29 #2
“What?” Liv and I say in unison.
“The tension. The awkwardness. The way you’re both acting like you’ve seen each other naked. You totally did got it on.”
“We did not—” I start.
“That’s completely inappropriate—” Liv says at the same time.
“Oh my god!” Tessa claps her hands together. “I knew it. I absolutely knew it.”
“Tessa,” Liv warns.
“What? I’m happy for you. It’s about time.”
“There’s nothing to be happy about,” Liv says.
“Is there not?” Tessa looks between us. “Because the way you’re both acting suggests otherwise.”
“We’re not acting like anything,” I say.
“You’re acting like two people who have unresolved… tension and possibly feelings for each other.”
“Tessa,” Liv says again.
“Fine, fine. But for the record, none of that in my house. I have children.”
“Oh my god,” Liv mutters, covering Emma’s ears even though the kid is probably too young to understand what we’re talking about.
“I’m just saying. Keep it PG while you’re under my roof.”
“There’s nothing to keep PG,” Liv insists. “Nothing’s happened.”
“If you say so. I’m leaving now. Bye.”
My sister drops this bomb on us and digs. She really is a master at this. Liv and I make eye contact, but Charlie and Emma immediately start demanding things. It’s a great buffer.
The next few hours are a masterclass in domestic chaos management. Liv and I tag-team dinner prep, and somehow we fall into an easy rhythm without discussing anything.
She handles vegetables while I deal with the chicken. I set the table while she gets the kids’ sippy cups ready. When Emma has a meltdown about her carrots touching her potatoes, Liv distracts her with a song while I rearrange the plate.
It’s natural. Easy.
After dinner, we tackle bath time, which with two small children basically amounts to controlled chaos involving way too much water and definitely too many bubbles.
“Why is there more water on the floor than in the tub?” Liv asks, wringing out a soaked washcloth.
“Because Emma thinks splashing is a competitive sport,” I say, trying to wash Charlie’s hair while she does her best impression of a very slippery fish.
“Competitive splashing. That should be an Olympic event.”
“Emma would take the gold.”
“Hands down.”
By the time we get both kids dried off, dressed in pajamas, and settled in the living room for story time, I’m exhausted but happy.
Really happy.
This is what I want. This chaos, this teamwork, this feeling like I’m part of something bigger than myself.
I want it with her.
Liv reads to Emma while I help Charlie build one last elaborate structure with her Legos. She has a nice reading voice, animated but not over the top, and Emma’s completely captivated.
“You’re good with them,” she says quietly when we finally get both kids settled in their respective beds.
“I’m a natural,” I say, and I realize I mean it. “I plan to have a big family someday.”
“Do you?” she asks, surprised.
“Yeah. Three, maybe four kids. The whole chaos.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“Nah, it’ll be perfect.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just... I never pictured you as the family type.”
I’m taken aback by that. “What did you picture me as?”
“I don’t know. The eternal bachelor type. Hockey first, everything else second.”
“Hockey’s important to me. But it’s not everything.”
“No?”
“No. Family’s everything. The people you love, the people who love you back, the people you’d do anything for. That’s everything.”
“Even if it means less focus on your career?”
“What good is success if you don’t have anyone to share it with?” I say.
She’s quiet, and I can see her thinking about something. “Yeah.”
We fall into silence, and I’m not sure what to say or do next.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asks.
“Tessa said we should surprise you.”
She chuckles sarcastically. “I’m definitely surprised.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to see you.”
I turn to look at her in the eye. She looks at me. “Yeah?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes.”
And for the first time in a few weeks, I feel like maybe everything’s going to be okay.
30
“Disneyland,” Tessa announces over breakfast.
“Disneyland?” West looks up from where he’s cutting Emma’s pancakes into perfect bite-sized pieces.
“That’s what happens when rich Uncle West comes to town. You take my children to the happiest place on earth and give them memories they’ll talk about for the rest of their lives while I’m working my tail off trying to pay bills.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Really?” Tessa asks like she wasn’t expecting him to agree.
West says, “Really. If you don’t mind. If you won’t get FOMO.”
“FOMO?” Tessa laughs. “West, I can take them anytime. But rich uncle with unlimited credit card and no kids of his own to tire him out? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“I’m not that rich,” West argues.
“You’re rich, uncle West. My yearly salary is a joke in comparison. You’re Disney rich.”
West glares at her.
“Plus,” Tessa adds, grinning at me, “Liv can go with you. Make sure you don’t lose my children in the crowds.”
“I won’t lose your children,” West laughs.
“When’s the last time you waited in line for three hours to go on a two-minute ride?”
“I don’t wait in line for three hours for anything,” he says.
“Exactly. You need Liv.”
I look between them, and I realize they’re both looking at me like this decision is mine to make.
“I could go,” I say slowly. “If West doesn’t mind the company.”
West says, “I don’t mind the company.”
“Then it’s settled,” Tessa says, clapping her hands together. “Uncle West and Auntie Liv take the munchkins to Disney. Rich uncle West pays for it all. And I get a day of uninterrupted work time. Everyone wins.”
Two hours later, we’re loaded into West’s rental car with enough snacks and supplies to survive a small apocalypse.
Charlie’s bouncing in her car seat, singing something that might be “It’s a Small World” but sounds more like a war chant.
Emma’s already passed out, clutching her stuffed Mickey Mouse she’s had since she was born.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask West as he navigates LA traffic. “It’s going to be hot and crowded and Charlie’s going to want to go on everything twelve times.”
“We can’t back out now.”
“And Emma’s going to need like six diaper changes and will probably have a meltdown when she gets overstimulated.”
West says, “I can handle diaper changes and meltdowns.”
“And the lines are going to be insane because it’s a Saturday in summer.”
“Liv.”
“What?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” he asks, concerned. He wears that smile on his face like this is going to be easy.
I huff. “I’m trying to prepare you for reality.”
“I’m a professional athlete. I think I can handle two small children for one day.”
“Famous last words.”
But he’s smiling when he says it, and I realize I’m looking forward to this more than I want to admit.
Disneyland with West and the kids. Like we’re a family.
Like we get to pretend for one last time to see if this thing between us is truly going to last.
The parking situation is exactly as terrible as I predicted, and by the time we make it through security and into the park, Charlie’s vibrating with excitement and Emma’s wide-eyed and overwhelmed by all the noise and color.
“Okay,” I say, pulling out the park’s map on the app they insist you to download.
“Game plan. We hit the little kid rides first while they’re still fresh, then work our way up to the bigger stuff if Charlie’s brave enough.
Snacks every hour, bathroom breaks every thirty minutes whether they say they need them or not. ”
“You’ve done this before?” West asks, watching me while pushing the stroller that’s jampacked with snacks, water, extra clothes, sunscreen, and everything you can possibly imagine.
I’m sort of panicking that I’m at Disneyland with two kiddos and with West who is acting like this is fine. It’s not fine.
“No, I haven’t been to Disneyland in a while. Okay, so we have to buy them Mickey Mouse ears, and balloons. Those Mickey Mouse lollipops too. I think I’ve seen bubble wands on social media, so we have to find those. Oh, and definitely get Mickey Mouse pretzels.”
West is staring at me. “Anything else?”
I nod. “Take lots pictures. We need pictures of everything. Even the meltdowns. Especially the meltdowns. They’re hilarious in retrospect.”
West lifts Charlie onto his shoulders, and she squeals with delight.
“I’m so tall!” she shouts. “I can see everything!”
“What can you see?” West asks.
“Castle! And rides! And Mickey!”
“Should we go find Mickey?”
“Yes!”
And we’re off.
The next few hours blur together in the best possible way.
We ride the teacups twice because Charlie insists the purple one goes faster.
We wait in line for forty-five minutes to meet Mickey Mouse, and Charlie’s so excited she forgets how to speak.
Emma discovers that churros are the greatest invention in human history and insists on more, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.
West is natural at this. Better than natural. He’s patient with the lines, enthusiastic about the rides, and completely unfazed when Emma has a complete meltdown because her Mickey ears fell off during the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.
“Hey, Em,” he says, crouching down to her level while she’s sobbing in the middle of New Orleans Square. “Want to know a secret?”
She nods, still sniffling.
“Uncle West has magic powers. Watch this.”
He pulls the Mickey ears out of the diaper bag where I’d stashed them after retrieving them from the ride, but he does it with such theatrical flair that Emma gasps like he actually made them appear out of thin air.
She snatches it from his hands, angrily.
“Magic,” West laughs. “All better?”
Emma tries to put it on herself and insists that West not help.
“You’re good at this,” I tell him as we continue walking.
“At what?”