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I shake my head. “How are they?”
“Excited AF.” He looks at me, and his smile is contagious. He looks back on the ice and rubs his hands together, then blows on them.
“Are you nervous?” I ask, seeing his eyes on the girls making sure that he can have them in his sight the whole time.
“No.” He pffts at me, then leans into me and looks around before he says, “But if one of those fuckers push them down.”
I can’t help the way his tone hits me; my head goes back, and I laugh out loud. The sound echoes in the arena, and a couple of the parents look my way. I push him with my shoulder. “What if the girls push them?”
“They probably deserved it,” he states, and I roll my eyes. “What?” He shrugs.
“A couple of things,” I start when I take my phone out and snap a couple of pictures of the girls, prompting Christopher to do the same thing. “One, how much does this cost?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says without even looking at me.
“What do you mean don’t worry about it?” I make sure my voice is low.
“It means I took care of it.” He finally looks over at me. “So what’s next?”
“What?” I’m now confused.
“Well, you said a couple of things.” He turns back to look at the ice. “What is the next thing?” Then he turns back to me.
I don’t know if it’s his blue eyes or the way his voice goes low, or the way he always turns back to make sure the girls are okay that literally takes all the words out of my vocabulary. “Um.” I quickly turn away. “How many times a week is this thing?”
“It’s either Saturday or Sunday, depending on what team they get put on. But I was talking to Guy, and he said I can rent out the ice a couple of times a week if I want to.”
“That’s a lot of hockey.” I watch the ice, seeing Luna struggling, but Rain is being put in one group after another.
“I can take them.” He puts his hands on the bench beside my leg. “You can, I don’t know, go to Target.”
I close my eyes, laughing. “What’s wrong with Target?”
“Nothing, I just know when a woman goes in there, they are gone for a while.” His eyes never leave the girls. They go back and forth from one group to the next.
“You are not wrong,” I agree with him. The kids stay on the ice for fifty minutes until the bell rings, and then one of the men blows the whistle for the kids to get off the ice.
Christopher is already on his feet, walking down the bleachers to the door, leaving me by myself with the rest of the other moms. I get up and walk toward the door and the waiting area.
A couple of the kids come out with their fathers, their hair wet, and then I see them. Luna walks out first, with Rain holding Christopher’s hand.
“Mommy.” Luna runs to me, and I bend to pick her up. “I fell,” she reports happily, “but then I got up. I’m a superstar.”
“Are you?” I ask, and she nods, her hair wet and stuck to her forehead.
“That’s what Uncle Chrissy said.” She plays with the collar of my sweater. I swallow down the lump that has suddenly risen from my stomach. “He said Rain was a superstar too.”
“Mom, did you see?” Rain asks when she comes to me. “I went from group to group because I was too good.”
“That’s my girl,” Christopher praises, holding up his fist for her to fist bump him. “Now, how about we go and eat some breakfast?”
“I’m hungry.” Luna squirms in my arms to get down. “I want breakfast tacos.”
“Yes,” Christopher says, walking toward the door with the girls, holding it open for them. “I want extra hash browns.”
“Me too,” Luna agrees, walking out with Rain.
Christopher looks over his shoulder at me, holding the door open. “You okay?” he asks, and I want to tell him I’m not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Nothing about this morning should be okay. Nothing about him taking my girls to hockey should be okay. Nothing about this is okay, yet everything about this feels okay.
