Page 115 of Trusting You
Carter means more than all of those labels put together.
“Oh,” this woman says, a hand fluttering to her chest. Her nails are a bright, bright yellow. “That’s amazing. Single dads are so…” She rests her tongue against her top row of teeth. “You’re a wonderful man to do that.”
Again, so easy. But I refrain. “It takes a village to raise a kid.”
“I’m Samantha.” She offers her hand.
“I have to go.”
What the fuck am I doing? This chick is giving all the right signals for beneficial, no-commitment sex, and here I am scampering away from it faster than this stroller’s wheels can roll.
“I…okay,” she says, and any remaining come hither dies out. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
And I’m off, never to see that woman again.
Because it seems I can’t stop figuring out what to call Carter.
* * *
Lily’s strollergets stuck in the doorway.
“I gotcha, there ya go.” Coach Becks holds the double doors open wider, and I navigate the stroller through.
“Thanks, Coach,” I say, and he claps me on the shoulder.
The barrel of a man, more shine than hair, adjusts his glasses and fists his hands to his hips. “I’m very glad you came by, Locke. We could use more men like you.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to entertain a cold call.” I peer down sheepishly. “With a baby in tow.”
Coach Becks chuckles. “This is a family neighborhood. I don’t expect any less. She’s a great one, though. I didn’t expect her to be so good throughout the interview.”
“The power of a shoelace,” I say, and Lily’s still playing with the lace I pulled out of my Converse, in desperation to keep her happy when she threw her bunny rabbit across the room and denied any form of a teething cracker. The undignified shriek that followed rattled all of Becks’ trophies in his office.
I’ve learned that babies are mainly happy with toys that are not toys.
And with supervision, I doubt even Carter could yell at me for giving Lily a shoelace to dangle around. No need to mention the multiple times she put it in her mouth and chewed on it. I could leave that out of our daily download when I next see Carter.
“I’m gonna have a talk with the principal, take a second look at the resume you handed over.” Coach scratches under his chin. “But I expect to give you a call in a few days, let you know our decision.”
“Sure thing,” I say. “And whenever you want me to come by, see how I do with the boys on the field, I’m happy to.”
“Absolutely, son.” Another pat on the back. “We’ll be seeing you.”
“Thanks again, Coach.”
“Thank you, son, for coming by. I saw that video. What a shame.” He shakes his head, and I ignore the longing churn in my gut to rewind my life as easily as the millions who saw my injury rewound to the second my body went crack, over and over.
“I’m glad to see you wanting to stay in the game, though,” Coach continues. “A sign of a true sportsman.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Bye-bye, honey.” Coach waves at Lily, but as low and gruff as his voice is, he’s incapable of baby talk. I doubt he ever wants to master baby talk.
I give another salute, then push Lily out to the sidewalk, my right foot making a loose scuffing sound every time I step, considering what ties my shoe down is currently reserved indefinitely by my baby.
My baby.