to find the same expression on her face. We engage in a staring contest.

And then she literally guts me. Cuts me off at the knees. Puts my heart in a vise. “I think anything you have to say is important.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, placing my utensils on my plate and rubbing my hands over my face. I lock eyes with her across the table and take a deep breath. “Okay… here goes. I wanted to talk to you about dating.”

“I’m too young to date,” she deadpans, and this is exactly how I know she’s mature enough to talk about the subject. Because she’s so fucking quick-witted and confident, plus she’s already shown resiliency and strength the last two years that her mom and I have been divorced.

I roll my eyes, realizing that I’m mimicking Mazzy because I’m not sure I’ve ever done that in my life. “I’m talking about me dating.”

“You’ve never wanted to before,” she points out.

“I’m thinking I do now.” Why are my hands sweating? “And I want to know how you feel about it in general, because it’s clearly not been a good experience with your mom dating Chet.”

Bowie Jane ponders that a moment. “I don’t think I have a problem with mom dating, it’s just the person she’s dating. It’s Chet I don’t like or the way she changed when she started seeing him. And I don’t like how he talks to me.”

That’s definitely a relief since I know it won’t be an issue with Mazzy. At least I know that Bowie Jane adores and respects her, and I know Mazzy will treat Bowie Jane as if she were her own.

But… that doesn’t alleviate my worries. “So, here’s the thing,” I say, pushing my plate to the side so I can cross my arms on the table. “I was thinking about…”

My words trail off, another wave of nerves closing my throat. There have been so many times in my life when I’ve had to ask permission for things—asking my parents for the keys to the car, proposing to Sandra, asking her permission to go out with the guys at night—but nothing is as daunting as needing my daughter’s approval right now.

I’ve never had to ask for it before, and she’s my toughest critic and the most important thing to me. If anything I want conflicts with Bowie Jane, I don’t get it. It’s that simple.

“Dad,” Bowie Jane says, the corner of her mouth curving up. “Just get on with it. My pancakes are getting cold.”

A tiny burst of confidence prompted by her demand hits me and I blurt, “Do you mind if I ask Mazzy out on a date?”

Except each word runs into the other, overlapping and slurring, so it sounds like, Dyu mindisks mazzeow date?

Bowie Jane frowns. “What?”

Slow down, asshole.I let the words out slowly, and probably over-enunciate so it sounds even weirder. “Do you mind if I ask Mazzy out on a date?”

My daughter’s mouth forms into a surprised O before dropping wide open. I can tell this is something that has never once crossed her mind, not that I expected it to. But the fact she’s so stunned tells me this is a big freaking deal and I’m glad I decided to talk to her bluntly about it.

“I know this probably seems weird,” I continue, rushing to get the words out. “But… I like Mazzy. First and foremost, as a friend. But also in a different way. A romantic way. But she’s also your nanny. So that means she’s yours first. Not like you own her. Just that the first priority is you. And if this is weird or you’re adamantly opposed—adamantly means your mind won’t be changed—then I will accept that and move on. But if you’re okay with it, then… well, I suppose I will ask her out. I guess. I’m not sure.”

When I finish my ramble, I’m so relieved, I have the unbearable urge to take a flourishing bow. Instead, I wait expectantly to see what Bowie Jane will say.

What words of wisdom will she impart?

How deep will her questions go?

Will I need to soothe feelings or manage emotions?

Whatever she gives me, I’m ready and I’ll deliver so she gets what she wants.

Bowie Jane lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, stabbing her fork into her pancakes. “I don’t care if you ask her out.”

She lifts the blueberry fluffiness to her mouth, shovels it in, and stares at me as she chews.

“That’s it?” I ask in disbelief. “You don’t care?”

She shakes her head, giving me a cute smile.

I put on an aggrieved expression. “But why don’t you care? You should care. Don’t you care about me?”

Bowie Jane snickers, her closed-mouth smile getting bigger as she continues to chew.

“Seriously,” I say, dropping my voice to measured calm. “I need to know how you feel about this. I don’t want to make a mistake where you’re concerned.”

Bowie Jane swallows, stabs another fork full of pancakes, but before she puts it in her mouth, she says, “I really like Mazzy, Dad. She’s not like Chet. So if you wanted to date her, that would be fine with me.”

A victorious flush of happiness wells within me and I want to fist bump, but then Bowie Jane brings me back down.

“But,” she says, her countenance solemnly grim, “Mazzy doesn’t date.”

“Wait. What?”

“I asked her why she doesn’t date Leo because he’s so handsome.” Dude isn’t that good-looking. “But she assured me he was just a friend. Then I asked her if she had a boyfriend, and she said she just doesn’t have time to date and it’s not big on her priority list.”

Huh.

Well, good to have affirmation that Leo is just a friend because in my opinion, he’s far too handsy with her. And also good she doesn’t have a boyfriend.

It’s a slight sticking point that she says she doesn’t have time, and it would be difficult trying to figure out when we could go out on a date between my game schedule, her job duties with Bowie Jane and her days off.

But I know we can manage it.

“I think I’ll still ask her.” I muse over the best way to approach it with Mazzy, absently picking up my fork and cutting into the pancakes.

“May the force be with you,” Bowie Jane quips.

“Nerd,” I reply affectionately. “Any advice for your pop?”

“Speak clearly and don’t mumble the way you did with me. And don’t keep going on and on. Just ask her simply.”

What a smartass. And I love her for it.

“Duly noted,” I drawl, winking. She winks back, but she’s never been able to master the one eye closing while the other stays open, so it’s just a hard blink, and we both laugh.