“You’re better than me,” Hazel says.
“I’ve had a lot of years practicing things I’m not naturally good at.” I put the hoop down before I embarrass myself further. Then I sit across from her. “Can I tell you something?”
She nods.
“This season I had a problem. With baseball. The thing I’m supposed to be the best at. I started thinking too hard about every play. Worrying about whether I was going to mess up. And you know what happened?”
She shakes her head. “What?”
“I messed up every time. Because I was fighting my natural instincts instead of trusting myself. Does that make sense?”
Hazel picks at the grass. “I think you’re a real good baseball player.”
I catch Penelope smiling at me. “I do too, just like you’re a really good hula hooper.”
“So, what did you do?”
I glance to her side at Penelope. “I found something that was more important, and it stopped my mind from fixating on making a mistake. Is there anything you care about more than this hula hoop talent show?”
Hazel processes this the way she processes most things, which is quietly. Then she gets up and grabs the hoop.
She starts the routine. Waist to chest to neck, and this time she looks as if she feels different doing it—the release, the trust—and it spins around her neck for four full rotations before she rolls it back down and catches it at her hip.
She stares at the hoop as though she can’t believe she actually did it. “I got it!”
“You got it.” I’m not surprised, instead more relieved and proud that she saw it through.
Penelope’s eyes widen. “Haze, honey.”
Hazel drops the hoop and throws herself at me. She hits me like a small freight train, and I hold her, swinging her up and around. She shrieks, and I hold her for a few seconds before setting her down.
She grabs the hoop immediately. “Again, Decker.”
She runs through the routine. Waist, chest, neck roll, catch.
“It worked.” She still looks amazed by herself.
“What did you think about? Actually, you don’t have to tell me. Just think about it at the talent show, okay?”
She nods and turns to Penelope and back to me, picking up the hula hoop. After the fourth time she does it all perfectly, she stops and holds it at her waist. “Decker?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to sit with Mommy at the talent show?”
A soft noise falls out of Penelope.
Hazel looks at me with big serious eyes that don’t miss anything and probably never have. This doesn’t feel like a casual question. She wants to make sure I’ll be there because I’m someone important to her. And she’s important to me too.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll sit with Mommy.”
She nods once, seemingly satisfied.
“And after, right?” She circles the hula hoop around her waist.
Man, she’s come so far.
“After?”
