Page 90 of His Playground
“Yes!” Jazzy jumps up and runs.
After I’ve fixed her hair into two ponytails and sprayed some glitter hairspray on top, Jazzy looks at herself in the mirror. “Do you think the other kids will like it?”
“I’m more interested if you like it?” I counter.
“I do.”
“Then that’s all that matters. You don’t ever need to do anything because you think others will like it. Just be yourself, sweetheart, and the right people will love you for who you are,” I tell her.
“Okay.” Jazzy nods. “I think my mama would like these ponytails.”
“Yeah, did she used to do your hair like this?” I want her to feel comfortable talking about her mother with me.
“She did when she wasn’t too tired,” Jazzy says.
“Amazing. She was a good mama.” I smile. “How about we go visit her after school and you can tell her all about your first day?”
“Really? I think that would be nice.” Jazzy climbs down from the chair. “Let’s go get the special pancakes,” she says, running out of the bathroom this time.
I follow her into the kitchen. And the moment I step inside, I’m swept up into my husband’s arms.My husband.It’s still a little odd saying it, but I like it. More and more every day.
“Morning,” Carlo greets me, peppering my face with kisses.
I laugh while trying to pry him off me. “Morning. You’re in a cheery mood.”
“What’s not to be cheery about? I have the world’s best girls in my kitchen.” He winks at Jazzy, who giggles in return.
“I hear there’re some special pancakes on offer?”
“Sit down. I’ve got your coffee ready. The pancakes are just about done,” he instructs, pointing to a stool.
Epilogue
I’m playing it cool, even as anxiety is eating me up on the inside. My daughter is going to school by herself. Without me or my wife. She’s ecstatic. Happiness isoozingfrom the kid.
But fuck me. How the fuck am I supposed to trust that she’s safe here?
Granted, I have men stationed around the property, keeping an eye on everyone who enters or leaves the building.
Antonia squeezes my hand. I look down at her panic-stricken face. She looks exactly how I feel.
“Maybe they need parent helpers. People do that, right? Go and volunteer in the classroom. I could sign up. Spend the day with her in class? I mean, I know I’m not her parent. But they’d still let me, wouldn’t they?” she asks.
“You are her parent. And they’d let you if I told them they had no choice.” I smile at her.
“Hi, I’m Jacob. What’s your name?” A little boy approaches Jazzy with a shit-eating grin on his grubby little face.
Fuck no.
I’m about to step between them when my wife stops me, shaking her head. “This is good. She needs friends,” Antonia whispers into my ear.
“She needs friends of the female variety, not boys,” I grunt.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s six.” Antonia rolls her eyes.
“That’s when it starts,” I tell her.
“My name’s Jasmine, but you can call me Jazzy.” My daughter smiles at the boy.Fucking smiles.I need to teach her to kick these little fuckers in the shins and then run in the opposite direction.
