Page 17 of Rebound

“Well, it’s just me and my dad. I’m all he has,” I shrug. Dad, despite his issues, is all I had until Jasmine. “At least you have your mom and cousin.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do. It’s already gotten to the point where we can’t leave her alone. Our jobs aren’t flexible. I’m the only one who can work from home sometimes, but it’s impossible to get anything done and take care of her at the same time.”

“Well, not that I’m comparing,” I say between bites of cake, “but it’s not easy taking care of a baby on your own either. Add being on the road half of the year to that mix. She cried every time I left for a game.”

She nods in understanding before putting her spoon down and pushing her dessert away. I grab it and take a piece of her cake.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says, “but you’re a good father.”

I sit up straighter at the compliment. Coach and Jeannie tell me all the time what a good parent I am. Every time I talk to my dad, he tells me the same thing, but hearing it from someone I know can’t stand me is the best feeling.

“Why would I take that the wrong way?” I ask, grinning widely.

“Because I can’t stand you, and it pains me to say it, but you are. You can’t dress her worth a damn, but she’s happy, healthy and you obviously adore her. She loves you too.”

“And you’re mad about that?” I ask with a chuckle.

“You know whoyoushould be mad at?” She points her index finger at me. “Fate for taking away Jasmine’s mother. It’s not fair to Jasmine or you. It’s hard co-parenting with two people, it’s impossible when you’re by yourself.”

“You know from personal experience?” I know she’s single since she’s trying to find someone on that dating app. I’ve never known her to bring a guy around Jeannie and Coach, at least not when I’ve been around. I’ve scoured her social media since the adoption party, and I don’t see a man. There are only pictures of her and some family members.

“My parents are divorced. My mom had custody, and my dad has always been in my life, but sometimes, he couldn’t pick me up for the weekend like planned, and my mom would go on a rant about how useless he was.” She rolls her eyes. “Then Gaga would joke that she was more my father. That would rile my mom up even more, calling herself the default parent and that men are about as useful as titties on a bull.”

She has a sad smile, almost as if the words or the memories hurt her, but I laugh loudly at her mother’s analogy.

“At least you had family around growing up.” I take a deep breath and shake my head. I had other family around too, but they were worse than my dad. At least Dad isn’t mean or abusive. He’s just useless. “Your mom seems nice.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, her mother comes out with Gaga. Gaga seems to be subdued now. She sits on the couch, and Layla’s mom puts on a television show for her. She puts a blanket on her lap and joins us in the kitchen.

She has a wide smile on her face as she looks from me to Layla.

“Boy, Lay. When you get a boyfriend, you really get one.” She runs her hand through Layla’s hair and sweeps her bangs off her forehead. Then she turns to me and says, “There better not be any Sethheads or you’re going to have to deal with this mama bear. You got that?” She points her index finger in my face.

“Mom, can you stop? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even my friend. He’s a whore,” she says as if that’s some scientific fact.

“Honey, a lot of people go through a whore phase at some point. Who cares? Let him be a whore for you and only you.” Layla’s eyes widen like saucers and she lets out a loud gasp.

“Oh my god, Mom. Can you go watch TV or something?” Layla puts her hands on both her cheeks to stop her blush.

“Oh, loosen up, Layla.” She turns to me and says, “What did you think of the cake? I made it.”

“I loved it,” I say, and she puffs her chest out.

“Layla, give him a piece to take home.”

“Mom, can you go now?”

“Fine,” her mom says. “I’m going to put your grandma to bed. I won’t be back out here in case you guys want—”

“We don’t want to,” Layla says, interrupting her mother.

“Speak for yourself,” I say with a laugh. Her mom offers me a fist bump. After bumping my fist with hers, she tells us goodbye and practically skips away.

“As if I would touch you with a ten-foot pole,” she says, standing up and taking the plates away. “God, she’s so embarrassing,” she whispers. She takes out a Tupperware bowl and puts a big piece of cake in it before she gestures for me to take it.

“Well, don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t let you get close enough to touch me.” I stand and take a step closer to her.

“You don’t have to worry about that. As if I would let you be the—” She catches herself and closes her mouth shut.

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