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Anton’s girlfriend Mia had shirts made for all three kids to wear to my games. Emerson’s extra excited about this charity game. The team PR people had the players’ kids help make posters, and Emerson’s been dying to see hers hanging in the arena.
“You look great, peanut,” I tell her.
“I can’t find my ruby slippers, though. Will you help me look?”
“I can help for a little bit, but I have to leave soon. Is Sheila here yet?”
“Yep, and she brought doughnuts.”
“Nice.”
When Emerson and I get down to the kitchen, the two older kids are having a heated debate about who gets which doughnut.
“I called it first,” Jack says bitterly.
“Yeah, but I have a scar,” Cora gestures at her eyebrow.
“The doctor said it will go away, big baby.”
I interject. “Hey, guys, cool it.”
“She thinks she should get everything she wants because she has a scar!” Jack cries.
That’s true. Since the fight, Cora has milked that wound and subsequent scar for lots of ice cream and special treatment. And because of the circumstances, I let her, even though the doctor said she’s not likely to have much of a scar there since it’s in her brow line.
When I got back to Chicago that night a couple weeks ago on Abby’s company’s plush jet, I raced to the hospital filled with emotions. I was mostly worried, but also ready to break that little Courson punk in half for punching my niece in the face.
Those feelings intensified when Cora told me what happened. Aiden Courson told her that only soldiers who come back home from wars are heroes, and that the ones who get captured or killed are just weak.
She cried fresh tears as she told me, enraged he’d said that about her father. I was enraged, too. I went down to the Courson house the next day and let them know it better never happen again. And then I enrolled Cora in kickboxing classes so she’ll be able to block any other punch that comes her way and knock out the Aiden Coursons of the world.
I look down into the doughnut box and then glance back up between Jack and Cora, exasperated.
“You guys, this is a box of a dozen identical doughnuts. They’re all chocolate with sprinkles.”
“Yeah, but I want that one,” Jack says.
“If you called it first, it’s yours.”
Jack reaches for the doughnut with a triumphant look at Cora.
“I took a punch to the face for the honor of this family and no one even appreciates it!” Cora huffs.
“Okay, drama queen,” I say. “Eat and then help us look for your sister’s shoes.”
“Why should I, no one ever helps me,” she grumbles.
My niece is on the verge of adolescence, and it’s a real treat sometimes.
“Hey, sorry,” Shelia says, coming around the corner. “I was starting some laundry. What’s all this fighting over a doughnut? They’re all the same.”
I already had bacon and eggs this morning, but I consider eating a doughnut, too. I decide against it because the sugar high might affect my game. It’s just a charity game—retired Blaze players against current ones—but I need to be sharp anyway. Some of the older guys are still damn good.
“Have you seen Emerson’s ruby slippers?” I ask Sheila.
“On a shelf in her closet…I think,” she says. “I’ll go look.” She turns back to face me on her way out of the kitchen. “You need to get going, Luca. I’ve got things handled with the kids, don’t worry.”
“Okay, I’ll see you guys at the game.”
“Wave to me, Uncle Luca!” Emerson says, a circle of chocolate frosting around her mouth.
“Always.”
I gather my stuff and get in my Escalade, heading to the arena. The SUV was a recent purchase since it’s more comfortable for driving around all the kids. I may be a suburban dad-type in most every way, but I’m never driving a mini-van.
Traffic is slow going when I get to the city, and I have plenty of quiet time to think. Abby comes to my mind, as she usually does when I get a free moment. We text almost every day now, but it’s never about anything significant. Still, it’s nice.
She’s not coming to the game today. She said she would’ve if she’d been in Chicago, but she’s got meetings in New York. I get it, because my work schedule is nuts during the season. Still, I was disappointed. I told her I’d leave her name at the ticket office in case things changed.
I don’t know when I went from wanting more than a casual thing with Abby, but I do. When I see Mia kissing and hugging Anton before and after games, I think of Abby. Every time my phone dings with a text, I hope it’s from her.
It’s impractical since we live in different cities and I have very little free time since I’m usually with the kids. Neither of us wanted more when we met, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe that’s changed for Abby, too.
