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“Perfect. We’re having a spa day,” she cheers, and before I can answer she turns on her heel.
I spend the rest of the night playing with Crew, reading a book with my son, and getting him to bed. With my son fast asleep, I open my laptop. I’m tempted to google Liam. I don’t know what he was doing in New York. It could be he was here for a game and left town, or it could be he is playing on one of the teams here in the city. The thought makes my stomach flip and not necessarily in a bad way. My finger hovers over the keys and the temptation to type his name is so strong, but I hold back. It doesn’t matter. Whatever he wanted doesn’t matter. We were never meant to be. I don’t believe my own words, though, because a part of my broken heart wants to see him. Wants to ask questions and understand. The night we broke up I was angry, and he was angry. We both had a little too much alcohol in our system, and Liam was in a bad place. I know all this. Only my pride was hurt. He was supposed to be my person.
I slap my laptop shut. No point in going down that rabbit hole. The next morning, I wake and dress in a pair of light-wash mom jeans and an ocean-blue cropped sweater. I hate they’re called mom jeans because I’m a mom, and what is that supposed to mean anyway. I brush out my hair and apply some mascara. I make Crew some French toast, and when he asks excitedly what we are doing today and I tell him he’s getting a haircut, he frowns.
“It’ll be fun. You’ll get a nice haircut for Christmas, and Mommy and Patty are getting our nails and hair done. Patty’s going to let you play on her iPad.”
“Can I playRoblox?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
That’s my winning word as my son cheers.
Patty orders us an Uber, and we head to a trendy spa in Midtown. We get manicures and pedicures while all the ladies gush over how cute and well-behaved my son is.
Patty steps away to a small room when her dad calls her. I groan in pleasure from the foot massage I receive with my pedi.
When Patty returns, she gives me a curious look.
“What?” I ask. “I’ve never had a pedicure before, and this feels glorious. I’m getting what the hype is about.”
“I’m glad I brought you here. Every girl needs a little pampering once in a while,” she replies. “That was my dad BTW. He said he’ll ask around the team. Some of the guys have kids around Crew’s age.”
“Thanks, Pats.”
“My pleasure.” She grins.
“Ms. Ward,” a lady says, walking over to me.
I nod. “I’m her. Ms. Ward.”
The lady smiles. “Time for your waxing appointment.”
“My what?” I ask, confused.
I turn to look at Patty.
“Just go get your lady parts taken care of,” she urges, waving me off with her hands like I’m being difficult. She’s also not giving me a chance to fight her, but I try anyway.
I dip my head and cover my mouth with my hand. “My lady parts are just fine,” I whisper.
“You shave it? Because that must get really itchy,” she says, scrunching her nose.
“Do I really need tidy lady parts for a family dinner?” I whisper in a high-pitched tone. I used to get waxed back in the day, but I haven’t since Crew was born. It’s going to be painful.
“My dad is having a few players from the team over this year,” she explains.
“I’m allergic to hockey players,” I deadpan.
“Will you stop being a baby? Go with this lady now. The appointment was made. You don’t want to cancel on her,” Patty scolds, clearly putting down her foot.
I look back at the small woman smiling at me, and I feel bad. “Okay.”
I go and lie on the table and get waxed. It hurts almost as bad as childbirth. Okay, maybe not that bad, but still pretty bad because apparently Patty paid for a Brazilian.
By the time I finish, Crew has had his haircut. It’s shorter than he usually wears it.
“You look so handsome,” I compliment my son.
