"So! I think I have a sleepover this weekend at Lila's house." She calls over her shoulder. "Can I go?"
"That's a mom question."
"Butifyou were mom, what would you say?"
"I'd say yes, but only if you promise to brush your teethwith toothpaste."
She giggles. "Mom told you about that?"
"Mom tells me a lot of things."
The swing creaks as she pumps higher. The wind is cold on my face, and I tip my head back to watch her against the autumn sky, and for a second I just…exist.
This ispeace.
I haven't felt this free in a long time. Maybe ever.
"Did you have sleepovers when you were a kid?" Morgan asks, still rising higher than the mountains. "Mom's always weird about them."
The question lands gentle, but it landsdeep.
I push her again, slower this time. "No, kiddo. I didn't."
"Why not?"
"That's a good question. I guess I was just at the rink a lot. Hockey practice every morning. Early. Like, before-the-sun-came-up early."
"Ew. That's gross." We both laugh. "Did you go to the park after practice?"
"Not really."
"Birthday parties?"
I stop pushing and she lets the swing slow on its own, dragging her sneakers in the dirt until she comes to a stop. She twists in the seat to look at me, maybe because I've gone unusually quiet.
"Colt?"
"Yeah."
"You didn't havebirthday parties?"
I shrug, and try to make my voice light, but it comes out heavier than it should when you're talking to a ten-year-old.
"Well, not the kind you're thinking of. There was always practice or a tournament or a camp. Plus my birthday's in November which is in the middle of the season. So I'd just… train through it."
"What about cake?"
"Sometimes."
"Presents?"
"If I won."
She's quiet again, and I realize she's thinking. Trying to fit what I'm telling her into her understanding of how childhoods are supposed to work.
"That's not fair, Colt."
"It's just how it was, kid."
