Chapter 4
Chapter Four
JOSH
My mom got a little too excited when I announced that I’d be taking Percy to Playgroup a couple mornings a week going forward, which has me worried that running around after an almost-two-year-old is harder than they’d expected. My parents volunteered to take over as primary caregivers so I could go back to work, but I know all too well that summer days taking care of kids can be long ones. They are young grandparents, and in great shape, but I’ll be the first to admit that my kids are a lot.
I’m also a little worried that I won’t be able to get through the class without embarrassing myself. That my attraction to this program’s leader will be all too obvious. So, for the entire drive from our house to the Parks and Rec center, I give both me and my son a pep talk.
“I bet it’ll be fun to play with other kids your age, Percy.”
As he whacks the back of the seat with a stuffie, Percy shouts, “Pay!”
Good reminder, Josh. You’ll pay in more ways than one if you screw up this job just because you can’t keep your lust in check.
The toy goes flying into the front seat just as I pull into a parking spot. Before he can let out a howl of disappointment, I ask, “Ready to play with new toys?”
I learned pretty early on that one of the secrets to living with little kids is distraction followed by redirection. He’s still chanting something that sounds vaguely like “new toy” as I unbuckle his car seat. Since we’re running late, I scoop him into my arms. “Run?”
“Wun!”
I located the Playgroup classroom after my meeting with Leia—not that I was hoping to run into Avery, just making sure I knew where to go—and I sprint down the hall toward it now, with Percy giggling in my arms. The door is closing as we approach, so I call out, “Wait, please!”
Instead of opening the door wider, the woman of my dreams steps into the hall. When she sees me, she closes it firmly behind her, giving me a look like, What do you want?
“I’m here for the class,” I say, a little breathless.
“Cass!” Percy shouts.
She flinches, like she hadn’t noticed the toddler on my hip, but then her narrowed gaze zeroes back in on me. “What? Did you rent a kid so you could spy on me?”
“I, uh—” I falter, wondering if she really thinks I’d rent a kid. “I’m not here for work. I’m here to take part in the class. This is my son.”
An entire movie’s worth of emotion plays across her face as her eyes shift between my little guy and me, but I’m not sure if it’s a rom-com or a disaster film.
“I suppose you do look alike.” Her tone and expression remain stiff until she turns to my son, and then it’s all sunshine and rainbows. “What’s your name, friend?”
“Pussy.”
She blinks slowly. “Your name is… Pussy?”
“It’s Per cy.” I clear my throat. “He’s still, uh, working on his R ’s.”
She swallows a laugh, but I don’t manage to squelch mine.
Avery crouches until she’s nose to nose with my son. “Are you named after Percy Jackson?”
As Percy nods vigorously, I shake my head no. “It’s a family name on his mom’s side.”
Before I can explain our family situation, the door behind her opens suddenly and a panicked woman whispers, “Avery, we’ve got a blowout.”
Avery grimaces. “Let me guess. Theo?”
When the woman nods, Avery just turns up the wattage on her smile. “Good thing the weather’s nice.”
Moments later, everyone but Avery, Theo, and Theo’s caregiver has moved outside so that a poopy mess can be cleaned up in the playroom. As the toddlers run around the small, fenced-in yard, the other parents introduce themselves to me.
“You play tennis?” Another dad in the group, a broad-shouldered guy with a close-cut Afro, holds out his hand. “Paul Coleman. We’re always looking for players in the league.”
“I do, but probably not as well as you,” I say, trying not to wince while his hand crushes mine. “You’ve got quite a grip there.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Give me your number.” He looks up from his phone. “Unless you play pickleball.”
I have a feeling there’s a right and wrong answer here, but I just give him the truth and hope for the best. “Uh, no. I don’t.”
He brushes an exaggerated Whew across his brow. “I’ll get you on the roster.”
“That’d be great. I’m new to the area and don’t know many people. I have to work around my kids’ schedules, but if you’re okay with that…”
“I got you. My wife’s the one with the big salary too.”
“I’m a widower,” I explain. “So it’s just me.”
“Oh my goodness,” one of the moms says, appearing next to me. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. It’s been tough, but we’re getting through it. My parents have been a big help.”
“It’s good you have their support.” Another mom steps up, tipping her chin at Percy. “Is he your only child?”
“I have a little girl too. She’ll be in first grade in the fall.”
I’m saved from further interrogation by a squabble on the climbing structure. By the time that’s settled, Avery has returned.
“Theo and his granddad went home to clean up,” she says. “It’s still a bit fragrant inside, so I think we’ll stay out here.”
The children flock around Avery like cartoon birds and mice around Cinderella. At her instruction, they plop down crisscross applesauce, and she does an admirable job of getting them to sit without squirming too much, or, as in the case of Percy, sitting too close to his neighbors. I follow the parents to a couple of picnic benches nearby.
“I’m so happy to see you all today!” Avery says, her expression as cheery as her tone. “I’m happy to see Liam and Amelia and Olivia and Samar and Naomi. And the newest member of Playgroup, Percy.”
She sweeps her gaze over all of the kids as she says, “Can everyone say hello to welcome Percy?”
A chorus of Hello, Pussys has me wondering if we should start calling Percy by his middle name.
Avery claps her hands together. “First, we’ll read three stories. Then we’ll have building time before snack. After that, we’ll learn a new game. Then we’ll have more free play before it’s time to go home.”
After catching nods and “okays” from only two children and one adult, she adds, “Can I see hands for everyone who heard the plan?”
It takes a bit of prodding but once everyone either raises a hand or gives her a verbal confirmation, Avery whips a stack of books out of a bag behind her little chair.
She doesn’t use puppets or a felt board. All she seems to need is a musical voice and expert storytelling skills to keep them enthralled through three entire picture books. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Percy sit still for so long without being constrained by a high chair or booster seat. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fully entranced too.
After the stories, Paul and another dad haul a box of cardboard bricks outside and Avery suggests that we all join in the fun. Some child-parent pairs work together easily, and some require gentle coaching from Avery to avoid a power struggle or a tantrum. I’m not surprised when Percy is more excited about knocking a tower down than building it. I’m even a bit proud that, instead of getting frustrated, I turn it into a game. By the fifth tower, Percy and a little girl count along with me as I stack the blocks before they kick them over.
Just as I’m running out of silly things to do with the blocks, like attempts at juggling or wearing one as a hat, Avery brings out a tray with cups of juice and little bowls of graham crackers. She checks to make sure Percy doesn’t have any food allergies before getting the kids settled at a child-sized picnic table.
While the kids snack and the adults socialize, I find myself wondering if doing more parent-child activities would’ve made Lisa’s postpartum depression easier to manage. Or if I’d been home more instead of practically living at the office, we could have participated together. Before I can get too maudlin, the hour and fifteen minutes is up, and Avery’s waving goodbye to the class at the gate.
So far, it seems that Avery’s level of expertise is exceptional. Much higher than what you’d expect from looking at her resume. Unfortunately, the cost of running this playgroup is so high, it’ll take some doing to justify keeping it.
I do hope this won’t be its last summer.
And if it has to be cut, I really hope it won’t be me who has to drop the axe.