Chapter 21

Mazzy

The incoming chime of the text sends a surge of exhilaration through me and I’m not sure what it says about me specifically that I immediately hope it’s from Foster. It’s been three days since our date and he’s been gone the entire time on a road trip.

I grab my phone from the kitchen counter—where I had been organizing Foster’s spices into a new spice rack I bought on Amazon—and see that it’s from my mom.

It’s not a letdown though because it’s always a joy to hear from my family.

Just wanted to confirm you and Bowie Jane are coming for Sunday dinner, it says.

Foster will be back from New York tonight and will be here through Saturday with two more home games before heading off for an extended trip to the West Coast. I’m in full nanny mode and we’ve gotten into a good rhythm of balancing my hours watching Bowie Jane and me taking time off. He’s arranged for alternate coverage for Bowie Jane later this week to give me a break.

I shoot back a quick text to my mom. We’ll be there. Let me know what you want me to bring.

Her reply is just as fast. I’ve got it all handled. Just bring yourselves.

I smile, because that’s my mom… wanting to handle everything. The quintessential career woman who still tries to be the perfect mother by keeping the house clean and cooking wonderful meals when she can. Sometimes I wonder if she feels guilty because she worked while we were growing up. I particularly wonder if she has regrets about Landon and Mason because part of my teenage years were spent helping to care for them. We’ve never really discussed it but maybe I should bring it up to her.

I almost set my phone back down when I’m compelled to pull up the text thread I have going with Foster. I glance over at Bowie Jane who’s deep into doing her math homework at the kitchen nook table.

Foster texted me this morning. Good morning, sunshine.

He sends that to me every morning and it makes me feel good that I’m on his mind.

I texted back, Good morning, hot stuff. Sleep well?

He responded immediately and I imagined he was in his hotel in New York lying in bed, perhaps with a cup of coffee beside him. I slept very well. What’s on the agenda today?

It was going to be a busy day and I could’ve just said that, but Foster likes to know details. It makes him feel connected. After I drop Bowie Jane off at school, I’m going to get some laundry done. Then I’m going to go over to Leo’s to rehearse. We have an upcoming gig at a bar and we’ve added some new material. And then later I have to run out and get a pair of black pants and a white shirt for Bowie Jane.

Foster shot back an angry emoji face. Damn. I forgot to do that.

Bowie Jane joined the fourth and fifth grade choir at her new school and they’re having a recital next week. All the kids have to wear black pants and white shirts. No worries. I have it covered. Please remember that’s part of my job. You don’t have to do everything, Dad.

I hear you, he wrote back. Thank you for taking such good care of us.

I didn’t want the conversation to end. Bowie Jane and I are going to make quesadillas tonight for dinner. She wants to learn how so she can make them for you since they’re your favorite.

That kid loves her dad so much and I never want to miss an opportunity to remind him of that. His reply was expected—a mixture of dad pride and a joke to slough off the emotion. She’s growing up too fast. Ten years old and already cooking. Please don’t let her burn the house down.

I laughed as I responded, Got it covered.

I waited, seeing what he would say next. The three dots pulsed and then disappeared, pulsed and then disappeared again. It indicated to me—whether it was true or not—that he wasn’t quite sure what to say. But when his words came through, they left a smile on my face all day. Can’t wait to see you when I get back.

Same, I replied. And then because it felt right, I put a heart emoji.

Reading back through that text exchange, I have to admit I never thought this relationship with Foster would turn into anything. I figured we’d have our date and then the fascination would be done. I certainly never thought that our dinner three nights ago would turn into something beyond a good-night kiss at the end of the evening, since we’d both been clear that’s what we wanted the night I cut my finger.

The dinner itself was perfection. I’ve never conversed with someone who is so interested in every facet of my life, except maybe my parents. The guys I’ve dated always wanted to hear themselves talk or brag about their accomplishments. Foster was the exact opposite. He peppered me with thoughtful questions, wanted to know everything about my family, my dreams, hell… my entire existence.

I got my crack at him too. Foster told me all about his parents and his sister, growing up in Vancouver. He told me how he left home at age fifteen to join the major juniors and eventually how he got drafted into the league at eighteen. I was amazed at how grounded he is given the trajectory of his career.

We talked about his marriage and divorce. I’m still curious about why his marriage deteriorated but we didn’t get into those details. Instead, we focused mostly on his daughter.

Foster was circumspect as he explained how it affected him. “I stayed far longer than I should have because of Bowie Jane. I just didn’t want to be away from her. It’s something I’ve struggled with for the past year and a half and I even considered leaving the league so I could move back to San Francisco and have more time with her.”

That really surprised me. It also endeared him to me because his daughter is more important to him than his career. I’m a firm believer that you can balance both in the right circumstances, but sometimes you have to choose.

We spent a lot of time talking about Sandra’s current behavior and it’s clear Foster has serious doubts over whether he can ever trust her again. When she flaked out and turned from dedicated mother into a head case who abandoned her kid, it woke something within Foster—an intense need to become his daughter’s protector and provider, and within that turmoil, the realization that he can do everything for her and still maintain a career.

He’d said to me, the candlelight between us causing his eyes to glow, “If it weren’t for you, I couldn’t do this for her.”

We learned so much about each other that night that I walked out of the restaurant with even deeper feelings for him. And yes, I did have a buzz from the two glasses of wine, but I knew very much what I was doing. I had my own desires that he inflamed. With just the touch of his lips—no, from the moment he brushed my hair behind my ear—I wanted him.

Admittedly, I’m disappointed we didn’t have sex. I might have been buzzed, but I would have never regretted it. I have enough of a connection with Foster that I felt completely comfortable with my desires. I’ve always been the type of person who goes after an experience because I never want to let moments slip by. I don’t think anyone would ever categorize me as impetuous, but I’m always ready to embark on new undertakings, usually after balancing caution with my eagerness to explore the unknown. I always evaluate risks, but I don’t shy away from them, and I embrace every opportunity I can for growth and new experiences.

But Foster was calling the shots that night, ruled by his own internal moral code. Frankly, I found it not only adorable but endearing that he was thinking with his heart and not his dick.

The way he made me feel, I can barely think about that night without an aching need between my legs. The confidence in which he tied my wrists together to put me under his control and the unending trust I had in him to do that. The things he did with his mouth and his fingers and his dirty words, I’ve never come so fast or hard in my entire life.

When he pulled me into his arms, the last thing I remember was that his belt buckle was digging into my belly but it felt so good being held, I didn’t care. I kept telling myself I would get up in just a minute to go upstairs to my room and put on pajamas but instead I fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next thing I knew, it was morning, I was in Foster’s bed still wearing the dress I’d worn to dinner, and he was gone. The bedside clock revealed that Bowie Jane would be home within half an hour and then I noticed the smell of bacon. I rolled out of bed, used his restroom, washed my hands and then flew into the kitchen, feeling guilty for sleeping in.

Foster was there with damp hair, indicating I’d slept right through him showering in the master bath. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and cooking breakfast. He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled.

My eyes cut down to the pan. “That’s my job.”

“Not this morning. You were too cute to wake up with your soft snores.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You totally snore. Come here,” he commanded.

And I did. I crossed the cool kitchen tile in my bare feet and my messed-up hair, and I let Foster put a hand behind my neck so he could pull me into his body.

So he could kiss me softly on the mouth. He tasted like coffee and I was instantly embarrassed because I had morning breath. I attempted to pull away but he put his lips to my forehead and pressed another kiss there. “Bowie Jane will be here soon. Go shower and I’ll have breakfast ready by the time she arrives.”

That morning, he didn’t once act as though nothing had happened between us. He didn’t try to sweep our intimacy under the rug. That morning kiss was a testament that he had no regrets.

When Bowie Jane came home, we shared discreet looks, knowing smiles, and there was promise in his eyes. When we sat down at the breakfast nook to eat, Bowie Jane peppered us with questions about how our date went. She wanted to know details about the meal and what clothing we wore and what we talked about. She chastised her dad for not bringing me flowers and he promised he would correct that on the next date. Bowie Jane beamed a smile at me as if to say, I got your back, girl.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked me.

“The best,” I assured her.

Bowie Jane turned to her dad. “When are you going out on a date again? Because you must get flowers,” she reminded him. “Girls love flowers. And jewelry. But flowers first.”

Foster shot me a look before answering, “Yes, we are going out on a date again and yes, I will get flowers.” This was news to me because it wasn’t something we’d yet discussed.

That seemed to satisfy Bowie Jane and she started chatting about her new friend Amy who’d hosted the sleepover. She took great joy in telling us that they stayed up all night and got tummy aches from eating too much candy, but that it was worth it.

I grinned at Foster, because late nights and lots of candy are forbidden in this house. But he never said a word, more than happy that his daughter made a new friend. It was another way she was establishing herself here.

When we were done eating, I cleaned the kitchen and Foster went to pack. He was on his way to New York for a two-game, three-day trip.

My mind was lost in thought as I loaded the dishwasher, so I didn’t hear him come up behind me. He cornered me at the sink by spinning me into him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure we were alone and then pulled me in for a long, slow kiss.

When we broke apart, he said, “I’ll figure out a time for our second date. Assuming you want to.”

“Yes, I want to.” God, did I want to.

Foster left and it was a tearful goodbye on Bowie Jane’s part. I think some of that is on the heels of feeling her mother’s abandonment, so I can’t blame the kid. I just kicked up my nanny mode to super Mary Poppins care, and we went on an adventure to the Pittsburgh Zoo.

Since leaving on the road trip, Foster has FaceTimed Bowie Jane every day, sometimes twice a day, depending on his schedule and her time at home from school. With me, he texts.

Admittedly, I don’t text him because I’m always afraid I’m bothering him when he’s concentrating on his job. I also don’t want to look needy and am trying to be respectful. But I’m always relieved when I hear from him.

My phone rings, startling me from the perusal of my last text exchange with Foster. Lo and behold, his picture appears on my screen along with the icon to indicate it’s a FaceTime call. That means he wants to talk to his daughter.

I don’t answer it but instead walk across the kitchen to hand the phone to Bowie Jane who grins with delight when she sees it’s her father. She hits the Join button and starts chattering away as I move back to the spice rack and my organizational deeds. I don’t intentionally eavesdrop, but I can’t help but listen.

Foster is the type of dad who wants to know what Bowie Jane does every moment of her day. He meticulously goes through all the important things for school and asks how she’s doing with her homework. He wants to know what she ate for lunch, who she played with at recess and what was her favorite moment of the day. He’s so engaged and connected with her that I admire him all the more.

“So, you know I have a home game this Saturday,” he says to Bowie Jane.

I glance over at her to see her nod at the screen. “And Thursday, but that’s a school night so I can’t go to that one. But Saturday’s I can.”

“That’s right,” Foster replies with a laugh. “Well, Ms. Norcross, who owns the team, is hosting a kids’ party at her house Saturday night. Rather than go to the game, she’s inviting all the players’ kids to have a pajama party. Y’all will watch the game, eat all kinds of good food and probably play other games. Miss Kiera is going to chaperone along with a few of the other moms. Are you interested in going?”

“Yes!” Bowie Jane exclaims.

I love that kid. She is fiercely independent and socially outgoing, so the opportunity to play with other kids and go on an adventure is right up her alley.

“You can stay all night or I can come and pick you up after the game,” Foster says, and I hear the slight worry in his voice. He worried about her first overnight last weekend, afraid she would get scared and need him.

She never called once.

“I want to stay all night,” she says quickly.

Foster laughs. “Okay, kiddo. All night.”

They chat a bit more about her upcoming choir recital and the songs she’s practicing. He’s going to be away next week on the West Coast and won’t be able to attend but I’ll be there to support her.

Eventually, he says, “I have to get going. We’re heading over to the arena now.”

“Okay. I love you, Dad.”

“Love and miss you, baby girl.”

My heart swells not just from the words they exchanged but because of the easy affection between them. It’s so legitimately real I can feel the vibe of it surrounding me.

I walk back to the nook and take my phone from Bowie Jane. I bend over and glance at her math workbook, noting the numbers she’s scribbled in the answer blanks. They’re learning decimal placement and math was never my strong suit. It’s a good thing she’s understanding it because I’d be useless to help her.

“What else do you have for homework?” I ask.

“Spelling and I have to read for twenty minutes. Can I play your guitar when I’m done?”

I ruffle her hair. “Of course you can.”

As I head back to the spice rack, my phone chimes.

A text from Foster.

My heart skitters as I read it. Saturday night… next date. Come to the game and we’ll go out with the team or go somewhere by ourselves. Your choice.

I don’t care what we do. I’m just glad we’re doing something. Sounds good.

His next text makes me squirm. But no wine. No alcohol.

That’s a direct statement that we’re going to have sex and we will not be deterred.

I text back, Can’t wait.

After I hit Send, I add, And flowers aren’t necessary, despite what Bowie Jane says.

I get back a smiling emoji.