Page 52 of Goalie Lessons

Kissing Astridwasn’tlike coming home—it was like arriving on an entirely different planet. And the moment we started, the moment I pushed through that initial urge to tug at her pants, move things along, I realized that everything felt different from that first time.

That first time, after the wedding, the sparkhaddied. But I was so far inside my head, so busy thinking about the thing while it was happening, rather than actuallyfeeling it, that I’d gone through the motions.

And I’m only just now realizing that I’ve done that a lot. Every time I had sex with a girlfriend, the pleasure took a backseat to the narrative in my head, the paint-by-number that instructed me through the process.

I laugh to myself as I take the exit toward the school. Because for the first time in my life, sex felt like hockey.

I laugh again when I have to rephrase that in my head. We didn’t even have sex—didwe? Astrid looked, for all the world, like she was a breath away from an orgasm, but I don’t think she got there. I think my stupid phone interrupted it, pulled her back from the ledge.

If she’d had an orgasm kissing me, would that count as sex? And what would that mean about what happened between us after the wedding? If I’d just slowed down, she would have had a good time?

My thoughts finally shift away from Astrid when I pull up to the school and Callie is waiting at the pickup spot for the junior high. She gets into the car, sitting in the back like she usually does, but something is different today.

Today, she says, “Hey.”

I stare out the windshield as I pull away, heading over to the elementary school, trying not to give away the fact that her littleHeyis revolutionary—it’s the first time she’s said anything to me, not about food, her schedule, or how much she hates this situation.

Doing my absolute best to sound nonchalant, like she’s a skittish animal I might scare away with too much enthusiasm, I say, “Hey.”

“There’s a dance this weekend,” she responds, and I realize we’re doing something new for us—saying things back and forth. Having a conversation.

“Oh, yeah?” I’m stalling, trying to figure out what the right move is here. “You going?”

There’s a beat, then she says. “I’ll need a dress. It’s homecoming.”

Homecomingalready?

I bite my tongue as we turn into the entrance to the elementary school—the time is flying past. It was late July when the girls came to Milwaukee, and now it’s early October. We have just one more pre-season game, then the regular season starts.

And Coach pulled me from three pre-season games in a row. I’ve been too afraid to turn on the sports channel, for fear my photo might be blown up on the screen with the wordphonywritten in all caps.

“If you want a dress, we can make sure you get a dress,” I say, pulling up to the curb and finding Athena’s teacher, making eye contact with her. She raises her hand, points Athena to me, and she comes running, opening the car door and climbing inside.

“We learned how to drawl a pumpkin today!” Athena says the moment she launches herself into the backseat. Callie leans over to her, buckling her in, and Athena continues with the description of the pumpkin-drawling situation, pronouncingdrawlikedrawlevery time.

The homecoming dress conversation is tabled until Callie finds me in the kitchen later, sidling up to the island as I chop zucchini on a cutting board. Ruby, through Maverick, has informed me that I have to feed the girls vegetables, and that sometimes that means hiding them.

So, I’m going to cook the zucchini with the beef for spaghetti. At first, I think Callie’s appearance in the kitchen is as a spy, and she’s going to rat me out to Athena so she, once again, completely rejects dinner, only eating a few Goldfish before going to bed. But that’s not what happens.

“You really mean it?” Callie asks, and I look at her, mind racing, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Rolling her eyes, like I’m the most ridiculous person in the world, she says, “About me getting a homecoming dress.”

I set the knife down. This feels like a conversation we should have while I’m not holding a knife.

“Yeah—of course,” I say. “If you want a dress for the dance, we’ll get it for you. Whatever you need, actually. Shoes? Jewelry and makeup—I mean, within reason, I guess—”

She holds her hand up, shaking her head. “I don’t need that stuff. Maybe shoes. When can you take me?”

Panic surges into my throat like acid reflux. When can I take her? I’ve never even bought a suit formyself, let alone taken a girl shopping for a dress. The second I picture the entire ordeal, it sends my anxiety into a tailspin—me waiting outside the dressing room, Callie crying because every dress is ugly, other parents giving me the stink-eye, thinking I’m the worst caregiver in the world.

Then, Callie says, “Maybe Astrid could take me?”

Some of the tension leaves. “Yeah, maybe. Let me talk to her about it. Would you—” I pause, hoping what I say next won’t sour this conversation, turn Callie back to hating me. “Would you want to go with some of the other women on the team? Leo’s mom likes fashion, too, I think.”

Callie’s cheeks flush red. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t care who comes. I just want a dress.”

I nod, picking up the knife, realizing this conversation is done.

Then, surprising me, Callie leans in, whispers, “Athena is sneaking down the stairs. You have five seconds to hide the zucchini before she finds out.”

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