She pops her head into the space that's recently been decorated with pops of yellow and shimmering girl products that make me question how fast eleven turns to seventeen. She raises a brow,impressed. "Spotless," she says with a smile, and a ridiculous wave of pride washes over me.
"She's a good kid," I explain like I need to justify my grin.
I point across the hall to the door decorated with paper drawings that say things likeRuthie's RoomandNo Boys Allowed (Except Dad).
"I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say this one's hers?" she quips.
"What gave it away?" I push it open to find an unmade bed and a handful of toys scattered around, her desk covered as it usually is, in unkept markers and clippings of what must be her latest art project. Tess looks at me, eyes wide, and I laugh and shake my head. "I'm a little more lenient with her bedroom. It's the only space that's really hers."
"That's how my parents always were."
"Really?" I ask quickly.
"Yeah," she chuckles. "With five kids, you sort of lose your sense of ownership of… well, anything. The house was way too small with seven people. Whatever corner of one of the two bedrooms we shared was ours, we had free reign of."
"I feel like any house would feel crowded with that many people living in it."
Her eyes fade to the floor, but her smile remains. "Sort of," she says softly. "But in a good way, ya know? At least to me." Her gaze returns to mine. "I was never really alone."
I rub the back of my neck, dragging my hand down my shoulder. "That's how I feel about Ruthie. People always assume it must be hard being a single dad, and don't get me wrong, it's the toughest thing I've ever done. But I've never really felt alone either. Growing up, my brother and I were only a year apart. I always had him by my side. My built-in sidekick."
"A partner in crime," she teases.
I smirk. "Right. So, I was used to that. Being by myself never felt right to me." I glance at Tessa to find her eyes on my mouth like she's hanging on to each word. "Then Ruthie came along, and it felt like that again. Having someone to spend time with, to teach things to. To look after…"
"Exactly." When I meet her gaze, she's already watching me—too closely, too sweetly—as if she's seeing a side of me I've been keeping closerto my chest lately. "Anyway," I say, breaking our eye contact. I stare at Ruthie's door hoping whatever we were talking about comes back to me. "It doesn't have to be spotless, but when it reaches a certain point…"
"I got it," she says with a casual wink. "Clutter, not chaos."
This earns a real chuckle, which feels almost foreign. I take a few steps toward the next door and walk in. "This is Ruthie's play—" I stop, resetting. "Sorry, no. I'm told it's not a playroom anymore. It's a hangout space."
Tess laughs, joining me in the room that seems to be changing with my daughter. Bins of toys line one wall while purses and jean jackets hang on the other. There's a reading corner loaded with fuzzy pillows and furry blankets and another corner with a karaoke machine sitting on a coffee table stage.
Tess's eyes trail over the wall opposite Ruthie's things with floor-to-ceiling shelves that are filled with my baseball paraphernalia. The faintest chill rises up my neck as an unexplainable self-consciousness passes through me. "Again, anyone can be in here," I say, too hurried. "But she likes to bring her friends here when they come over." I walk toward the couch facing the giant flat screen on the wall. "They pump up air mattresses and watch movies and stuff."
"Are these all yours?" Tessa asks, still honed in on the countless metals and trophies.
"Uh, yep. That's what happens when you've been at it for as long as I have."
She slowly spins in my direction. "You must miss it already."
She doesn't mean it how it hits me—no one ever does when they're trying to get inside my head with this on my mind. But the truck still barrels into me all the same.
My jaw tightens as I try not to let my anxiety seep out. "Eh, the season's just started. They can't get rid of me that easily."
She smiles, and I force myself to return the gesture. Tess takes one last look over the shelves, her gaze lingering on my Golden Glove. When she runs her thumb over the engraved nameplate, I transport back to when I felt everything looking at what now just seems like decoration.
Back to when everything in my life felt like a beginning instead of a countdown toward the end.
"Is Ruthie allowed to have boys up here?"
"What?" The words yank me back to the moment.
Tess shoves her hands into her back pockets casually, like she asked me the time and not whether my daughter is allowed to have boys in her hangout space. "You said she brings her friends up here. Does that include boys?"
"Oh, um…" I stutter, searching for the answer. When I eventually find one, it comes out unconvincing. "Cooper, I guess."
"Alex's son?"
