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Maren nods. “It’s when cheerleaders get tossed into the air. I was a flyer.”
Considering her size, it makes sense. Sounds like she was—is—an incredible athlete.
I turn on the oven and prep dinner. It ain’t fancy—I only have time to go all-out on the weekends—but it is tasty andnutritious. Also happens to be one of Katie’s favorites: roasted shrimp and broccoli, with a side of buttery rice.
I measure and chop, watching my daughter and Maren out of the corner of my eye. Maren patiently teaches Katie how to keep her body stiff to make flying easier. Katie shrieks, laughing, when Maren gently lifts her. The muscles in Maren’s thighs flex against her smooth, tanned skin as she tosses my daughter two inches into the air.
Careful. Encouraging. Cute asallget out.
I try very hard to make my whiskey sour last. I fail. Sliding the broccoli into the oven, I consider having another. Decide against it when I think about the mountain of work I have to tackle after I put Katie down. Riley’s been weird this week, distracted with the wedding stuff coming up I guess, which means I have to cover for him.
“Higher, Mare!” Katie says.
It’s Maren’s turn to laugh. “I’m not very tall, so that’s about as high as I can send you.”
The familiarpound-pound-poundof Katie’s stride fills the room until she crashes into my leg. “Daddy, you’re tall. Can you make me fly higher?”
“Where you flyin’ to, Squish?”
She clings to my leg. I pretend to try to shake her off, making her giggle. “I don’t know. Can you send me to the stars?”
“I’d like to go to the stars,” Maren says.
Katie gasps. “Do us both, then!”
My stomach lurches. Maren laughs, but her cheeks turn pink.
“Pretty sure I won’t be able to do Maren’s cheer skills justice.”
Rice is on and I have ten minutes before I need to add the shrimp, which is currently marinating in olive oil and garlic, to the pan of broccoli. So I sip the dregs of my cocktail and pick up Katie. I wipe a crumb from her face. Her forehead isdamp with sweat. Maren is doing a solid job of running her ragged. She’ll go down for bed tonight, no problem.
“We have to listen to the expert,” I tell Katie as I set her down on the family room rug beside Maren. “You can listen, right?”
“I’m listening! I’m listening!”
Maren smiles. “Katie’s been an excellent listener today. Okay, y’all, so here’s how it works. Katie?—”
“I’m Koala Bear.”
“All right, Koala Bear, you keep your arms out like this.” She helps Katie stick out her arms so her body makes aT. “Now, because you’re strong, you can keep your arms straight. Great job. And now Daddy puts his hands on your waist”—Maren shows me where on her own body while I try not to stroke out at her calling meDaddy—“that’s it. Y’all look great. Now we move together to toss Koala Bear into the sky.”
I do as Maren instructs, bending at the knees while keeping a solid grip on my daughter. I launch her into the air. The ceiling is nearly two stories tall here, so I can toss Katie pretty high.
She’s shrieking with delight again. Maren and I laugh. “Remember to keep your arms out,” Maren says.
I catch the breathless, giggling bundle that is Katie. “Show me how, Mare,” she says.
“Good job getting themsound down,” I say.
Maren demonstrates theTpose again. “Like this.”
“No, I mean show me how to fly. Daddy, you do her now so she can go to the stars too.”
Panic squeezes my chest. I manage a laugh, my face going hot. “Maren is—she, um, probably doesn’t want to fly after, yeah, a long day?—”
“Pleeaaassseee?”
Maren laughs again, reaching for Katie’s hand. “Why don’t we watch a video that shows us how to do it?”
