“Mom, maybe I just shouldn’t do it.” She sighs.
“You just need practice, and I can’t wait to try too.”
She humors me and lifts her hula hoop to her waist, and I do the same.
The video plays, and a woman who is clearly teaching for younger children comes on wearing brightly colored clothes, her hair in a big ponytail. She’s in the middle of a play area that’s as colorful as her clothing.
I really hope this video is the one that will help Hazel, because just the thought of asking Decker for his help makes me itch as if I have hives. Which is a perfectly normal response when the person you’re asking happens to be someone you have very complicated and completely unresolved feelings for.
The woman named Riya talks about hand position and how to start at your back, swing it around, and sway your hips.
We both try. Neither of us gets very far.
Thankfully, Riya moves on quickly, and we’re on to doing other tricks with the hula hoop. This isn’t what I thought, given the title of the video: “Everyone can hula hoop, let me show you how.”
At least Hazel likes jumping through it like a jump rope. “This is fun, Mommy.”
I pick up my phone to find another video but stop when I see her smiling and actually enjoying herself. Maybe we can get this going without her having to actually circle it around her hips. She trips at the exact moment hope springs to life inside me.
Hazel falls forward, and I drop my phone, rushing across the room to grab her. She catches herself, but her knee hits the edge of the coffee table, and her cry rings out through the room.
What a great start.
I pull her into me, falling to my butt and placing her on my lap. I don’t rush it. Now that she’s older, these moments where she lets me comfort her come less and less. I’ve learned to stay in them as long as she’ll allow me.
I lift her pant leg and see a bruise already forming, but no scrape or blood.
Small blessings.
“What if I can’t do it?” she says into my neck, her tears soaking the neckline of my shirt.
I run my hand over her back. “You’ll get there. I’ll make sure you do.”
Even if I have to hire a personal hula hoop instructor.
The doorbell rings, and she bolts up so fast, her head knocks my chin, banging my teeth together. I grunt, but she doesn’t hear me because her little feet are already padding toward the door.
“Wait.” I get to all fours and use the chair to help me stand.
“It’s Monroe!” she shouts, looking out the side window.
“Go ahead and open it,” I tell her once I’m closer.
Hazel swings the door open, and Monroe doesn’t wait to be invited in.
“Monroe.” Leighton has two pizza boxes in her hands. “We’re guests. Wait to be invited in.”
Monroe doesn’t pay her any attention though. She and Hazel rush to the family room, and I hear the clatter of the hula hoops.
“Sorry, we need more lessons in manners apparently.” Leighton cringes.
Lincoln and Lake step inside. They each give me a wave and a quick hello before slipping off their shoes and heading to the couch with their phones.
“Why did you bring pizza? I was going to order.” I take them from her.
“It’s on the way here. Callie is, like, two minutes away.”
Just then, an Uber pulls up along the curb, and Callie steps out, before taking out Ellis’s car seat. Callie’s always beautiful, but she does not look like a mom with a six-month-old.
