Chapter 26

Foster

“It tastes awful,” I grumble as the plastic cup of red cough syrup hovers in front of my face.

“Stop being a baby,” Mazzy says, holding the medicine firmly in her hand with a no-nonsense expression on her face. Bowie Jane sits at my feet at the end of the couch where I’m lying.

I shoot her a faux glare and take the cup from Mazzy. “Fine.”

“Fine,” she mimics, shooting Bowie Jane a grin.

“God,” I say, slamming down the foul liquid and using every bit of strength and fortitude not to grimace. It’s no use—my face scrunches up and I shudder. “Why does that taste so bad? Do they do it to torture sick people?”

Mazzy pats my chest, taking the cup from me and then putting the back of her other hand to my forehead. “You’re still cool so it looks like your fever is gone for good. I’m thinking you’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Today,” I say, pushing her hand away. “I’m getting up and we’re going ice skating.”

I attempt to sit up from my position on the couch, but Mazzy pushes me back down. “Just rest and don’t try to be all tough. You can’t be a baby about medicine one minute and macho the next.”

“I’m not a baby,” I mutter.

Mazzy laughs and then bends forward, pressing her lips to my forehead. It’s a decidedly intimate move, not born of sexual desire but a nurturing instinct to care for me because I’m sick.

“You’re definitely not a baby,” she says softly, lifting to stare down at me. “But you are sick, so you are staying on the couch and resting today.”

Yeah… I’m fucking sick, which is something that doesn’t happen to me often. I started feeling a little run-down on Wednesday, but we had a hectic game schedule this week and I powered through it.

I actually tried to ignore the signs—sore throat, stuffy nose, cough and eventually a slight fever. It was the fever that kept me from dressing for last night’s game and today I’m on the mend for sure. But the cough bothers me the most and it’s why Mazzy keeps pouring that nasty-ass syrup down my throat.

She’s been a godsend though because she’s stayed all week at our house, refusing to take her days off when I was home because I wasn’t feeling well. Mazzy not only did her regular care of Bowie Jane, but she’s taken such good care of me that it makes me want to stay sick just to have her attention. Outside of my own mother when I was little, I’ve never had someone worry over me. If she wasn’t checking my temperature, making homemade chicken noodle soup, fluffing my pillows or plying me with Gatorade, she was ordering me to rest and catering to my every need.

I’d like to say it was cute as fuck, but it wasn’t. It was absolutely endearing. It was the purest form of Mazzy’s being—the nurturer—and it’s the main reason I’ve fallen for her.

I want to fight her on letting me off the couch today because we had plans to spend the day together. I’ve been eager for the three of us to do something outside of Mazzy’s role as the nanny. I want Bowie Jane to see her in the capacity of my girlfriend. I want my daughter to see me have a healthy, solid relationship.

“How about we compromise?” I drawl, taking Mazzy’s hand in mine and glancing down the couch at Bowie Jane who watches with interest. “I’ll nap for a few hours and then we go ice skating.”

Before Mazzy can shoot me down, Bowie Jane pipes up, “I agree with Mazzy. You need to rest to get better. We can go ice skating any time.”

“But you’re going to be starting hockey soon. You need to practice,” I point out.

Bowie Jane levels me with that look that says, Are you serious? “Dad… I’ve been skating for like seven years. I think I’m good.”

I really did want to get her on the ice. It’s true she’s been skating almost as long as she’s known how to run, but her desire to sign up for a local co-ed youth hockey team inspired by Drake enrolling his boys is bringing out a bit of the competitive dad in me.

On top of that, Drake is also recruiting teammates to be advisors to the different coaches because this isn’t a high-level, competition league but rather one created for disadvantaged youths who want to learn the sport. They’re enlisting parents who don’t know much about hockey to be coaches, so I thought it would be fun to help mentor Bowie Jane’s team. I know King and North have already committed to help out.

Nudging Bowie Jane’s leg with my foot from underneath the mountain of blankets, I say, “I just wanted the three of us to do something together today.”

Christ, that sounded whiny.

“We are doing something together,” Mazzy says with a wicked grin. “Bowie Jane and I are taking care of you.”

“Something fun,” I amend with an eye roll that will never be as good as Mazzy’s.

“This is totally fun,” she quips, turning to pick up an empty mug that once held the lemon and honey tea she made for my sore throat. “I like bossing you around for a change.”

Bowie Jane and I exchange a grin as Mazzy walks into the kitchen. She’s behind me so I can’t see what she’s doing but I hear her rattling around with the dishes. Instead, I focus on my daughter at the opposite end of the couch, sitting with her legs crisscrossed and her back against the armrest.

“Sorry you’re stuck here inside with me today,” I say.

Bowie Jane shrugs. “I don’t mind. I like hanging out with you. Plus, Mazzy and I have something planned that will be fun.”

I give her the side eye. “Does it involve putting makeup on me and painting my nails, because if so… I’m going to take a hard pass.”

Laughing, my daughter shakes her head. “It’s something we’ve been working on together the past few weeks and we figured today would be a good time to show you.”

“When did you decide that since we were supposed to go ice skating?”

“When you were napping,” she says. “We made plans while you snored.”

Mazzy returns from the kitchen with another cup of tea and a large tumbler full of Gatorade. Setting them on the flat tray perched on one of the soft ottomans, she pulls it closer to me. “Be a good boy and drink,” she says and starts to turn away.

My hand latches onto her wrist and she looks back at me. “Only if you give me a kiss.”

Mazzy’s eyes dart over to Bowie Jane and back to me, because this isn’t asking for a sweet kiss to the cheek or forehead. She can tell by my tone that I’m asking for a kiss on the mouth, and that’s not something we’ve done in front of Bowie Jane yet. I risk a glance over at my kid, and she’s staring at Mazzy with interest. I know one thing is for sure—my daughter very much enjoys the playful banter I always have going with Mazzy, which has become more personal as we grow closer.

Things definitely changed after me and my teammates saw her perform a week ago. I outed myself to them by kissing her and made it clear I have deep feelings by a nasty display of jealousy, which Mazzy herself witnessed. In a very short time, it was declared that I’m in a relationship with a woman I’m crazy about, and most importantly, Mazzy echoed those sentiments back to me.

She did that not only in her willingness to set boundaries with Leo, but she spoke those things from her heart that night as we sat up in the living room talking. Bowie Jane was upstairs sound asleep where she’d been since we arrived home and relieved the babysitter.

We’re navigating how to have a complete relationship around a ten-year-old. While it’s one thing for Bowie Jane to know that Mazzy and I are dating, she doesn’t need to know that we’re intimate. And it’s not because she can’t handle that, because I know she can, but rather I want to be able to have a very serious conversation with her about the care that’s needed to take that step with a person. The level of commitment required. It has to be a teaching opportunity for her that she can pull on when she enters into her own intimate relationships.

When she’s like, thirty.

Back to the kiss… I tug Mazzy’s wrist. “One kiss.” I point to my mouth. “Right here.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You have cooties.”

“I do not,” I exclaim, affronted by the off-putting word. “My fever is gone and I’m not coughing due to that disgusting stuff you made me drink. Just one kiss.”

Mazzy contemplates by tapping a finger to her chin. She slides her gaze to Bowie Jane. “What do you think?”

“Kissing is gross,” she says with a grimace. “Alicia at school said she kissed Christian on the playground and it was wet—”

“What the hell?” I exclaim as I sit up against the pillows, releasing my hold on Mazzy. “Kissing is absolutely gross. You are not to kiss boys, okay?”

Bowie Jane giggles and Mazzy laughs so hard she doubles at the waist. Giving me a playful tap to my shoulder, she says, “Great job, Einstein. You just ensured that we will have to be Puritan at all times in front of your kid.”

“Okay… no, wait.” I backpedal because I want to be able to kiss Mazzy whenever I feel like it or come up behind her and give her a squeezing hug. I want to be able to do those things in front of Bowie Jane and have my daughter recognize them as signs of love.

Well, not love, but great care and affection.

Maybe love.

Not sure because it’s been so long since I felt that emotion for a woman, and I’m also not sure if what I felt for Sandra was truly love. We were so fucking young and married for the wrong reasons.

What I do know is that I care for Mazzy on such a profound level, it makes me think I never really knew what romantic love was. The genuine kind you share with a life partner, built from shared values, where you put in the hard work to keep it thriving. Because that’s what Mazzy and I have developed.

“How about,” Mazzy suggests with a wink in Bowie Jane’s direction, “we do that thing for your dad that we said we’d do?”

Very cryptic indeed, but it excites my kid. “Yes! Let’s do it.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Mazzy says and heads up the staircase.

“What are you two up to?” I ask Bowie Jane.

She looks smug but refuses to divulge anything. “You’ll see.”

With Mazzy upstairs, I use the opportunity to check in with my kid. Despite the apparent ease with which she’s supported this thing between me and Mazzy, I never want to assume anything. “Are you really okay with me and Mazzy?”

She looks puzzled. “You mean… like, you’re boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yeah. I know it wasn’t easy for you when your mom started dating Chet. But mostly, because it changes the dynamic a little bit between the three of us.”

Bowie Jane’s frown deepens. “What’s a dynamic?”

My kid’s vocabulary is pretty extensive. It’s for this reason I don’t dumb down words for her but make her level up to learn new things.

“In this instance, it means sort of the structure or system we have in place. Specifically, Mazzy came into our lives as a nanny. While she will still be that, she’s now more to me and I think to you as well. Things are changing or evolving.”

Bowie Jane processes that. “I love Mazzy, so it’s no wonder you do too.” I don’t affirm or deny that. Bowie Jane is using the words that make sense to her. “And I can tell she really cares about you. She took really good care of you today and was worried yesterday when you were really sick. I kept hearing her wake up to check on you.”

“You know that no matter what happens between me and Mazzy, you are and will always be my number one priority. The one I will always love the most. I will always choose you above any other, and that includes Mazzy.”

My statement is pointed because while I don’t call her mother out specifically, my commitment to our daughter is in stark contrast to Sandra’s and Bowie Jane knows exactly what I’m saying. I can tell by her expression.

She nods quietly.

“It’s me and you, kid. First and foremost. But I think Mazzy makes our life together better.”

“I do too,” she says.

Mazzy’s footsteps coming down the stairs quiets us and when she appears from behind the couch, I see her carrying two guitars, the one she gave to Bowie Jane to practice on, and one of her three others.

“What’s this?” I ask as Bowie Jane rolls off the couch to take the guitar.

“We’ve been working on a song for you,” Mazzy says. “It’s the first complete song that Bowie Jane has learned to play and trust me when I say she’s a natural. She’s been practicing really hard, and we thought it would be nice to preview it to you while you’re sick.”

As cruddy as I feel, a surge of joyful energy sweeps through me. I sit up even straighter on the couch. “I can’t wait. Give it to me.”

Mazzy and Bowie Jane both stand on the other side of the ottoman and loop their guitar straps over their shoulders. Mazzy leans forward, makes sure that Bowie Jane’s hands are properly placed, and then asks, “You ready?”

My kid swallows hard, clearly nervous but nods. “Ready.”

“You got this. Just like you practiced, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go ahead,” Mazzy encourages, and I’m surprised when it’s only Bowie Jane who starts strumming. It’s an opening melody and while she has to look at her fingers on the strings, her transitions between chords are smooth.

I’m charmed when Bowie Jane starts singing “You Are My Sunshine.” I’m so caught up in how great she’s doing on the guitar and how sweet her voice is, I’m stunned when Mazzy starts playing an echo to Bowie Jane.

Bowie Jane sings a line of the song and as she moves on to the next one, Mazzy repeats it in a soft, higher harmony.

It’s beautiful but it hits me hard that this makes the song incredibly difficult. Bowie Jane has to play with the distraction of someone else singing different words and playing different chords. It’s a complexity I’m stunned to see my daughter mastering, and it honest to God brings fucking tears to my eyes. I don’t move to wipe them away.

My gaze moves to Mazzy and I see she’s watching me intently. She’s reading the emotion on my face and her own expression softens, a quiet gratitude that I’m open in my vulnerability.

That’s one of many reasons I know Mazzy is the one I’ve been waiting for.