7. Foster
SEVEN
FOSTER
I have a list on my fridge now of things I want to make for lunch. Recipes that will be good for dinner and then transition well for two lunches. Food that is interesting enough for me, but not too out there for Sophie. Who, to her credit, has eaten every single meal I’ve put in front of her and seems to have only struggled through the eggplant parm. I learned after that she thinks eggplant has the texture of an old crusty sponge, or what she thinks the texture would be like. I did confirm that she has not actually tried to eat one.
“What do you think Gary? Taco bowls for Monday? Maybe dumplings for Tuesday…” I trail off as I close the fridge finding Gary eyeing me from his perch on the counter stool. No doubt judging me for talking to a cat.
I get the beef started before beginning the prep on the veggies. Sophie was pretty insistent that I didn’t have to make her food, but I’d told her that this sort of thing brings me joy. The me of ten years ago would be shocked by this development, but then again he’d be shocked by just about everything. He’d be pretty thrilled by all the Sophie time, though.
My phone buzzes on the counter, giving Gary an excuse to overreact and jump down from where he’s been watching me for the last twenty minutes.
Dan’s name appears, followed by Heather’s.
Dan
I know you said you needed a break from the setups but our friend’s daughter just got home from Korea and I think you two would hit it off.
Heather
If we are allowed to throw our hats back into the ring I’ve got the PERFECT person.
Weird, I didn’t think Heather knew Sophie.
Sweet potato fries, where did that come from?
I’m sure your friend’s daughter is lovely and no one is perfect, H. I may have met someone but it’s early days.
Bouncing belugas, what am I doing? I’m actively complicating a situation that’s not even real.
Heather
WHO?
When????
Like I said, early days. That’s all I’m going to say.
That’s all I’m going to say because I have nothing else to say. I’m a liar, a spinner of tall tales.
Dan
Bring her to the BBQ.
Heather
Yeah, or else we won’t believe you.
I roll my eyes and lock my phone. I don’t have the desire to discuss this any further. Mainly because lying makes my stomach roll. When they find out the truth, I’ll feel like a bigger fool than I already am.
Asking Sophie to go with me could be fun but how would that conversation even go? And why would I be inviting her? Have we settled into an easy routine in a short time? Yes, it feels a lot like old times. But I think if I asked her to go she’d feel like she had to say yes because that’s the kind of person she is and my friends can be a lot.
“Mr. Walsh?” Pete says, looking up at me from the diagram of states of matter.
“Yes, Pete?” I reply as I struggle to get his pencil sharpener to actually sharpen a pencil.
“I want to run a marathon.” I look up expecting to see his classic gotcha grin, but his face is set in a determined grimace. Like he’s ready for me to tell him that’s not possible.
I have to make sure I don’t immediately write off this new aspiration. “Oh? What makes you want to run a marathon?”
“Cody Daniels said I couldn’t.”
“Well… that’s probably one of the better reasons I’ve heard to run one.”
“Have you run one?”
“No, but I’ve thought about it. I’ve run a half marathon. Maybe you should—” He’s already shaking his head before I finish.
“I want to run the whole thing.”
“Well, okay. Do you know what it takes to run a marathon?”
“Big lungs,” he says with conviction. “And a big heart,” he adds.
Pete is one of those people who doesn’t look at his disability as a barrier to anything he wants to do. The more someone tells him he can’t do something, the more likely he is to try and prove them wrong. There’s genuinely no point in telling him he can’t do it.
So, instead of dousing the flames, I add fuel to them. “How can I help?”
“Pete said you’re going to help him run a marathon,” Sophie says from the doorway of the empty classroom where I’m pulling my jacket on.
I turn to see her leaning against the door, her long black winter coat hanging open, revealing a green button-up and black pants. I try and fail not to notice how good she looks in green. Her head tips to the side as she waits for me to answer.
“I did. I have no idea how I’m going to manage it, but I don’t know, the kid’s hopeful about everything. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that kids typically don’t run marathons, let alone kids…” I don’t finish the sentence, letting the reality of it hang in the air.
“I get it. He knows himself. He’s one of the most self-aware kids I’ve ever met. Hell, there are adults who don’t have that level of self-awareness. So,” she asks as we head down the hall together, “how are you going to help?”
“For now I guess I’ll just do a bunch of research. There have got to be people with CP who have run marathons and triathlons right?”
“Many. Several Paralympians and world champions too.”
“You looked it up?”
“I did. The second Pete was gone, I got real down and dirty with Google.” I look over to see her smiling brightly at me and feel an odd sense of jealousy toward the Google search bar. “It wasn’t a comprehensive search by any means, but I was curious. Also, CP presents in a lot of ways. I don’t think that’s what will hold Pete back, if I’m being honest.”
“I know it won’t,” I assure her. “What will hold him back is his age, and that’s about it.”
“Well.” Sophie sighs as we walk through the door to the parking lot. “How can I help?”
During the first week of March, another blast of winter blows through, dumping two feet of snow on the city. I’m standing on the basketball court with Pete and a couple other students, stacking giant snowballs.
As I prop the third ball at the top, I see Sophie walking across the yard, something orange in her hands.
“Someone told me there was a snowman contest today so I brought adornments,” she says, holding up two carrots.
“Two?” I ask, my eyes automatically going lower on the snowman.
When I look back up at her she rolls her eyes. “Men,” she mouths. “I brought a nose for each team.”
“You brought full carrots to work with you today?”
She laughs, the sound tinkling through the air like sleigh bells. She reminds me of that Disney princess. I almost expect cartoon rodents to appear.
“No, I had some time, and Jess mentioned what was happening this afternoon so I ran out to grab some.”
I gesture at the head. “Go for it.”
Sophie steps in front of me and twists the carrot into place. “You know what this snowman needs? A Twiz?—”
“Twizzler,” I finish and earn a big smile.
“You remember that?” she asks with wide eyes.
“Hard not to. My best friend ate half of them that night, and Cass was distraught the next morning when she discovered half the mouth missing.”
Her eyes widen further. “It was you?”
“I just said it was my friend.” I laugh, flicking snow at her.
She doesn’t flinch, just steps closer. “You swore you didn’t know what happened though. You swore on your PlayStation if I remember correctly.”
I stand my ground, even though the smell of her hair hits me so hard I’d be wise to step away. “I really liked my PlayStation.” I grin down at her. “I recall you liked it too.” There were many nights that ended with Sophie and me on the basement couch, the sound of rapid clicking, grunts of frustration, and hushed celebrations the only evidence that we were down there.
We stand like that for a few more seconds until the sound of laughter breaks us apart. Pete is flat on his back giggling like a mad man. “I slipped,” he squeals.
“You sure did,” I laugh, walking over and helping him up. “You good though?”
“I’m grrrrrreat!” he cackles as he slips his left arm back through the ring on his crutch.
When I look back to where Sophie was, I see her back as she walks to the next snowman and pulls another carrot out of her pocket.