Page 75 of Pucked Up Plans
“Walsh.”
At the checkout, she loads the items I hand her on the belt, an unusual expression on her face. I’m about to ask her what’s bothering her, but she beats me to the punch.
“I want a dad like Walsh.”
It’s all she says. Her expression remains the same, and once she issues her six terror-inducing words, she seizes whatever I’m holding and places it on the belt. As if she just told me she was hungry. Not thatshe wants a dad like Walsh.
The air in my lungs stales, making it almost impossible to take another breath. The world around me fades away, my eyes blurring even on Aubrey.
It wasn’t enough for her to announce she wants a dad. I could have dealt with that a little better. No. She had to put a quantifier on it.
I want a dadlike Walsh.
At least she didn’t say I want Walsh tobemy dad.
“Mommy?”
Her timid voice snaps me out of my trance, out of the hole I’ve fallen into, one of my digging.
I want to ignore what she said, but that’s not how we operate, so I give her the next best thing. “Maybe one day.”
Okay, not thenext best thingin the slightest. My words back to her are only slightly above when your parents tell you “We’ll see.”
I force myself to continue checking out. The items are few, and it’s not long before they’re bagged and back in the cart. I go through the motions of paying, thanking the cashier only because she spoke to me first.
Walking to the car, Aubrey’s words play on repeat.
Is it possible she knows how I feel about Walsh? In a perfect world, I’d love to give her a dad like him. I stop myself from allowing the next thought to penetrate—to give herhim.
It’s the craziest notion, one I can’t allow myself to give any type of headspace. Not for me. And especially not for Aubrey.
On autopilot, I load the groceries into the trunk, tighten Aubrey’s buckle, and latch my seat belt. Before starting the car, I fill my lungs with a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.
Her questions are only going to continue the older she gets. I’m only going to be able to keep putting her off for so long. Especially now since we’ve been hanging out with Lennon and Walsh more. Does she see what she’s missing out on? Does this stem from there?
“I love you, Mommy.”
The timing of her declaration stirs up something inside me, almost as if she needs me to know that no matter what happens, she’ll be okay with just her and me.
And yeah, I’m twisting her words to assuage my guilt.
Back at home, I carry in and unload the groceries before calling Walsh back. I set Aubrey up with a snack and a show and hide out in my bedroom to return his call. It rings twice before his voice delights my ear.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. How’s it going? Surviving the ride?”
“Managing okay. I think we’ll be there soon, thank goodness.” There’s agony in his voice, like he’s on edge. My heart spirals hearing it, wishing I could make it better for him, get him to his destination faster.
Instead, I run interference. “So tell me more about this game you’ve invented.”
“So each of us has to tell the other something about ourselves hardly anyone else knows.”
“How do many people not know about your bus thing?” I’m ignorant about organized sports, but they’re a team. They must be somewhat tight. And it’s close quarters on the bus, right?
“It’s not something I advertise, especially this year with being captain. They think I like the front of the bus. And I’ve never actually thrown up on the bus. I came close once but made it to the bushes as soon as the doors opened. I chalked it up to nerves of a championship game.”
I don’t care he’s talking about vomit. I love the sound of his voice. The deep timbre prattling in my ear has my stomach doing flips.
