NINE
Violet
My sister calls to see if I can watch Hollyn for a few hours. She has last minute errands to run for her first birthday party tonight. Since I can’t imagine dragging a one year old around while trying to pick up a cake, a million helium balloons, and whatever other extravagant things are needed for what’s planned, I tell Charlotte to bring Hollyn over. It’s Saturday and all I’m doing so far before the party is getting some more emails answered before school starts on Monday. I’m tired from my covers ops to Cullen’s game last night, but not too worn-out for my favorite little love bug.
I run upstairs to my spare bedroom where I have it set up to be a room for when Hollyn stays. There’s a cute little convertible crib that I got at a consignment shop with pink sheets and a lavender quilt with tiny yellow flowers on it. I found a white rocking chair at a vintage market last month and bought a pink cushion for it online. I also spent some time making little pictures of flowers, ducks, and hearts out of buttons I discovered at a garage sale. The old lady was a crafty little thing and had thousands of buttons of all shapes, colors, and sizes. I knew I could use them in Hollyn’s room as framed art, so here they are. She even has a low bookshelf crammed with tons of books and soft, fuzzy animals.
The best part about the room is the closet though, because it’s stuffed with a shit ton of toys. Baby girl is never going to be bored here!
I grab a few of the best ones for a teething baby to take downstairs and the gate from behind the door. I just get everything set up when I hear knocking. I skip over to the door and open it to a round-faced, drooling Hollyn and a sweaty, flustered Charlotte.
“So, here’s her bag. She had breakfast as you can see by her shirt. I’ll be back in a couple hours to get her. Party’s at four!”
She kisses Hollyn on the cheek, avoiding what appears to be syrup and spit. Hollyn, on the other hand, doesn’t even seem to notice since she’s busy patting my face and babbling on about who knows what.
“Okee dokee, Charlotte! I got her. She’ll be clean and napped. Text me when you’re on your way!” I holler as she jogs to her car.
“Whoa, sweetie, your mama’s nuts!” I tickle Hollyn’s belly and she lets out a big, squealing laugh. I shut the door, make sure it’s locked, and put Hollyn down on the floor. She stands for a few seconds but ends up plopping down on her diaper, then crawling over to the big basket of toys on the floor. She baby talks the whole way over. She chatters like her mother.
“Do you want to play toys with Auntie Violet? Let’s see what we have here,” I sit on the floor by the basket and tilt it so she can reach in with her chubby hands. She pulls out a soft cloth baby, sticks it to her face, and starts chewing on it.
“Mmm, I bet that’s so good,” I tell her with a smile. I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and she pulls the baby down and giggles. Her teeny teeth in front stick out and her button nose wrinkles up; she makes me laugh, too. Hollyn crawls over to my lap and pulls herself up with my shirt. Her large coffee-colored eyes and porcelain doll lips that are characteristic of all the girls in our family are becoming more pronounced the older she gets. She’s going to break a lot of hearts someday.
“Hey, baby girl, whatcha doin’?”
She smiles really wide then lays her head on my chin. Her soft brown baby hair smells like honey; a small lump forms in my throat. I give her a little squeeze and rub her back, “Thank you, Hollyn. I love you, too.”
My phone goes off and that’s it; the moment is gone. She starts blabbering again, squats down, and goes for a set of plastic keys from the basket.
“Well, that can’t be Mommy,” I comment. “She’s only been gone ten minutes. Let’s see who wants us.”
Cullen: I kinda wanna see U
There’s an emoji of binoculars. Cute, Cullen.
Me: Only kinda?
Cullen: More than kinda.
Me: Hmm. Better, I guess.
Cullen: LOL! Whatcha doing, Beautiful?
Me: Babysitting my niece, Hollyn. First bday party today—
her mom’s gone crazytown
Cullen: Sounds fun! Happy Birthday, Hollyn!
Me: That’s sweet, I’ll tell her. Wait-
Me: She said a bunch of shit back. IDK, girls-
Cullen: LOL!
Me: Do U want to hang out when I get home? I might be on
a sugar high.
Cullen: Um, yeah we could do that…
What do the dots mean? Is he leading up to something? Does he want to come with me? Why would he want to go to the party? It would be lame for Cullen; he’d be bored…wouldn’t he?
Me: Looks like UR hesitating. Do U not want to come over?
Cullen: I def want to come over.
Me: K. U want to come to party?
Cullen: Thought U’d never ask
Me: K, cool. Come here at 3:30? My fam will be there, fair
warning.
Cullen: Cool, more Violets…
Cullen sends an evil looking emoji along with a thumbs up. I laugh and put the phone down. My family is going to shit when Cullen walks in the door. Actually, everyone will. It’s only been three months since Anden died and I’m bringing a new guy to a family event? What am I thinking? This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. And now my heart is racing and my palms are starting to sweat…
Hollyn hollers from the living room, getting louder and more frantic. It breaks me from my inner turmoil. I scoop her up and get her bag to make a bottle. It’s time to get cleaned up and take a nap. I think we both need one.
Cullen
Game footage from last night replays over again on my tablet. I’m about cross-eyed with how many times I’ve rerun the same forty seconds. A play action pass—standard—receivers should get open and ready. Was it Hart that couldn’t see his receivers or the receivers that couldn’t get open? After faking to Boone, he should have been able to throw…
Fuck! Missed it again. I toss the tablet on the couch and scrub my hands down my face. I can’t look at it any more. I just can’t. And I don’t understand it. I’ve always gotten football, always seen the plays like chess moves before they happen. It was that way even in middle school.
“Anticipate everyone, Son.” The mantra of my dad repeats in my head. The skills needed to be one step ahead of everybody else started to snowball at twelve both on and off the field. Being bigger meant friends, coaches, teachers, all of them wanted more from me. I had to be ready for the worst thing that could possibly happen so that I had a plan to implement just in case. My problem with seeing this particular play go bad last night? A glossy-haired, big-eyed brunette.
I get up and stomp into the kitchen for a snack. Frustrated, I pull my Wisconsin ball cap off and fling it on the counter. I grab a water out of the fridge, put the cold liquid to my lips, and get an image of Violet in her microscopic pink shorts flashing before my eyes. Water bubbles out of the top of the bottle like a volcano when I squeeze it too hard in response, and it ends up dripping down my chin to my shirt. Son of a bitch, that’s freaking cold.
This girl has invaded nearly every space in my brain and is now leaching out into the rooms of my house.
Grabbing my phone, I walk out onto my deck where I can think. The breeze is strong and sweeps around the furnishings stirring up the scent of fresh cedar and sawdust. I breathe in; it’s the perfect place for a man to do business.
Like text Violet.
I know, I’m lame—I scold myself for it. But I don’t have time to dwell, because now I’m invited to her niece’s birthday party.