Boxer

“Is that her?”

My head jerks up to look out the window of our car. We pulled up outside Jocelyn’s building not two seconds ago; I haven’t even finished the message that says: We’re here.

“That’s her,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Remember what we talked about?”

I zone out as Charli ticks off the list of things we’d discussed on the car ride over. Being polite, steering away from too-private questions, and anything I could think of that might make Jocelyn uncomfortable.

I only hear two of the items on the list because I’m too busy watching the blonde-haired beauty striding toward me. She’s a picture of fair skin, fair hair, and fair blue eyes, outlined by a backdrop of sleek onyx buildings. Her legs, long and slender, carry her gracefully over the sidewalk in a pair of heels that boost her height.

Even though she’s taller than average for a woman, when I step out of the car, I dwarf her with my size. She’s slight in figure, but not fragile, and I can see the fire burning behind her eyes as she looks up, sees me standing there, and smiles. With her smile, the fire turns to liquid, simmering blue gems twinkling as she reaches the vehicle.

“You look great,” I say, feeling as awkward as the words sound. “I like your dress.”

I’ve only ever dealt with Duke when it came to business, and if I ever complimented the man’s looks he would’ve dumped my sorry ass on the spot. This whole ‘opposite-sex’ thing is throwing a kink in my normal M.O. I’m trying to be polite, but I sound like a nutcase. Somewhere in between flirting and infatuation and loser-ness.

She blinks in surprise, glancing down at the black, knee-length thing. Her fingers fly over the buttons as she brushes a hand down her front, and I bite my lip in response, unable to stop the rush of images as I picture what it’d be like to snap those buttons right off.

“Hi,” she says, glancing shyly behind me. “Would this be Charli?”

“Charli.” I turn halfway, startled to find a shining face next to my elbow. “Jesus, Charli, you scared me.”

Charli giggles. “Hi.”

Jocelyn extends a hand to Charli with a grin. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“We got a half day at school today,” Charli explains, extending her chubby fingers to meet Jocelyn’s daintier ones.

“A half day, that’s lucky,” Jocelyn says as the two share a long handshake. So long that it’s not until twenty seconds in that I realize Charli’s squeezing too tight and not letting Jocelyn go.

“It’s not lucky,” Charli argues. “It’s conferences.”

“That’s enough, Charli.” I wind her fingers back and apologize to Jocelyn. “Hungry?”

“Absolutely.”

I open the passenger side door for her and, in a sudden lapse of judgement, rest a hand on her back as she steps into the car. I feel her body tense, freeze for a moment, until I pull my hand away.

She settles in, her face a bit red, and I’m on the verge of strangling myself. Except that outcome would be inconvenient and unproductive for both of us, so instead I keep myself alive and climb into the driver’s seat, silent.

“I brought you something,” Jocelyn says, spinning her head to face Charli as we begin to drive. “It’s not much, but I hope you’ll like it.”

She hands a box into the back seat to Charli’s gleefully clapping hands. I raise my eyes in the rearview mirror and stare down my daughter until she remembers her manners and says thank you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I mumble, flicking my eyes across the seat to where Jocelyn’s staring forward, a lingering smile on her face. “It’s sweet of you, but not necessary. She’s spoiled enough, aren’t you, Charli?”

“Nope,” Charli squeals joyfully.

Jocelyn laughs. “It’s really nothing. I’m not very good at choosing gifts though, so I hope it’s okay. Otherwise, I can return it, or—”

“Don’t be silly,” I tell her. “You’re going to love it, aren’t you, Charli? Miss Jones didn’t have to bring you anything.”

“Maybe I’ll love it,” Charli hedges. “We’ll see.”

I sigh, but Jocelyn winks in my direction. “At least she’s honest. I can respect that in a woman.”

“Watch what you wish for,” I say. “That girl can be so honest it hurts.”

“Have you had au jus?” Charli calls from the backseat. “We’re going to the deli where Monica makes it.”

“I haven’t,” Jocelyn says. “At least, not in a long time.”

“You’ll like it. It’s my favorite,” Charli says. “Monica is the best. She taught me how to say au jus.”

“Monica runs the deli,” Boxer says.

“You guys must visit this place a lot.”

“Oh yeah,” Charli agrees. “Once a week. We like Monica.”

“We like the deli,” I say. “It’s quick and easy.”

“And what should I order?” Jocelyn asks. “Charli, you’re going to have to help me out.”

Ten minutes and a million Charli-words later, we’ve parked and made our way into Lucker’s deli. Monica’s there, behind the counter as usual, her dark hair piled high on her head.

“Well, hello, Boxers,” she calls. Then stops herself at the sight of Jocelyn. “Boxer family plus one! I’ll get you a new table today.”

“But I like our old table,” Charli whines. Then she points it out to Jocelyn. “We always sit here.”

“There’s only two seats,” I tell her. “We are lucky enough to need one with three today.”

Charli gives a grumpy fold of her arms, but when Monica points out a bigger, cooler table, her frown fades. Charli climbs up, patting the chair next to her and glancing toward me.

“Can I get your order put in right away? Will it be crème soda and au jus all around?” Monica asks after we’ve settled into our seats.

“Yes,” Charli says, wiggling upright in her chair.

“Hold on, Jocelyn can have whatever she wants.” I rest a hand on Charli’s and squeeze lightly. “Why don’t you ask her what she likes?”

Charli looks over to Jocelyn, her eyes wide. “You don’t want the crème soda and au jus?”

Jocelyn grins. “I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

“Jocelyn will have the same,” Charli says. Then she folds the menu and hands it back. “Thank you, Monica,” she adds at my prompting.

“Do you want to open your present now?” Jocelyn asks. “If it’s okay with your dad.”

Charli hasn’t let the beautifully wrapped box out of her sight, setting it down only to handle the menu. I give her the go ahead nod, and she begins tearing into the wrapping paper. The thing looks like it’s wrapped in pure gold, and I cringe at how much that tissue must’ve cost.

My attention, however, is soon distracted by the woman sitting at the table with us. For someone who has claimed to have no experience with kids, Jocelyn’s somewhat of a natural. Granted, Charli is pretty easy to get along with, and she likes most people. But Jocelyn doesn’t have to try so hard—it’s me she wants, not my daughter, and I appreciate the effort and her thoroughness in taking an interest in my life.

However, as the golden paper comes off, there’s a sinking sensation in my stomach. That looks like a Barbie box. I really, really hope, for everyone’s sake, that it’s not.

I really should’ve warned Jocelyn somehow—if only I’d known she was thinking of bringing a present. Charli’s never liked Barbies—thinks they’re too girly for her, which is something I’ve never understood. Her bedroom is yellow and pink. But who am I to argue if she’d rather toss a baseball with me than play with a few stick figures with big boobs?

The wrapping paper hits the floor as Charli unsheathes the goods inside.

Her face falls, a little frown creasing her forehead.

Shit.

Hello, Barbie.

“What do you say?” I jump in before she can react. “Can you tell Jocelyn thank you?”

“Oh,” Charli says, her voice a thin icicle. “Thank you, Jocelyn.”

Unfortunately, it’s not enough. Jocelyn’s fingers clasp together, and she shoots me an apologetic look across the table.

“If you don’t like it, that’s fine,” she says hurriedly. “We can return it and get something else.”

“No, this is great.” I nudge my daughter. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s not tickets to Six Flags,” Charli says, looking at the doll. “I sort of wished for tickets to Six Flags.”

Jocelyn’s face is strained, and I can tell she feels horrible. Which makes me feel like the worst parent ever.

“Charli, come here a minute.” I grab her hand, excuse ourselves from the table, and bring her out front into the sunlight.

She’s dragging her feet, her head hanging when we stop walking.

“What was that about?” I kneel down before her. “Where did all of your manners go? We talked about this, Charli. She brought you a present. You shouldn’t complain when someone gives you a gift.”

“But I don’t like Barbies!”

“How is she supposed to know that? She’s never met you before.”

“I wanted tickets to Six Flags.”

“Well, we’re not going to Six Flags to ride rollercoasters this summer if you keep acting like this.” My heart aches to threaten this since it’s what she’s been looking forward to all year. “If you don’t like a present, you just say thank you and move on. You know that, honey.”

“How come Jocelyn is bringing me presents anyway?” Charli asks. “People only bring me presents when they take you away from me.”

“What?”

“That one time the girl brought me a teddy bear. Then you went away for the whole night and missed reading to me.”

I blink, surprised to know she remembers the one night I went out with Tricia. We’d met at some event a year or so back, and I’d liked her enough to ask her out for a drink. Turns out, we hadn’t been compatible, and it’d been a horrible date. Even so, I hadn’t gotten home until after Charli’s bedtime.

“The other time that girl brought me a book. You disappeared all night again.”

Angela.

I’d gone on two dates in the last year, and neither of them had worked out. But I was starting to see a pattern, and suddenly, it was hard to stay upset with Charli.

“Listen, that was different,” I tell Charli. “When those ladies brought you presents, it was because we were going out on a date. This is business—it’s for work. I’m not going to go away for the night.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” I rest a hand against her cheek and tilt her gaze up to meet mine. “Jocelyn is just trying to be nice for work. She’s going to help me with hockey, that’s all.”

“It’s not a date?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s not a date.”

“Oh, okay.” She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Sorry, daddy.”

“It’s okay, but I’m going to need you to apologize to Jocelyn.”

Charli grabs my hand and pulls me inside. I can’t help the churning sensation in my stomach, a mix of emotions stealing my appetite. This never happens. I’m hungry all the time. But somehow, the mix of feeling as if I’d let Charli down while simultaneously banishing any hopes for a relationship with Jocelyn is enough to do the trick.

Not that I should be thinking about relationships; I shouldn’t. This is business, I remind myself, and it’s a good thing Charli’s jolted me back to reality.

When we make it back to the table, Charli’s back to her usual charming self. “I’m sorry,” Charli tells Jocelyn, resting a hand on her knee. “I like my Barbie, even though I don’t play with them much.”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Jocelyn leans forward. “I never played with Barbies, either. A friend helped me pick this out.”

“Really?” Charli moves around to her seat and climbs up to the table as Monica brings the soda bottles and French Dip sandwiches over.

“Really.” She shakes her head. “So if you want to exchange it for something else, go ahead.”

“Like a soccer ball?”

“Or a baseball.”

“Basketball?”

“Whatever you want.” Jocelyn smiles. “I’m glad we’ve got this sorted out.”

Monica rests the plates on the table and grins. “Can I get y’all anything else?”

“My dad’s not on a date,” Charli says, picking up her sandwich to dunk in the au jus. “Don’t worry, this is just business, Monica.”

Jocelyn straightens, the smile on her face one of forced confusion. “Of course. We’re hoping to be business partners.”

“That’s great!” Monica turns to Jocelyn. “Because Duke’s retiring?”

Jocelyn again looks confused, and I’m stuck realizing that it must look like I tell Monica an awful lot. For some reason, I don’t want Jocelyn to get the wrong idea that Monica and I are anything more than food-provider and food-eater, but there’s no time now to set the record straight.

“That’s right,” Jocelyn says, sending a meaningful glance my way. “Boxer’s on the market for a new agent, and I’m hoping he’ll choose me.”