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“Surprise me,” she replies, and I laugh, shaking my head. We returned two days ago because we had to get ready for the first day of school. It’s also my first day back on the ice with the team.
I walk into the family room first, turning on the television before walking to the kitchen. I press the coffee maker before walking to the fridge and grabbing the carton of eggs and pack of turkey bacon. I open the cabinet, retrieving a glass bowl and breaking six eggs into it. Walking over, I snag two frying pans, putting them both on the stove and turning the red knobs to low. Then I put a bit of butter in the pan before adding the eggs to one pan and four slices of turkey bacon to the other. Before Penelope came along, I usually just ate at the rink, and then I would have a chef prepare me meals that all I had to do was warm up.
I mean, I do that also now, but I cook a lot more than I did before. All her breakfasts I make, and I pack her snacks for school. Luckily, they have a full cafeteria, so I don’t have to pack her anything for lunch. I grab a plastic spoon from the jar beside the stove and start scrambling the eggs a bit before bending into the lazy Susan in the corner and taking out the toaster. “I’m ready.” I hear over my shoulder when I put two pieces of toast in the toaster.
I turn around, seeing her dressed in her school uniform of a white, button-down, short-sleeved cotton shirt, and a plaid pleated accordion skirt. It’s just like everyone else’s, except I made them sew in tight shorts under her skirt. I bought five of them with five pairs of tight yoga shorts and took them to a woman who sewed them in. There was no way she was going to go and not have shorts under there. “You look so pretty,” I tell her, and she does. She has little pieces of her mom in her, but she is all me, from her eyes to her hair and her chin. “Just like me.”
“Ew, Dad,” she whines, walking to the fridge, where she grabs the orange juice. She puts it on the counter as she grabs a plastic cup. “Guys are hot, not pretty.” I side-eye her while I stir the eggs in the pan.
“Who told you that?” I ask her, and she just shrugs. “No guys are ever hot.” I point the spoon at her. “Actually, we are all gross.” She laughs at me and rolls her eyes, and I swear I want her to stop growing. I want to stop time right now and have her still skipping into the room with the pigtails around her face. “And we all have smelly feet and fart.” I try to think of more disgusting things to throw her off the guy trail.
“Okay, Dad,” she says, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and then walking over to the toaster when it pops up. She opens the cabinet and gets on her tippy-toes to grab two plates, just last year her fingers barely touched the plates, and I had to get them for her. She puts the plates down in front of her, grabs a butter knife, and puts two pieces of toast on one plate and two on the other. Side by side, we work as a team, and I can’t help but lean over and kiss her head after I plate her eggs. She leans her head into me before she walks over and grabs two slices of turkey bacon, then makes her way over to the island.
We sit side by side, neither of us saying a thing. She finishes at the same time I do. “Can you do me a half braid?” she asks, and I just nod my head.
“I’ll clean up the kitchen”—I drink the rest of my coffee—“then I’ll do your hair.”
“Cool beans.” I shake my head at how even her voice is changing.
I put everything in the dishwasher before running upstairs to brush my teeth and get dressed in my Dallas gear. I put on black shorts with the Dallas logo on the bottom corner of them and a matching T-shirt with my number on the sleeve. I wet my hands and then run them through my hair when I hear a knock on the door. That also changed this summer, I walked into her room while she was changing, and she hid her boobs from me. Also, there are no boobs, but we now have to knock when entering each other’s room. “Come in.”
She comes in with her brush and stands next to me. I go behind her as I brush her hair. “Do I have hockey tonight?” she asks, and I nod my head.
“You have skating from five to six,” I tell her, and she smiles. When she was younger, I put her in ice-skating lessons. She liked it, but then she came on the ice with me, and she had a much better time, so two years ago, I finally caved and signed her up for hockey. She’s usually the only girl on the all-boy team, but she doesn’t care, and to be honest, she’s even better than most of them.
I bring the sides of her hair up in a ponytail and then braid it. “Go get your bag. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She jumps and kisses my cheek before walking out of the room. Grabbing a sweater from the closet, my eyes go to the shirt I hung up and never washed. My chest constricts when I think about her, just like every day since. I wish I could tell you I got over it. I wish I could tell you I didn’t dream of her every night, except this time she’s happy to be with me. I wish I could tell you I didn’t wish she would reach out to me. I wish I could tell you I’m over it. But if I did, I would be a liar, and I’ll never lie.
I turn off the light and walk out of the room, going downstairs and seeing her waiting for me with her backpack in her hand. “Let’s go, baby girl.”
“Dad,” she moans as we get into the car in the garage, “I’m not a baby.”
She gets into the back seat as I get in the front. Looking into the rearview mirror, I watch her put on her seat belt. “You’ll always be my baby,” I remind her. She rolls her eyes at me, and all I can do is laugh at her.
I pull out of the driveway and see we are exactly three minutes early. When I pull into the parking lot of the school, I see all the parents parking to drop off their kids. I pull up in an empty parking spot before turning the car off and getting out. I meet her on her side of the car, making sure she is okay. She slides her hand in mine as we walk toward the gated playground. “I’ll be here to pick you up when you are done.”
“Okay,” she says, and someone calls her name. She looks up and smiles at me as she takes her hand out of mine to wave. “Bye, Dad.” She turns and starts to run.
“Hey,” I call her, and she turns back. “A hug?” She groans as she comes over and hugs me. I kiss her head as she wraps her arms around my waist, her head pressing on my chest. “Have a good day at school.”
“Bye,” she repeats, running off into the schoolyard. I watch her until the bell rings and she lines up to go inside, making sure she walks all the way into the school.
I take a deep breath as I walk back to my car. Getting in, I make my way to the rink. I pull up and see that most of the cars are already here. I even spot some news crew people here getting ready to snap pictures. I get out and walk to the door as they call my name. I smile and hold up a hand to say hello before walking into the rink.
There seem to be people everywhere. I walk down the hallway toward the locker room, stopping when I see some of the trainers. I shake their hands, and we welcome each other back. It’s almost as if this is my back-to-school day also. I walk into the locker room and spot a couple of people there getting ready.
“Hey,” I greet everyone who just looks up.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Wilson says when he looks up. “Someone stopped jerking off and started lifting weights.”
I can’t help but laugh at that comment because, if anything I’ve jerked off more than I ever have. But I have also started lifting heavier weights, which has made me leaner and bigger if that makes any sense. I reach out my hand to him as he grabs it, getting up and giving me a hug. “How was the summer?”
“Short,” he replies, sitting back down as he finishes his protein shake.
“Isn’t that the truth.” I sit at my spot.
“Hey,” Michael says, coming into the room wearing pretty much the same thing I’m wearing, just with a baseball hat.
