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CHASE
“Willow, let’s go!” I call up the stairs for the third time in five minutes. There’s a loud thud, a door slamming, and then thundering steps as she hurries down the hall. When she gets to the end, she peeks her head over the top.
“Sorry.” She giggles down at me, and I can’t help but send a smile her way. I’m starting to learn that ten-year-olds take a lot longer to get ready than nine-year-olds, suddenly caring more about their clothes fitting just right and their hair being just so before daring to step foot out of the house.
“Did you say goodbye to your mother?” I ask her, sitting down on the third closest step to the bottom of the stairs and waiting for her to wrap her arms around my shoulders.
“Yep!” she hollers loudly into my ear, then she laughs and throws herself against my back. I groan, pretending like I can barely stand with her weighing me down. Truthfully, it is getting a little more challenging. I’ve been doing it for years, and I know it’s an almost played out move, but it still manages to earn me deep belly laughs from Willow. With this new pre-teen attitude, I’ll take the smiles when I can get them.
Before we can walk down the stairs, I hear a tinkling voice yell down, “Chase, no crop tops or short skirts!”
I raise my eyebrows as I look behind me to Willow, who rolls her eyes dramatically. I twist my face in mock annoyance, but shout back upstairs, “Yes, ma’am! See you in a few hours.”
When we get to the truck, I patiently wait the five minutes it takes for Willow to hook up her iPod and pick out the perfect playlist for our drive. Once she’s finally settled, we hit the road. She spends the entire ride bopping her head and singing every song at the top of her lungs from the back seat.
I’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. It’s been a crazy summer with work, and I haven’t found much time to spend one-on-one with Willow, so when she asked her mom if I could take her back-to-school shopping, I jumped at the chance, planning a full day of shopping, lunch, and the movies. Luckily, I’m still cool enough to hang out with, but I know these years are limited.
We drive into Denver, stopping at the mall first and starting out at Willow’s favorite store.
“How about this one?” I pull a bright pink shirt with the words ‘Strong like Mom’ from a shelf. Her upturned lip and sassy eye roll tell me that’s a big fat no, so I hang it back up with a sigh.
She spends the next several minutes looking through the racks, but instead of her usual shopping excitement, I’m met with deep sighs and hard frowns. Finally, I stop her perusal, grabbing her hand and pulling her to a bench in the long corridor hallway of the mall.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I have one leg pulled up on the bench and am giving her my full attention. “You’re not liking anything in there?”
She’s still facing forward, twisting her hands in her lap, eyes on the ground in front of her.
“Come on, Willow, talk to me.” I nudge her arm with mine, getting her to at least look up at me.
“I’m just not really into those kinds of clothes now. They’re all for little girls, and I’m not a little girl anymore.”
I nod, even though her words hit me in the gut. When I look at her, I still see a little girl. Hell, I still see that little seven-pound baby I held in my arms almost eleven years ago.
“Also…” she pauses, clearing her throat and sitting up a little bit taller. I hide my smile at her display, knowing that she’s doing exactly as I’ve taught her over the years.
Shoulders back, chin high, make eye contact. Even if you don’t feel it inside, you need to look confident on the outside.
“I think it’s time that I start shaving my legs. All of the other girls in my grade started over the summer, and I have the hairiest legs out of all of them. See!” She pulls her leg up in the air with one hand and rubs her other hand over it aggressively. “It’s so dark. I look like a gorilla!”
I chuckle. “Listen, Willow—”
She holds her hand up to stop me. “I’m not done.”
I can see my words roll over in her mind again as she corrects her posture and pulls her chin high. She turns her body slowly, stiff as a board as she holds her stance.
“IthinkIshouldstartwearingbrastoo.” Her words rush out of her so fast that I don’t think I heard her correctly. Surely, she didn’t say the word bra in relation to herself.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I sputter tensely.
She drops her head to glare at me, but stubborn to the core, she repeats herself calmly.
“I think I should start wearing bras too. All of the other girls have been wearing bras for a few years, and I’m finally starting to develop.” She looks down at her shirt and adjusts her chest like there’s something there to actually adjust.
“Willow!” I say sharply, pushing her arms down and hanging my head with a groan. I want to tell her that this is something to talk to her mother about, but I know that’s the last thing she needs to hear. If I want her to continue opening up and talking to me over the years, I’m going to have to learn to deal with the tough issues and not make her feel bad about them.
Trust me, I wish I could send her to her mother. I wish I could steer clear from all of the puberty talks and pre-teen drama, but that’s not what life had in store for us. So if I need to be the one she comes to with these things, I’m going to have to push my discomfort aside and make things work.
“I don’t know very much about, um... bras.” I clear my throat. “But I’ll figure it out.”
