Page 85 of It Must Be Fate

“Mummy!” Hayes gets up and grabs her hand, pulling her over to her chair. “We’re down two.”

“I heard, baby.”

“What if we lose?” she asks anxiously.

“What if you win?” Thayer challenges. “Think of what’s possible and try to reach for that. Plus, those are the best victories because you really earn them,” she adds, unknowingly echoing my words.

God, I fucking love her.

“Okay,” Hayes says, fresh determination etching itself on her face. “I just need to get better at dribbling, I think.”

“Your Mum can teach you, Cloud. She’s always had superior ball handling skills, even to this day.”

“Rhys,” Thayer cuts in, her eyes narrowing on me even as she fails to hide the mirth in them.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Don’t be cheeky.” She turns towards our other daughter. “What about you Ivy Bell? Are you trying to win?”

“Whatever Hazy wants,” she answers, using her nickname for her sister. She thrusts her small flowers into her mum’s face. “Daddy said I could change my hair color like this.”

Thayer sits on the ground in between her daughters, her back to me. Her silver hair is tied in a ponytail, so I can clearly see that she’s wearing yet another t-shirt with our last name printed on it.

“That’s a great idea,” she answers, immediately on board. “We can get some dye fromBootson the way home. Which color are you thinking?”

As half-time draws to an end, the three of them whisper and plot what color they’ll dye Ivy’s hair when the match is over.

“Alright, girls,” I boom, drawing all the players’ attention back over to me. “Second half starts in two minutes.” The girls leave their parents and start running past me and onto the field as I shout directions. “Carla, I want your eyes glued to the pitch. No watching for planes in the sky, I promise you they’ll still be up there when we’re done. Ivy, no stopping to pick flowers unless play itself is stopped. Your goal is to touch the ball at least once this half. Bruna, I understand the impulse, I really do, but you can’t just pick up the ball and run with it towards the goal, you have to use your feet. Lucie.Lucie! No eating on the pitch, for fuc— I mean, go throw those fruit snacks onto the sidelines, please. And Angie, remember what I said — we’re kicking shins this half. I want to see explosiveness with those kicks, alright? Now let’s go and win this match, girls!”

Fifteen minutes later, the second half is over and the match ends in a draw, which I consider a win. Hayes comes up big, as does a girl on the other team, both of them scoring a goal in our favor.

Thayer is the loudest supporter on our side, cheering and screaming from the sidelines and running onto the pitch to hug Hayes when she scores. I’m only too happy to have to go tell my wife to get back on the sidelines so play can continue.

***

That night, we put both of the girls to bed in Hayes’s room, Ivy opting to sleep with her big sister as she so often does. Her freshly dyed lavender-colored locks shine against the white of the pillowcase beneath her head as I sit on the bed and tuck them in.

“Great job today, girls.”

“Soccer is fun!” Ivy calls, pumping up a fist.

Thayer smothers a laugh when I glare at her.

“Football, love. Don’t let your mother Americanize you on this subject. Your Daddy plays for the national team, you have to call it football.”

“Alright, Daddy. Can we come see you at a game soon?” Hayes asks.

“Of course, little cloud. Whenever you want. How about tomorrow?”

“It’s a school night, Rhys,” Thayer chides.

“Please, Mummy?” Hayes asks, widening those depthless eyes of hers. Thayer is as powerless to resist as I am.

She mollifies, whispering, “Just this once then.”

“Yay!”

“Alright, girls. Time for bed.” I lean over and kiss both their foreheads. “What are our mantras?”

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