Chapter Ten Ozzy
Chapter Ten
Ozzy
“Race you to the top!” Lola bolts to the right as we climb the stairs to the M Trail by the university. Brynn used to hike the trail over her lunch break and sit on the edge of the giant hillside M to eat her sandwich with a beautiful view of Missoula. It’s a steep hill with many switchbacks, but Lola barely loses her breath, and I don’t break a sweat.
Riding our bikes and walking everywhere for two years has whipped us into good shape. Victoria, Lola’s therapist, likes to remind me of that when I feel the need to pull her aside and complain about Lola’s slow progress and the ridiculousness of biking everywhere, even in the winter.
What do you think people did before they had cars? she said.
It’s not that I don’t like Victoria. She has a good rapport with Lola but is also annoying at times. Maybe that’s just my occasional impatience, which gets exacerbated by Tia constantly yapping in my ear.
“Lola, trail etiquette,” I holler as she approaches a couple and their dog headed down the trail. Last year, she accidentally knocked a lady on her ass.
My eager daughter stops, steps off the trail, and glances back at me with an angelic smile that’s anything but innocent. According to friends with older kids, she’s entrenched in the “I know” phase of adolescence, which I’ve been assured lasts until she’s well into adulthood.
As soon as the couple and their dog pass her, she continues up the trail in a series of hops, skips, and jumps like it’s no big deal despite the people catching their breaths on the benches at the switchbacks.
“Wish I had her energy,” the guy with the dog says when I pass him.
I grunt and smile. “I wish she had half the energy.”
The couple laughs.
I’ll take Lola’s endless energy as long as that contagious smile and dimpled cheeks always accompany it.
There’s not a lot of wiggle room around the M, and it’s a little more crowded this afternoon, so when I catch up to my daughter, I have to squeeze past hikers to reach her. She always goes straight to the top.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry, I’m just squeezing past.” I shuffle and wedge my way to the top.
“Ozzy?”
I glance over my shoulder toward the familiar voice from the woman wearing a white floral hair scarf, gray leggings, and a fitted pink tee.
“Maren,” I say as if it’s ridiculous that she’s hiking the same (incredibly popular) trail. Then I swallow the “What are you doing here?” part so I don’t sound like an idiot.
I haven’t texted or called her since she initiated contact a week ago. Do I tell her all the reasons why?
She has a serious job, and I don’t want to interrupt her.
I have a weird living situation.
Transportation is a challenge.
I think I like her too much.
It’s a long list.
“And here I thought nobody would be hiking this today.” Maren laughs with a sarcastic eye roll.
I survey the gathering of hikers, including my daughter, six feet away, petting someone’s yellow lab. “Yeah. I think everyone’s out today.”
She adjusts her hair scarf and averts her gaze when we make eye contact.
“Listen, I’ve been meaning to text—”
She waves me off. “You don’t need to explain. I’ve been busy too.”
I nod. “Twiddling your thumbs?”
She slaps a grin on her face when our gazes lock.
The grin is too big.
I remember big grins. Brynn used to punch me in the face with an exaggerated one when I was in trouble. It’s the deranged look.
I’m joking about the thumb twiddling. She knows I’m kidding, right?
“Regardless”—I attempt to get back in her good graces—“I’ve been meaning to contact you.”
“Dad? Coming?” Lola calls.
Maren cranes her neck past me. “Is that your daughter?” Her grin relaxes into something more genuine, less like a sharp knife dripping blood.
“Yes,” I say.
Maren’s gaze returns to me. It’s expectant. And why wouldn’t she anticipate me introducing her to my daughter, who’s six feet away? The daughter for whom she made chocolate chip cookies.
Yet introducing her to Lola would be a disaster because my child has no chill.
“Well, it was really good seeing you. Be careful on your way down the trail. More accidents happen on the descent,” I say.
You’re an idiot! My inner voice speaks the truth.
Maren parts her lips, sliding her eyebrows up her forehead until they’re hidden beneath her hair scarf. “Is this separation of church and state?”
I cringe while relinquishing several tiny nods. “Not because of church.” I point to her. “It’s state”—I jab my thumb over my shoulder at Lola—“who cannot handle this.”
“Why am I church?”
I chuckle, scratching my jaw. “I don’t know. I’m just saying—”
“Who are you?” Lola chirps behind me.
Too damn late. I press my lips together and cringe.
Maren looks to me for guidance.
I deflate. “Lola, this is a friend of mine. She works at Cielo too.”
“Hi, Lola.” Maren waves. “I’m Maren.”
My cringe deepens while Maren unknowingly digs my grave. There’s a reason I called her my friend.
Lola remembers everything.
“You texted my dad.”
Maren gives me an apologetic smile, showing that realization happened a little too late on her part.
“You’re pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Dad?”
“Lola, speaking of pretty, it’s pretty crowded up here. We should make our way down so other people can have our spots and enjoy the view.”
“My mom died. And my dad’s lonely.”
For the love of god. Why? Just why ?
I’m ready to roll her down this hill like a bowling ball.
With a nervous laugh, Maren’s gaze ping-pongs between me and my diarrhea-mouthed daughter.
“Maren knows your mom died, and she knows I’m so busy raising you that I have no time to be lonely.”
Maren’s smile fades.
I can’t win. I’m juggling my words to appease both these girls—women—and I’m fumbling and failing most spectacularly.
“I’m going to catch up to that dog.” Lola points to the lady with the yellow lab as she descends the trail.
“Well, it was good to see you. Sort of,” Maren murmurs, before turning and navigating her way past the M.
I sigh, having no choice but to walk down behind her.
“That came out all wrong,” I say.
Maren keeps walking, rocks crunching beneath her trail shoes. “No. I think it came out as intended. No biggie.”
When Lola’s adequately out of earshot, I make a better case for myself. “It is a biggie. I like you. And I want to go out again, but I don’t know how to navigate dating while raising a snoopy ten-year-old who has recently decided she desperately wants me to find someone to date. On top of that, her grandparents, whose help I need, don’t want me to have any sort of life outside raising Lola. So I have to lie and sneak around, and I’m not good at it. But—”
Maren stops, and I nearly bump into her. “But what?” She turns to me, crosses her arms over her chest.
Are we having our first fight? After one date?
Maren is beautiful when she’s mad. Maybe it’s the breeze in her hair or the sun on her face. But her cheeks are red, and her eyes look extra blue today.
I want to kiss her. I’ve wanted to kiss her since our date.
“But maybe I can get good at it,” I say.
She tightens her brow. “Good at what? Sneaking around?”
The more my grin swells, the more her eyes narrow.
“Yeah. Do you want to sneak around with me?”
“I’m not fourteen, Ozzy.” She rolls her eyes and pivots, continuing down the trail.
“No. But wasn’t fourteen fun? I loved my teen years. Not a real care in the world. Hormones raging out of control. Weekends were two days of nonstop shenanigans with friends. And there was nothing more exhilarating than sneaking around.”
Maren chuckles, shakes her head, and alternates her gait between cautious steps and a slow jog while she navigates the dips and bumps of the descent. “That’s not real anymore. You actually have real cares in the world.”
“Not twenty-four seven. I found time to wrangle chickens with you.”
“I don’t buy it. You were the one who said we should take it slow because your life is complicated. And I was fine with it, but slow shouldn’t mean you can’t even send me the occasional text.”
“I didn’t want to lead you on or give you false hope.”
She shoots me a quick glance over her shoulder. “But now you want to sneak around? When did you change your mind?”
“Literally the second the words left my mouth,” I say while scratching the back of my head and trying not to smile until I’m sure she won’t kill me for downplaying my inability to date a woman properly.
“You gave me flowers and notes,” she says.
“Is that wrong? Or weird? It probably seems cheap since I’m not buying the flowers. But—”
Maren turns 180 degrees, and I almost run into her. “Wrong? Weird? Cheap?” She narrows her eyes. “Ozzy, I tied twine around the stems, dried them upside down to keep them indefinitely, and attached the note to the bouquet too. Then I waited for you to call or text me.”
I smirk. “You liked the flowers.”
Maren rolls her eyes and heads the rest of the way down the trail.
I should have called.
By the time we reach the steps at the parking lot, Lola has a kitten in her arms.
“Whose is that?” I ask, catching up to Maren and passing her to deal with Lola and her googly eyes.
“No one’s. It’s all alone. I found him by that bush, crying.”
“What have I told you about touching stray animals?”
“He’s a kitten, Dad.”
“Lola, put it down. I’m sure its mom will be looking for it.”
Maren pets the cat in Lola’s arms, not helping my case.
“Dad, I bet his mom is dead, and that’s why he’s all alone. If we don’t take him home, he will die.”
Ouch. This girl packs an emotional punch. “It’s called life, Lola. And how do you know he’s a he?”
“How do you know you’re a he?” She rolls her eyes.
Maren tries to suppress her laugh.
“We’re not taking it home,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why? And don’t say because you said so. Remember when you promised to always explain things to me?”
When I look to Maren for help, she curls her lips between her teeth and shrugs. In the next breath, she tries to find an excuse. “Lola, what if your grandparents are allergic to cats?”
I silently commend Maren for trying, but that’s not the right defense.
“They aren’t,” Lola says. “They used to have cats. A lot of them. Right, Dad?”
“Lola. We don’t have a car.”
“Put him in your backpack,” Lola says.
“He’ll suffocate.”
She frowns, sad eyes on the kitten before gazing at Maren.
“I bet he finds a good home.” Maren nods with reassurance.
Lola nestles the cat in the bush and mumbles, “I bet something eats him before tomorrow.”
I don’t touch this conversation with another word. She’s relinquishing the cat, and that’s a win, even if I know she’ll give me the cold shoulder for the next few days.
“It was nice meeting you, Lola,” Maren says, sliding her key fob from her pocket.
Lola manages a lukewarm “You too” before sulking toward our bikes.
I walk down the stairs next to Maren and take several steps with her toward her RAV, keeping my back to Lola. “Can I call you later?”
Maren grunts, unlocking her car. “I don’t know, Ozzy. Can you?”
“Let me rephrase. What are you doing later? Want to sneak out with me? Grab a drink at a bar?”
With her chin tucked, she opens her door. “You’re all talk, Ozzy. But sure. I’ll sneak out with you if you call. But I won’t wait up for you.”
“I’ll check in with you at”—I glance at my watch—“nineteen hundred.”
She giggles, shakes her head, and slides into the driver’s seat.
“Later.” I shut her door and tap twice on the window with my flat hand.
She finally glances in my direction, biting her lower lip.
I have no clue what I’m doing or where this is going.