I’d respected her wishes until this morning, when I found out from Ellie that she didn’t even have her parents’ help since they were out of town to celebrate their anniversary.
“Ja-ake!” Daffy calls, suddenly dropping the toy she was fighting for, so that Aster goes flying backward. He lands without incident, holding the toy up in the air like a trophy, and Daffy launches herself at my shins. Rather than letting her latch on — like she’s been known to do — I scoop her up in my arms and make her laugh by flipping her upside down.
“Just watching that is making me sick,” Lara says, turning and rushing to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
“Good morning,” Chrys says from her spot on the couch, where her little feet are socked and rocking back and forth, a book open in her lap.
“How is your mom doing?” I ask, glancing at the bathroom door with worry.
“Not good!” Aster says, puffing out his cheeks. “She throwed up this morning.”
The toilet flushes as if on cue, and Daffy makes a gagging noise.
“Yuck!”
“I think the four of us should hang out today while your mommy tries to get better. What do you think?”
“Yes!”
“Can we have ice cream for breakfast?”
“I’ll get my shoes on.”
When the kids are ready and waiting by the entryway, I go to the bathroom door and put my ear to the wood. “Lara?”
“I’m so sorry, Jake,” she says, sounding miserable. “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Hey,” I say, raising my hand to the door, though she can’t see it. I glance backward at the three kids waiting for me. I know from previous outings that it’s a lot to have all three at once. That there will be tantrums and fighting, and somehow, someway, Aster will end up consuming dairy and have an accident.
And yet, every time I’m with them, those problems feel minor compared to the joy of seeing them learn and grow. Watching them interact with things for the first time, guiding them through tough moments and watching them come out on the other side.
“Don’t worry,” I say through the door, hoping Lara can hear me properly. I tell her about the nausea meds in the bag with the Pedialyte, and I promise to text her updates about what we’re doing all day.
When she’s quiet for a beat, clearly still unsure about making me take the kids, I feel, for the first time, not like a stranger or a babysitter, but like a parent simply taking on my fair share of the workload.
So, when I crack the door and see her on the floor next to the toilet, I blow her a kiss, smile and say, “Lara, I’ve got it handled.”
She relaxes against the wall, closes her eyes and says, “I know. I love you, Jake.”
The next day,I stand in front of a group of high schoolers, hands shaking slightly as I take the microphone and face them. Their faces shine back at me, young and acne-riddled, and for a second, I see myself staring right back at me.
“Good afternoon, guys,” I start, clearing my throat a bit louder than I should. They stare back at me, shifting a little in their seats.
“Tell him good afternoon!” Coach Ferguson says, and they startle, grumbling their responses to me.
“Thanks,” I say, making a quick face that makes a few of them laugh. “Well, I’m sure you all know me. Or maybe I just have a big head, and you have no idea who I am. In that case, I’ll go ahead and introduce myself.”
The gym’s lights are low so they can see the slide show behind me, and I walk carefully to keep from tripping on the cord of the microphone.
“My name is Jake Bradson. Number nine on the Los Angeles Kings. I took my team at Michigan to the Frozen Four twice, was named MVP, and was an all-stater here at this high school.”
Some of them are nodding, while others are giving me wide eyes. I would have been unable to sit still if an NHL player had visited when I was a kid.
“Well, if you know all that, then you might know the reason my name has been in the papers lately.” I click the little button on my remote, and the slideshow changes to an image of meholding the front of Labowski’s jersey, my fist colliding with his face.
“This is me, and that’s me punching a guy down on the ice. At the time, I justified it to myself. He had targeted me, and I thought he was turtling. Turned out he’d slipped, and this made me look like a real asshole.”
Coach Ferguson gives me a sharp look, but I can tell the picture and the words have gained me more interest from these kids. I find the ones on the edge, sitting a little further from the main group, and watch them as they glance around to see what everyone else is doing.
