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“Wait, do you think participation is on the table?” Simone straightens, intrigued. “I haven’t done a three-legged race since I was a kid.”
“Guys,” I say with a laugh. “This is getting out of control. Plus, Des wants to win! I don’t want to be competing against all of you. We’re supposed to be sticking it to his cousin-brother-douche guy. I can’t do that if we lose to Georgia and her hot, Texan, muscle-bound husband.” I bite my lip, and finally laughingly admit: “AndIwant to win, damn it!”
“Too much of a height difference,” Simone says, looking at me with a critical eye. “Des is what, like a foot and a half taller than you? Ain’t gonna win with those little stumps of yours. You’ll trip all over each other.”
“Agreed,” says Georgia. “No chance at the trophy.”
“Hey!” I laugh, kicking my stumps up toward them both.
Simone shrugs as if to say,What are you gonna do? I only speak the truth. “Best you can do is sabotage Vince so at least he doesn’t win. Which isn’t a bad idea…”
We all start laughing again. Soon, though, a phone rings, and real life intrudes. It’s time for me to go pick Bailey up and bring her to whatever after-school activity is on for today. I don’t even know anymore; I can’t keep track. I say goodbye to my girlfriends and pick up my regular routine right where I left off—except now, I have a smile on my face.
When I tellBailey about the trip, she lights up. “We get to fly on an airplane?”
I nod. “Desmond is organizing the tickets.”
“Cool.”
We’re sitting on the couch after dinner. Now that I’ve told her about the trip, I definitely can’t back out.
“I knew you didn’t hate him,” Bailey says, kicking her legs up and down off the edge of the sofa. “And he likes you alot.”
“We’re just friends,” I say softly. “He needs a partner for a race.”
Bailey sits up, then climbs onto her knees beside me. “A RACE? Can I do it? What’s the prize?”
Laughing, I shrug. “Bragging rights, I think. They say there’s a trophy. I’ll ask him if you can participate, but I think it’s just adults.”
She hums, then gives me an assessing look. “Are you dating Des?”
“What? No!”
“It’s okay, you know. Vicky Flanders’s parents are divorced, and she has a stepdad now. She says he’s nice and she gets more birthday presents than before.”
I huff, curling an arm around Bailey’s shoulders. “Is that what you want? More presents?”
“Yeah. More Golden State Warriors stuff.” She giggles, poking my side.
Before I can stop myself, I pull away from my daughter to study her face and ask, “Have you ever wanted to have a stepdad?”
“Sometimes,” Bailey answers. She’s so matter of fact about it, so honest, completely oblivious that her answer sends an ice pick through my heart. “All my friends have dads. But I like when it’s just us two. I guess…” My daughter leans back and braids her fingers over her stomach. The look on her face reminds me so much of Colin, it makes my heart ache. Then she nods once, sharply. “If he was nice to you and me, a stepdad would be good. He could help with chores and fix stuff that’s broken in our house, like Des did.”
That makes me laugh. Clearly Bailey and I have the same priorities when it comes to the benefits of having a man around.
“Go brush your teeth,” I tell her past the lump in my throat. “It’s almost bedtime.”
My nine-year-old grumbles but heads to the bathroom to start her evening routine. I stare after her, motionless, feeling raw.
I getthe news later that evening: Georgia secured an invite from Maude. They’re coming to Thanksgiving at the Thomases’ place—every single one of them. There’s Georgia and Sebastian; Fiona and Grant (his daughter Clancy is away at college too, begging off to study for midterms); Simone and Wes; Candice and Blake; Trina, Mac, and her two kids, Toby and Katie; Jen and Fallon; Lily, Rudy, and baby Liam; and finally, Nora and Lee. Who in their right mind invites nineteen extra people to Thanksgiving on short notice? When I ask, Georgia informs me the dinner is catered, and the extra people are no problem for the Thomases.
That begs the question: What in the world am I walking into?
Whatever it is, it’s happening. And a couple of weeks later, the gang heads off on various flights and cars, making their way to Colorado by any means necessary. After a one-hour flight from the nearest regional airport to San Francisco, I end up standing at our connecting gate with Des and Bailey, our little carry-on suitcases beside us. We’re at our quick stopover on our way to Denver…watching the flight take off outside the big windows.
Crap.
Bailey watches the plane taxi away from us, then glances up at me. “What do we do now, Mom?”
