Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Penelope
I lead the way to our seats for the end-of-the-year talent show. Most know Decker is part of our friend group, but they don’t know the secret we’ve been keeping. As much as I want to hold his hand or have him place his hand on the small of my back, that isn’t our reality yet.
We settle into our seats and are the annoying people who throw my purse and our coats across the seats around us, claiming spaces for everyone. Decker sits two seats away from me to help claim our row.
I’m still not sure if Hazel knows about Decker and me, but she held both our hands the entire time on the way to and from Portillo’s the other night.
And when we got there, she wouldn’t let me sit on her side of the booth, saying she wanted it all to herself.
Decker took full advantage, sliding his hand under the table and running it up and down my thigh throughout dinner.
By the time Hazel went to bed, I was a needy mess, and I had to have him even though it had to be fast and with limited clothing removal. It was still hot as hell.
“We’re here!” Easton waves, coming down the row holding Ellis’s baby carrier.
“You let him hold the baby?” Decker asks Callie. He takes the carrier and talks in a baby voice to his niece, telling her how much he missed her.
“He’s looking for single moms. Thought the baby would endear them to him.” Callie rolls her eyes as she comes down the row. We all slide over to make room.
Decker puts Ellis on the seat next to him, sitting next to me.
Callie slides past Easton.
“Hey, I’ll take care of her,” Easton says.
“Go find someone else’s baby to bait women with.”
Foster moves in next to Callie. “I don’t understand why we have to be here. We’ll have to endure these things with Ellis for years.”
“Because they’re our nieces and nephew.” Callie bats her eyes at him.
“I can understand a recital, but I’ve seen Monroe’s dance routine. I’ve seen the hula hoop routine. I’ve seen Lincoln do his magic trick or whatever he’s doing.”
Callie pats him on the leg. “Well, just think how many times someone might say, ‘I’ve seen Foster Davis pitch, it’s not all that impressive.’”
“Point made.” He turns to Decker. “She ready?”
How fast he shifts his stance these days still amazes me. Back in college, it was near impossible to change his mind on anything. Must be the Callie effect.
Hayes and Leighton join us with Lake, who sits at the end of the aisle, scrolling through her phone.
“Hi, Lake, such a pleasure to have you join us this evening.” Easton embarks on conversing first.
She’s a typical teenager now, so you never know what you’re gonna get. Where we all handle her with kid gloves since she can snap like a hungry bear, Easton seems to go with “How fast can I piss her off?”
“Not today,” Hayes says before whispering something in Lake’s ear.
Lake dramatically leans forward. “Hi, Easton, how are you this evening? I hope you’re well.” She smacks on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
Leighton sighs. “Good luck, all.”
“I’m only having boys,” Easton says, and we all stare at him.
Decker takes the bait. “You can’t control that.”
“The sex is determined by the dad. I’m only giving the Y chromosome.”
Leighton rolls her eyes. Hayes is still talking to Lake in a quiet voice, but she doesn’t seem to be having any of it.
“Good luck, buddy.” Foster pulls out his wallet. “I’ve got twenty on him having five girls.”
“I’m in. But I bet one boy sneaks in there,” Decker says.
Hayes passes a twenty down to Foster. “I bet he’s got nine kids like his dad’s family and all girls just because he kept trying for that boy.”
Everyone laughs except Easton. “You guys are assholes.”
The lights dim a bit, signaling that the talent show is about to start, and we all quiet down. But when the lights go down completely and the spotlight hits the stage, my anxiety ramps up.
“You’re strangling your program,” Decker whispers in my ear.
“I am not.” I look at the program crinkled in my hands.
His light laugh reaches my ears.
The seat next to me is still empty. It’s not like my dad to ever say he can come and not show up, especially when it involves Hazel. He’s always reliable where she’s concerned.
Decker sits the way he does all the time—shoulders back, no indication of discomfort, perfectly at peace. He’s wearing a navy Henley and jeans. Nothing special, but still my body yearns to be touched by him.
“Stop stressing. She’s ready,” he says softly.
“I know she’s ready.”
“Then why are you—”
“Because I’m her mother, and she’s seven, and she wants this, and I want this for her.” I stop and look at him. “What if…”
“She did it perfectly twelve times yesterday.”
“She did it twelve times in my backyard. Not on a stage with all her peers and parents watching her.”
“She’s gonna be fine either way.”
I widen my eyes at him.
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs.
The principal makes an announcement about the hard work all the kids have put in, then the show starts.
We watch two piano pieces, a magic act that involves a suspicious amount of parental assistance, two sisters do a dance routine, and Lincoln’s friend Micah plays the harmonica.
His other friend, Bodhi, does a jump rope routine that’s truly impressive.
I clap for all of them. Our row goes crazy for Monroe’s dance routine and Lincoln’s juggling with baseballs using his glove.
As the acts move on, my heart rate climbs.
When the principal announces Hazel, I nearly stop breathing. Decker’s hand slides into mine, and he squeezes.
The curtain at the side of the stage parts, and she walks onto the stage in the outfit we picked together—white shorts, the pink top I had to change from the sequined one she originally wanted after she decided the sequins interfered too much with the spinning hoop.
Her hair is in the two braids Decker complimented when he came to walk us to the school, and she was pleased he noticed.
She’s carrying the hoop at her side, and she surveys the audience with those serious eyes, I know she’s looking for us.
I raise my hand with the hopes she sees, and it sets her at ease.
She finds me in the crowd. Her eyes shift to Decker, and the anxiety slides off her face. Can I really be surprised he has the same effect on my daughter as he does on me?
The song she picked plays, the one I have heard approximately 473 times. As she starts the hoop, my breathing stops. I can hold it for the two minutes of her routine, I’m sure of it.
She’s good. I know this, I’ve watched it every night for weeks, but she’s good in a way that is different with the lights on her and music filling the auditorium.
The waist rotation is clean, fluid. She looks like a natural.
I’m already relaxing and ready to clap and whistle and jump up on that stage and hug her. Okay, I won’t do that, but I want to.
Then the hoop gets to her neck.
And it drops.
My hand goes limp in Decker’s. “No,” I whisper.
“It’s okay, she’s good.”
I want to turn to him and say no she isn’t. She’s embarrassed, and I’m going to go get her and hold her and let her cry and tell her she never has to do anything like this again.
Hazel stands with the hoop on the stage floor, and the music keeps going. For one very long second, she stares at it. I could very well see her tossing it into the audience and saying she’s done.
Instead, she steps into it again, looks to the side stage, and the music stops and restarts.
She gets it to her chest. And I watch her do the thing—the release, the trust, the getting out of her own way—and the hoop spins around her neck for the full four rotations. Decker cups his mouth and whoops for her.
“Goldie, calm down there,” Easton says.
Decker doesn’t respond, and I glance at him and the look in his eyes. As if he already considers her his. It undoes something in me.
I don’t try to stop what’s happening in my chest. I gave up managing that somewhere around the night he walked through my front door.
Hazel finishes her routine. She catches the hoop at her neck, pulls it down to her hip and holds her bow—the full three-second dramatic curtsy she added herself—and claps ring through the auditorium.
She walks off stage, and Decker leans in. “Our girl did good. I’m so proud of her.”
I want to kiss him, to hug him, but all I say is, “Me too.”
Someone turns around and says how great it was that she didn’t give up and just tried again, and Decker sings her praises like a proud dad.
I guess in a way, he’s on his way there.
I really need to send that email tomorrow.