Page 64 of Pucked Up Plans
For pure shits and giggles, I inquire about Walsh’s availability.
Hypothetically speaking, you free either Friday or Saturday night after Thanksgiving?
Lennon comes back Saturday afternoon. I’ve got some team thing on Friday night
Does this team thing last all night?
No
I go back to the thread with Aunt Marsha.
Can we pencil in Friday and play it by ear? Worst-case scenario, I sleep at your house after going out for the night
Great. Putting it on my calendar now. Is she a hot cocoa fan?
Negative
Does the girl eat popcorn at least?
She’ll tolerate it on special occasions
She makes it hard to spoil her with treats
She’ll be happy as a pig in mud if you make her a plate of fruit
I can do that!
I was so busy texting with her, I missed a few from Walsh.
What are you thinking?
How hypothetical is this situation?
Tate. Don’t leave me hanging
Sorry. I’ll explain later. Are you coming right from pickup?
Want me to grab Aubrey so you don’t have to come out in this crappy rain?
His sweet gesture has me conflicted. My head rationalizes I’m not comfortable with him driving my baby home from school. My heart screams with delight at his sweet gesture.
When I don’t respond after a few minutes—because I’m hemming and hawing and overthinking my decision—my phone rings with his name displayed.
“Hello?”
“Hey. I’m sorry. I overstepped again. I thought it would save you a trip since we’re coming to your house anyway.”
“It’s really sweet, Walsh. I just…it’s not you, it’s me.” I don’t quite have the words to elaborate where my mind’s at. Because I think she’ll be fine going with him, and it makes total sense. But I can’t help this tightening in the pit of my stomach.
Besides my parents—and now Aunt Marsha—I’ve never relied on anyone else to help with Aubrey. There’s a sense of control I have to let go of to agree to his offer. And I don’t know if I’m there yet.
However, not having to put on shoes and trek out in the pouring rain does sound rather appealing…
“You know what? Yes. Pick her up. Tell me what I have to do for the school. I can’t imagine you can show up and bring her with you even though they know you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret your decision later.”
“Yes, Walsh. I’m sure and appreciate you checking. I trust you.” My tone is more reassuring, more confident in my decision. The knot in my stomach remains, but it has little to do with Walsh.
