6. Ian
6
IAN
“Riva, open the door.”
I pound on it again then pull my hand away when the wood quivers like it’s going to give way under the force of my fist. The last thing I need is my daughter’s nightly FaceTime call with her mom to feature a splintered bedroom door.
Growing up with a dad who used force to prove a point and keep his wife and two kids in line, I promised myself long before I became a father that I’d be different. I am different. But how do I manage a kid with a stubborn streak even wider and longer than mine?
My former teammates would get a kick out of this. I earned my nickname, The Playmaker, because I’m always prepared. My backup plans have backup plans.
But being a dad doesn’t come with an instruction manual. Despite what the half-dozen parenting guides I’ve read in the past few months preach, kids aren’t exactly by the book. Riva has been in her room for hours, although she did at least take the tray of dinner I left in front of the door. No one is going hungry on my watch.
“I’m not leaving until you come out,” I tell my daughter when she still doesn’t answer. I wonder if she’s even listening.
Since her arrival, she’s barely taken off her noise-canceling headphones, and I’m not proud to admit I mostly stopped trying to convince her. I don’t know how to connect with her. Before we’ve truly started our life as a father-daughter duo, I’m already a failure. And I don’t like to fail.
I turn and lower myself to the carpeted floor, leaning back against the door and gazing up to the rubbed-bronze light fixture above me. “Please open the door.”
Unexpectedly, that murmured entreaty does the trick, and I have to catch myself before I pitch backward into her thin legs.
“It’s your fault,” she says like that’s a given. Of course it is.
I turn and stare but don’t stand yet. Maybe looking down on the father who has so clearly disappointed her on some soul-deep level will make her more willing to talk.
The women I’ve dated would be cackling in sadistic pleasure to know that all I want is for my kid to talk about her feelings.
I hate talking about feelings.
“What part of you breaking and entering into our neighbor’s house and stealing a dog is my fault?”
“Take a hint, Ian .”
“You may call me Dad .”
Her wide-set eyes narrow. “A good dad would realize his daughter is desperate for a pet. You and Mom move me away from my friends and a house with a pool to a place where I know no one and there’s no pool.”
“We can join a pool.”
She snorts. “I’ve wanted a dog my whole life. Now I have to live next to a woman with all the dogs.”
“Dog sitting is her job. They aren’t all hers. The one you stole is not hers, not that it would be more excusable if you’d taken her dog. Maybe I didn’t appreciate your lifelong obsession with pet ownership, but I didn’t purposely choose this house based on our neighbor’s ability to torture you with her dog-lady lifestyle.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. For the first time, I notice her nails are chewed down to nubs.
My brother bit his nails when we were kids, and that compulsion led to other, more self-destructive behaviors when Felix hit his teen years.
I don’t want that for Riva.
How did I not know the hardest thing about being a parent is that you can’t control so much of it? I built a career on control and moved here because I figured I could control our lives in a small town in a way living in Los Angeles would never allow. And at the moment, I got nothing.
“Just get me a dog, and I won’t mess up your life anymore.”
“Your mom and I agreed…” I shake my head as the meaning of her statement sinks in. “Back up a sec. Riva, you aren’t messing up anything. I’m happy you’re here.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I almost crack a smile. “Mom says you’re trying too hard to really mean it.”
Ah, hell. Thanks, Monika. So helpful.
“She’s wrong. I wish I’d been a bigger part of your life before now, but I really do want to make up for lost time.”
“You know what would make me feel better?” she asks with so much fake sweetness it makes my teeth ache.
“Apologizing to Sadie Hart and thanking her for covering for you instead of calling the cops?”
Her face goes pale. “I didn’t mean to steal the dog for good. I just wanted to borrow it while she was gone.”
I straighten and run a hand through my hair. “Did you engage in petty crime in LA?”
“People in LA lock their doors.”
As if that’s the point.
“No more, Riva.”
“It’s boring here,” she complains, jutting out a hip in defiance. “I don’t have friends and?—”
“Why won’t you sign up for one of the summer camps we looked at online? There’s a community center with?—”
“I don’t want to do stupid pottery or play volleyball with a bunch of losers.”
“How are you so sure they’re losers?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Because…duh…they’re playing volleyball instead of lying by the pool.”
Are all twelve-year-olds so cynical? I think about asking, but in this case, ignorance might be bliss.
“I played sports as a kid, and I wasn’t a loser.”
“Says you.”
Fair point.
“We can deal with your boredom later. Right now, it’s time to face the music next door.”
Riva tilts her head. “The dog lady plays music?”
“Figure of speech. Stop trying to distract me.”
“What if she yells?” Riva looks uncharacteristically worried.
“I don’t think…” How do I know how Sadie will react? I’ve never seen anything like the look of terror in her caramel-colored eyes when she thought she’d lost her client’s dog. I blame myself as much as I do Riva—nearly as much anyway.
I’ve been working on my next career move, a task that so far involves researching the careers of other retired sports stars and leaving her alone in her room, which I thought she wanted. But she’s a kid, and I’m the adult, and I screwed this up.
“I don’t know what she’ll say, but I’ll be at your side for whatever happens. Owning up and taking responsibility for your screw-ups is important, Riva.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to say screw in front of me.”
“Sorry,” I say, then nod. “See how easy that was?”
“Sure, but I didn’t steal your dog.”
She lifts her hand to her mouth, chewing on the cuticle before quickly lowering it back to her side. For the first time since she arrived in Colorado, Riva seems like an actual twelve-year-old girl, uncertain of the changes in her life and floundering about how to handle them. Not unlike her father.
“Yes, but you stole my heart, and that’s even more serious.”
She breathes out what might pass as a laugh. “Oh my, gosh. What a dad thing to say.”
“That’s the best compliment I’ve gotten in a long time.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s go, kid.”
She doesn’t take it but bumps into me on her way past. It almost feels like a hug.
I follow her downstairs and through the house I worked so hard to put together. Unfortunately, this perfect catalog-furnished house doesn’t make a difference the way I need it to.
The air is still humid as we step outside, although the sun is out and the driveway and road are dry. Maybe if it hadn’t been raining so hard earlier, Sadie would have stuck around after Princess’s owner claimed her dog and stomped back to her car. Maybe I made a mistake in laying so low before Riva arrived. Now people probably assume I’m an egotistical former athlete who thinks he’s too good to mingle with the locals.
I just didn’t want my name to influence anything. From comments Monika has made over the years, Riva isn’t a fan of dealing with her mom’s adoring public. I wanted the first time people met me to be as the regular dad I’m trying to be. Now I might have to lean into my fame. I’ll autograph some footballs or maybe guest coach for a local pee-wee team to meet some of the parents with kids.
There’s a lot more to the parenting thing than I realized. Saying screw in front of my kid might be the least of the ways I’m going to mangle it.
“If I do a good apology, can I get a dog?” Riva asks as we head up the steps to Sadie’s front porch.
“I admire your tenacity, but you gotta lay off, Rivs.”
“How do you feel about girls crying?”
Is that a joke? “I support people—women or men—being free to express any emotion.”
“Mom’s last boyfriend couldn’t stand to see a woman cry, so every time she wanted something from him, she turned on the waterworks.”
Monika used the same tactic on me back in the day. I hate that she’d set that example for our daughter, although maybe I deserve it. I sure hope I can convince Riva there are better ways to deal with our problems.
She squares her shoulders and then knocks on the door, the sound greeted by a chorus of barking dogs. A moment later, the cacophony dies down, and Sadie opens the door.
She’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a yellow tank top, a bright pink bra strap peeking out from one edge. I should not be reacting to a glimpse of her bra, but my lower half doesn’t get the message.
“Hello,” she says quietly, looking between us with a decent amount of wariness.
After a moment, her gaze holds on Riva. “I appreciate you knocking this time instead of letting yourself in.”
My daughter’s chin tips up. For a moment, I worry that this apology is going to go horribly wrong. Sadie Hart doesn’t seem like the type of woman to want an autographed football. She didn’t even recognize me when we first met, but I’ll find some way to?—
“I’m so profusely sorry I borrowed a dog that didn’t belong to me.” Riva clutches her chest like her heart is pounding with the pain of the apology. “And for entering your very beautiful and understated home without permission.”
She could have left out the understated part. It sounds like another word for plain, and I see Sadie’s eyes flash. She knows it, too.
“I have no excuse other than the fact that I’m a child who’s been forced away from the only home I’ve ever known…”
Also not exactly true since Monika has moved several times over the years.
“Then shipped off to a father I barely know. The loneliness inside my soul knows no bounds. And although it was very, very, very wrong, I hoped that the sweet dog might offer a bit of solace.” She sighs deeply. “Since I have no friends and my father is consumed with his own life.”
How does she know so many fifty-cent words? I clear my throat. “That’s not exactly an accurate portrayal of your life,” I tell my daughter, but her attention is riveted on Sadie.
“You seem like such a nice, understanding lady, and I appreciate that you didn’t call the cops the way a certain person threatened.”
“I never threatened,” I mutter.
Sadie stares at Riva wide-eyed, like she’s unsure whether to hug the girl or applaud her performance.
A laugh sounds from inside the house. “I like that kid,” a female voice calls. “She reminds me of me, other than the part about committing a felony in elementary school.”
Riva’s eyes go wide, and her shoulders slump.
“Come in here, sweetheart,” the same voice calls. “I want to take a look at you.”
Riva glances at me and I shrug, because after being thrown under the bus with her poor pitiful me routine, I’m not inclined to jump in and rescue her.
Sadie still hasn’t responded, so I’m unsure how my daughter’s overenthusiastic apology landed. I’m also slightly unsure whether I’m supposed to follow Riva as she enters the house, or remain on the porch.
“Come on,” Sadie says after a moment, and I’m weirdly relieved but almost equally terrified.
The house reminds me of Sadie—casual and welcoming. Like it’s been put together with love not a platinum Amex and expedited shipping. She leads me into a cozy family room with well-worn furniture and bookcases filled with colorful paperbacks. It’s painted pale yellow with white trim, but framed prints with brightly colored nature scenes adorn the walls. At first glance, the house is similar to mine, but it feels like a home without even trying.
“This is my friend Sally and her wife, Trina.”
I nod and wave to the two women sitting on the couch, a dog that looks more like a dust mop than an animal lounging between them.
Max, who I’ve now met on several occasions, trots over and shoves his snout in my crotch. I’m embarrassed to say I’m not fast enough to deflect, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sadie’s friend Sally.
“Your reflexes aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be, huh, Playmaker.”
I swallow a choked laugh. “Guess I’m not used to defending against avid fans of the four-legged variety.”
“Max, leave it.” The dog reluctantly turns away, and Sadie’s cheeks bloom with color. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, he only goes for the comfort crotch with people he likes.”
Weirdly, it does. “If it makes you feel better, my daughter doesn’t have a history of B&E and she’s more than learned her lesson.”
Sally and Trina both grin at Riva. “We’ve been telling Sadie for years she needs to lock her doors,” Sally says.
Trina holds up a finger. “Skylark isn’t the town it used to be.” She points that finger toward Riva. “But an unlocked door isn’t an open invitation.”
“I understand,” my daughter says with a sigh.
“What are you going to do to make it up to our sweet Sadie?”
Riva blinks. “I said sorry.”
“Not good enough,” Sally offers conversationally.
“I accept your apology, Riva,” Sadie interrupts quickly.
“What do you want me to do to make it up to you?” Riva asks, surprising me with the genuineness in her tone.
I wonder if I should interrupt or offer to donate to Sadie’s favorite charity to make amends. But this moment is about Riva handling her own problems, even at the tender age of twelve going on twenty-five. I don't know much about parenting, but I know this is the right thing to do.
Still, I’m squirming right along with her as we wait for Sadie Hart’s next move.