8. Sabrina
CHAPTER 8
SAbrINA
When I wake up for the second time, I’m much more rested. I told Noah I’d be up at noon, but it’s only eleven thirty. Good, I have a little time to myself before I have to be “on” and entertain the eight-year-old ball of energy.
Arms overhead, I stretch, then I slide out from under the covers. The moment I’m on my feet, my bladder screams at me. Drinking coffee, then immediately passing out for several hours wasn’t my smartest idea. At least the caffeine didn’t keep me up.
Once I’ve relieved myself and washed my hands, I kneel in front of my new enormous suitcase. Not only did my friends force me to take it, but they insisted on purchasing pretty much every article of clothing inside. Even down to the new bras and underwear.
Alyssa and Lucy have always gone above and beyond for me. Frankly, I don’t deserve them. Thankfully, I’ll save plenty of the money I’m earning, so one day, I’ll return the favor. I’m already anxious to spoil their little one.
I sort through the clothes, eventually pulling out a bright pink athletic skort and a fitted white t-shirt. An outfit picked out solely by Lucy because she loves bright colors.
I change quickly and am ready before my alarm is set to go off at noon.
I’m assessing myself in the mirror when the main door of the suite opens and closes.
Exhaling, I smooth my hand over the front of my skort. First things first, Maddie and I need to find a coffee shop. Only once I’ve had another caffeine fix can our day together really start. Thankfully, we don’t have to dive into schoolwork for two more days. I have a feeling I have Fisher to thank for the time to settle in, since he’s the one who provided me with an itinerary.
Maddie is waiting for me in the hall, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You’re awake!” she exclaims. “Dad has to go to practice soon, but I want to go for a walk.”
With my hands on her upper arms, I peer down the hall, but don’t see Noah.
“We can do that. I’d love to get some coffee first, if that’s okay with you.”
She nods eagerly, head tipping back. “I know where one is. I’ll take you there. Don’t worry.”
I smile down at this magical little girl. Her self-assuredness is something I wish I had possessed at that age.
“Where’s your dad?” I don’t want to walk out and not tell him we’re leaving.
“In our room on the phone.” She tosses her thumb casually in that direction. “But we can leave.”
I squeeze her arms and give her a small smile. “It wouldn’t be nice to leave without saying goodbye.”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
While we wait, she sits on the couch and scrolls through the channels until she finds a cartoon she likes. I pull a bottle of water from the well-stocked fridge. I didn’t drink nearly enough water before I crashed, and I can tell. I’m glad Noah encouraged me to get more sleep. I figured my body and brain wouldn’t shut off, but they did, and now I feel like a whole new woman.
After I’ve chugged half the bottle, I unlock my phone to respond to a text from Lucy. When I see a text from my father, I bristle.
Sperm Donor: Where are you? Your landlord said you were evicted.
If my dad was creeping around my former residence, that means he’s looking for money.
As if I have any to spare.
I delete his message like I do every time he contacts me out of the blue like this.
“Is everything okay?”
I startle and bobble my phone. Before it can fall, I clutch it to my chest and huff out a breath. Noah, apparently having emerged, stands across from me, concerned expression marring his handsome face.
It’s annoying how good-looking he is, with that thick dark hair that sweeps over his forehead and eyes a warm shade of brown. (Warm when he’s not giving me a dirty look, that is.)
I slide my phone into my crossbody bag—another gift from Lucy and Alyssa—and pull my shoulders back. “It’s fine.”
Brow furrowed and frown lines bracketing his mouth, he studies me in a way that feels as if he’s seeing right into my soul. Though it’s clear he knows I’m upset, he doesn’t press further.
It’s a relief. My messed-up relationship with my parents isn’t any of his concern.
“I’ve got to head out. Mads?”
She turns her head, though her eyes instantly drift back to the show she’s watching.
“I love you. I’ll see you later.” He kisses the top of her head and heads toward the door. “I’ll text you when I know what court I’ll be practicing on,” he says to me. “If Maddie wants to come over, the hotel has a shuttle service over to Melbourne Park, and your credentials to get in are over there.” He waves to the table where he’s laid out passes and two lanyards with cards clipped to the ends.
“All right.” I nod and paste a smile on my face. “Sounds good.”
Despite how easy it is to rile him up, I’m trying to be on my best behavior.
When Maddie’s show is over, I hit the power button on the remote. “All right, girlie.” I clap my hands. “I desperately need coffee if you want me to function like a normal human being.”
Giggling, she pops up off the couch. “Can I have coffee?”
“Nice try, kid.” I pull her into my side in a hug. “You have enough energy without caffeine coursing through your veins. You’re lucky like that.”
“Fine,” she acquiesces, but there’s a glimmer in her eye. This isn’t the last I’ll hear about it.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, she bounces beside me, proving my point that the last thing she needs is caffeine.
“There’s a coffee shop around the corner.”
She’s right. I passed it on my run.
“How’d you know that?” I ask, peering down at her.
“We’ve been here before. With my… with my mom. We got rocky road waffles. They were so good. You should try them.” She looks down at her sparkly pink sneakers, but not before I catch the flash of sadness in her eyes.
I’m at a loss as to what to say. Should I acknowledge the mention of her mom? I haven’t ever had to deal with grief and certainly never a child going through it.
She saves me from saying something potentially stupid by plucking at her bag, identical to the black one strapped across my chest, except hers is pink, and saying, “Let’s get you your coffee. If you’re anything like my dad, you’ll be grumpy without it.”
She sticks her tongue out.
I can’t help but smile at her. I don’t know her well yet, but already, she’s impossible not to like.
Two hours later, Maddie is just beginning to come down from the sugar high she sustained from the rocky road waffles she suckered me into splitting. How could I say no, knowing they reminded her of happy times with her mom?
With her hand in mine, I follow the signage into Melbourne Park. As we make our way to the training courts, Maddie’s head is on a swivel. She takes everything in, even though this isn’t her first visit.
“Have you always been homeschooled?”
She looks up, her hazel eyes a mix of green and gold in the sunlight. “Yeah. When I was younger, Mom thought I might like to go to regular school, but Daddy didn’t want us to be away from him all the time.” Squinting into the sun, she shrugs.
I make a note to get her a pair of sunglasses if she doesn’t have any tucked away in her luggage.
“Dad said you’re a teacher.”
Laughing, I come to a stop near one of the training courts. Elias Johnson is there with what looks like his coaching team. I might not know anything about tennis, but I can tell he’s a force to be reckoned with. At six-four, maybe even six-five, and built like a wall, with tattoos covering one whole arm, he’s a sight to behold. It seems impossible for a man that big to move as fast or as fluidly as he does. He’s practically dancing back and forth, sending the ball flying across the net. I didn’t realize a tennis ball could be launched with such speed.
“My dad doesn’t like him.” In true eight-year-old fashion, Maddie doesn’t lower her voice as she comments.
A guy walking by snickers, but thankfully no one on the court looks our way.
I breathe a sigh of relief and turn, blocking her from their view. “Why doesn’t he like him?”
She laughs. “Because he’s good.”
It’s then that I realize the sound of balls bouncing off the court has stopped. I spin around, and my heart drops. Elias is stalking our way, his eyes on us and a half smile is on his full lips. As he approaches, I’m struck again by how big he is. Hot too. Like the kind of hot that has me questioning if he’s even real.
He stops on the other side of the fence and hooks his fingers through the chain-link. “Spying on me?”
“What?” I blurt, backing up a step with a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “No. I was just… it was cool to watch. I don’t know much about tennis, but that was… wow.”
He cocks his head and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. His irises are a unique shade of blue-green that pops against his light brown skin. He definitely has one African American parent, but the eye color makes me wonder if the other is from some part of Europe. “I remember you from the lobby.”
My heart stutters. You mean to tell me that this Adonis—this perfect specimen of a man—remembers me?
Chin lifted, I clear my throat. “I’m Sabrina.” I give myself a mental pat on the back for not sounding flustered.
He gives me a single nod. “Elias.”
“I know.”
Fuck me, why did I say that?
Eyes sparkling with amusement, he chuckles. “You do?”
I shrug. “I was doing research. I didn’t know much—well, anything—about tennis before I was hired to be this one’s nanny.” I lift my hand, bringing Maddie’s with it.
“Hey, sweetie.” He waves at my sidekick.
“Hey, E.” With a sassy wiggle of her fingers, she returns the greeting. “My dad says you’re going down.” She turns her thumb down and pouts her lips, then mouths, “Loser.”
Elias throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Tell your dad he has to actually play me for that to happen.”
One of his coaches calls his name, garnering his attention.
“I better get going.” He lets go of the fence and steps back. “But Sabrina, if you ever want to learn about the game, I’m happy to teach you.”
He shuffles backward, arms held out wide, grinning as he goes.
That one is a dangerous flirt.
“Hey.” The angered voice makes me jump. “Why are you talking to him?” A sweaty, annoyed Noah stalks our way, his T-shirt clinging to his pecs and abs in a way I try hard not to notice. “I go to the bathroom and come back to find you fraternizing with the enemy?”
“The enemy?” I laugh, squeezing Maddie’s hand.
She’s held on tight most of the afternoon. I love it. At this age, I’d think she’d be trying to pry herself loose from my grip, but she’s more than happy to maintain the connection.
“Yeah, the enemy.” Noah stops in front of us, hands on his hips. “My court’s this way. Next time I’ll have Fisher meet you at the entrance.” He mutters the last part mostly to himself.
Maddie and I sit on the sidelines when we get to his training court. I’m damp with sweat, and so is Maddie. Poor Noah is drenched, though it doesn’t seem to bother him. He scoops up a bottle of water and takes a few sips, then shoves almost half a banana into his mouth. He’s still chewing when he picks up his racket and saunters back onto the court.
Fisher waves from across the court, and as I rest my back against the fence behind me, I wave back.
Noah turns and hits me with a glare. What the hell? Is it because I waved at Fisher? Trying to figure this man out is a full-time job in itself.
“Do you ever play tennis?” I stretch my legs out in front of me, cringing at the way they stick together. God, it’s hot out here. I read these matches can last three hours, sometimes longer. It’s a testament to the athletes’ levels of fitness that they can play in the heat for so long. I think I’d pass out from heat exhaustion during the first set.
Giggling, Maddie mimics my position. “No.”
“Why not?” Head tilted, I study her, noticing the dampness at her hairline.
She purses her lips and hums. “I don’t know. I’d rather watch TV.”
“Good enough for me.”
A lot of athletes would push their kids to follow in their footsteps, yet Noah hasn’t. Maddie’s her own person and he respects that.
It doesn’t take long to get sucked into watching him practice. I never would have imagined tennis would require such athleticism. He takes off in quick bursts and comes to a screeching halt. If I tried to move like that, I have no doubt I’d blow out a knee.
Each time he swings, sending that neon-green orb back over the net, a small grunt escapes him. The speed at which the ball travels should be impossible.
I thought I might get bored, but I don’t, and this isn’t even a game.
Fisher stands on the other side of the court, along with an older man who looks vaguely familiar and a woman in her forties.
Every once in a while, one of them calls out for him to stop and they meet at the net.
“I’m thirsty,” Maddie says after a solid forty-five minutes.
“All right.” I stand, smoothing my hand down the back of the skort. Honestly, I thought skorts were the stupidest thing I’d ever heard of when Lucy insisted on it, but it does look cute, and not having to worry about flashing anyone is a nice bonus. “Let’s find some water.”
As Maddie stands, Noah jogs over, squinting.
Are tennis players not allowed to wear sunglasses?
I make a mental note to Google that later.
“Everything okay?” he asks, hands on his hips, his racket still gripped in one.
“Maddie’s thirsty. We’re going to find water.”
He points to one side of the court, where all his gear is stowed. “Cooler’s over there.”
“Right.” I press my lips together, embarrassed I didn’t notice it. “Go grab a water, Maddie.”
She scampers off, leaving me alone with her dad, who watches me silently.
Suddenly feeling awkward, I rock back on my heels. “We’ll probably head back soon. She’s getting tired.”
“Tired?” His lips curl up in amusement. “That’s a polite way of saying she’s bored.” He lifts his chin and glances toward the way out of the park. “Go on back and grab dinner. I’ll be late, but I’ll put her to bed.”
Maddie skips back over, two plastic bottles in hand. She holds one out for me, then twists her cap off and chugs, causing the water to dribble down her chin. With a satisfied sigh, she wipes at the mess with the back of her hand.
“Thanks, girlie.” I crack the lid of my own bottle. “What do you think about heading back to the hotel?”
Shrugging, she twists the toe of one Converse into the ground. “That would be good. Are you okay if we go, Dad?”
He ruffles her brown hair. “I’m good, sweetie. I won’t be back for dinner, so have fun with Sabrina. I’ll see you before bed.”
“Okay,” she says, a thread of disappointment in her tone.
“We’ll see you later.” I smile at Noah, then wave to Fisher across the court.
Maddie’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel. So quiet I worry she isn’t feeling well. In my short time with the little girl, I’ve only seen her sleeping or talking, unless, of course, she’s watching TV.
“I’m hungry,” I tell Maddie once we’ve thanked the driver and are headed into the hotel. “Are you?”
She nods, her hazel eyes lighting up a fraction.
“All right, we have a couple of options. We can eat at one of the restaurants in the hotel or we can get room service.”
With a twist of her lips, she hums thoughtfully. “Room service, please.”
“You got it.”
In the room, I send her to take a shower, then place an order for our food—spaghetti for her and a ham and cheese toastie for me.
As I was perusing the menu, I decided toastie might be my new favorite word.
With an hour’s wait for dinner, I hop in the shower in the en suite attached to my room so I can scrub the sweat off my body. Maddie is old enough to bathe on her own, and she doesn’t need constant attention, but I still don’t want to fuck this up, so I’m in and out in five minutes flat. Then I quickly change into a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt.
From outside her room, I can hear the sound of the shower running. Relieved, I let out a long breath, then unlock my phone, figuring now is a good time to respond to the several messages Lucy sent this morning. She wants to know how things are going, what the city is like, and whether I like the clothes she forced me to purchase. It’ll be strange, being in two totally different time zones most of the time.
Once I’ve responded to all her inane questions, I check my email.
Junk.
Junk.
Junk.
Interview requested.
I click on the email, curiosity swirling inside me. I’ve applied for what has to be one hundred jobs over the last several months, so the identity of the sender doesn’t immediately register with me.
Dear Ms. Howard,
We spoke regarding a position in the English department at our school but unfortunately went a different route. We will be interviewing for another position soon, and because I enjoyed your clear love and passion for teaching, I wanted to reach out to see if you’d be interested in coming in. One of our district’s beloved fourth-grade teachers has decided to retire, which will leave an open spot next school year. If you’re interested, please reach out to me here or call the number below.
Thank you.
Terri Jaymes
I read the email again, trying to make sense of the words. Then I scroll down to where she’s attached more details about the specific school.
It’s basically my dream job.
I’d love to teach fourth grade, and the district is one I’d love to teach in.
But—and it’s a big but—the tennis season doesn’t end until almost December.
Not only that, but this gig pays more than I’d make even as a full-time teacher.
Sad but true.
And I need the money. The kind of money Noah’s paying will go a long way in helping me pay off my student loans.
But how can I turn down my dream position? Or the chance to get my foot in the door and get that experience so many have reminded me I need?
I quickly respond, thanking Terri for the opportunity and accepting her offer to interview.
Why not? It doesn’t guarantee I’ll get the job, and even if they offer and I’ve changed my mind, I can turn it down.
Maddie comes barreling out of her bedroom, wet hair streaming behind her and comb in her hand. I’m surprised she doesn’t leave streaks in the carpet when she comes to an abrupt stop in front of me and thrusts the orange comb in my direction.
“Will you comb my hair?”
“Sure.” I take it from her. “Do you have any detangler?”
“No. My Daddy always forgets to buy it.”
“Come on.” I stand and motion for her to follow me. “We’ll have to pick some up tomorrow, but for now, we’ll use mine.”
“Wow,” she says, eyeing all the products lining my bathroom counter. “You have a lot of hair stuff.”
As she scrambles up next to the sink, legs dangling in front of the cabinets, I laugh and pull on one of my coiled curls. “Curly hair like this needs a lot of care.”
With a finger, I signal for her to turn around. Then I pluck the detangler from the lineup and spritz her hair. When it’s dry, it’s got only a soft wave, but now that it’s wet and uncombed, it’s already beginning to tangle at the bottoms.
I work my fingers carefully through the strands, separating the knots, then start with the comb.
She pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “My mom used to brush my hair after I washed it. I can do it myself, but I miss it.”
Keeping my movements even, I rack my brain for the right response. Finally, I settle on, “I’m glad you trust me enough to do it.”
She gives me a small, sad smile in the mirror. “It’s nice having another girl around again.”
Heart = breaking.
“Maddie…”
“It’s okay.” She closes her eyes, her face serene, as if she’s enjoying the way the comb feels on her scalp. “People don’t know what to say to the kid with a dead mom. What’s your mom like?”
A humorless laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “My mom is… not great.” I leave it at that. It feels wrong to complain about my family dynamics when her mom is gone. “Tell me about your mom instead. What was she like?”
She perks up, her face still flushed from her shower and her eyes bright. “She made the best chocolate chip cookies. I miss those.” She sighs wistfully. “She smelled good too. Like strawberries and sunshine. And she sang like a Disney princess. She was the best mom in the whole world.”
“She sounds like it.”
“It was nice, not having to travel for a while.” She picks at a chipped piece of glittery pink nail polish on her thumb. “But he has to work. His job is important to him.”
I cup her shoulders and turn her around, then take her face in my hands. “I haven’t known you or your dad long, but I can tell he loves you very much.”
Face lowered, she sighs. “I know he does. He’s just gone a lot. He’s here, but he’s not.”
My heart breaks for this little girl. She’s so perceptive and wise beyond her years.
The potential job offer sitting in my inbox haunts me. Already, she and I have formed a bond. What will it be like months from now? Could I really leave her?
I shove those thoughts aside, determined to let Future Sabrina deal with them.
“Will you braid my hair?” she asks.
Like I’m going to say no.
Taking my time, I meticulously French braid her hair. I’m not great at it. My mom never had time for me, so she surely had no interest in teaching me how. I was an inconvenience, and she reminded me of that any chance she got. My dad wasn’t any better. I was an accident, and not the happy kind. My whole life, I’ve wondered why they bothered to keep me. I’ve never asked. I can’t imagine I’d like any answer to that question.
Just as I’m looping a hair tie around the bottom of the braid, there’s a knock on the door. Room service has arrived.
Maddie scarfs her dinner down like she hasn’t eaten in a week, while I try to take my time and enjoy it.
“Can we watch a movie?” She perches on her knees across from me, eagerly awaiting my answer like a puppy wagging its tail in anticipation of a treat.
“Sure, what are you thinking?”
“Something good.”
I laugh, covering my mouth, and once I’ve swallowed, say, “I can get behind that.”
Noah hasn’t returned by the time the second movie ends.
Dejection sets into the fall of Maddie’s shoulders. Sadness coats my tongue, tasting like a sour gummy. He hasn’t contacted me to say he’s running behind, so I don’t know what to say to explain his absence.
Sadness seeps into my bones at the disappointment emanating from this little girl. Sure, we have a good time together, but I’m not her parent. She’s down to one, and she clearly just wants him to show up. This adjustment has to be rough for her after his time off.
With a yawn, she eyes the door, as if she can’t help but hope he’ll step through it at any second.
He doesn’t.
Frowning, she stands. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for your dad?”
She looks at the door again, then back to me. “No.”
“All right. Want me to tuck you in?”
“I’m okay,” she says softly, leaning in for a hug. “Night.”
Closing my eyes, I squeeze her tight. I hold her for a long moment, silently imbuing all the tenderness I can. Then I watch her cross the room and disappear.
Once the door latches softly behind her, I settle back on the couch and wait.