“No, no, no,” he says, blowing a raspberry. “It is absolutely terrible.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter because that’s not her name.”
He nods. “Unlike Bella Swan, we actually know how to name a child.”
I nod. “Now we just need to work on not spoiling her by giving her everything she wants all the time.”
He pretends to be offended with a fake gasp and a hand to his chest. “I like giving her everything she wants all the time.”
I put my hands on my hips but I’m sitting in the diner booth so it doesn’t have the same effect as if I were standing. “I do, too, but we want to raise a good, well-adjusted kid, not a spoiled brat.”
”I give you everything you want,” he says, stealing another one of my cheese fries. “And you’re not a spoiled brat.”
”Maybe I am,” I say with a grin. His lips quirk up at the sides.
”Well, you’re my spoiled brat.”
Chelsea returns to fill our drinks. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your daughter's name? I remember when she was a little baby but I can’t remember her name. She’s always so well behaved, unlike other kids who come in here and their parents yell their names constantly, telling them to sit down and be quiet.”
I laugh, thinking of many times we’ve been out in public while someone else’s kids ran amuck and caused more chaos than if a pack of wild animals had been let loose inside.
“As long as her sticker addiction is being taken care of, she’s a pretty good kid. We thought about naming her something sentimental, like after family members, but then we decided to name her something we thought was beautiful.”
I look at Jett and he smiles at me, and I can remember being in that hospital room four years ago, scared to death of becoming a mom when my own childhood had been rocky and unstable, with no real motherly influence until I was much older.
“Harper Jade Adams,” Jett says, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. Maybe he noticed I was lost in memories, because I totally forgot to answer Chelsea’s question.
“Aww, that’s so pretty!” Chelsea says. “Such a sweet name for such a sweet girl.”
Once we’ve finished eating and Harper has filled up her princess t-shirt with stickers, we head outside and walk down the little strip of boutique stores along Main Street. It’s a nice October afternoon and while Lawson, Texas doesn’t get much of a fall, the leaves are still kind of brownish and the air is kind of crisp, although still warmer than I’d prefer. I love Sunday evenings because The Track is closed and Jett and I are both off work. Sundays have become family days, where we go out to dinner and then find something relaxing to do before we start the week all over again.
Next fall, Harper will start kindergarten, and I can’t even think about that right now. Time flies way too fast. I still feel like a teenager half the time, not a full grown adult with a college education, a mortgage, and a kid. Sheesh. For now, I’m going to enjoy every second of these perfect evenings together. One day, she’ll be all grown up and on her own.
Since it’s still daylight out, we stop at the park at the end of the street. It has a small playground, some picnic tables, and the largest part is a soccer field. The Lawson High cheerleaders are out there now, practicing a cheer. No, they’re teaching cheer, I realize as I see them talking to a group of young girls all wearing matching pink shirts.
”Mommy! I want to go,” Harper says.
”You have to be six to do junior cheer,” I say, giving her a big exaggerated frown. “That’s two more years from now.”
She frowns, copying my expression, then her gaze drifts back over to the cheerleaders. “They’re so pretty!”
”Yes, they are.”
”Every day I get closer to losing my dream of having a motocross racing kid,” Jett says with a chuckle.
“Not true. She can race dirt bikes and be a cheerleader.”
”Yes!” she says, clapping her hands together. “Both!”
”Perfect,” Jett says, ruffling the top of her hair. “My motocross cheerleading superstar.”
His phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket. Surprise flashes in his eyes. “Speaking of motocross…” He holds up one finger to us and then steps away, answering the phone.
Jett is assistant manager of our family business, which is a very popular motocross track in town. His dad and my dad are the co-owners, and I also work there although I’ve taken a step back in my work duties ever since Harper was born. Pretty much every phone call any of us gets is about motocross. So why would this call be different?
We sit on a park bench and watch the cheerleaders teaching a simple cheer to their captive audience of six year olds. The last time I looked into this program, it was a small fee to join, which raised funds for the cheerleaders to get new uniforms and pompoms. I never did anything like that when I was a kid. I never really wanted to—that would have meant hanging out with the cool girls and I was never a cool girl. But I don’t want my daughter to feel awkward and out of place around her peers. I want her to make lifelong friends here in town, never worrying about being forced to move away a few months after settling down somewhere new. Lawson is our home, and we’re not going anywhere.
Jett returns with a strained expression on his face. His lips press flat and he holds the phone in his hand, turning it over between his thumb and palm.
