Chapter 13
Thirteen
Wyatt’s hair tickles my chin and cheek, his head resting against my collarbone as he sits on my lap. He’s almost too big for this. But I’ll let him sit here as long as he wants to. Sure, twenty-seven-year-old Wyatt, come sit on Aunt Maggie’s lap.
I pause my reading and, per usual, Wyatt lifts his hand, turning the page of our book. This dog-turned-cop is Wyatt’s favorite. Lieutenant Ruff is on his way to a party for the captain of the police department, and he’s bringing her dog bones.
Wyatt giggles. “She is a lady. She isn’t going to like that.”
“I think you’re right,” I tell him.
But before I can start into the next paragraph, Wyatt’s tilting his head to peer up at me. “Aunt Maggie, can I have a special guest at my birthday party?”
Wyatt’s birthday is in two weeks—we haven’t even talked about a party.
“Um… sure.” I guess we’ll be having a party, then. And I could probably pay some kid to dress up like Superman or Spiderman or whoever Wyatt’s thinking of. Messi might be a little more difficult…
“Yes!” he says, pumping his little fist in the air. And I pray it isn’t actually Messi he wants at his party. He’ll know a fake the second he sees one.
All at once, my pulse races. “We should check with your mom. And it probably depends on the special guest. Lieutenant Ruff might be away on assignment.” I run my fingers over his side, making him squirm.
His head lifts, bobbing me right in the chin. Ouch. It’s all fun and games until Aunt Maggie gets smacked in the chin. Wyatt doesn’t seem to notice; besides, I am the one who tickled him.
I rub a hand over my chin and cheek, grinding my teeth that were just knocked together.
“He’s not real.” Wyatt giggles. He beams up at me.
“Ohhhh. He’s not? Are you sure?”
Wyatt wiggles off my lap, sitting cross-legged on the couch next to me. He shakes his head no, his bright smile telling me how silly I am. “I want someone real to come,” he says, turning to face me.
Crap. Anyone but Messi. I could never make that happen.
“Who were you thinking?”
He bounces in place. “A soccer player!”
Snap.
“Oh.” My brows pinch. Even if I knew Messi, I can’t be asking soccer players to do favors for me. That definitely doesn’t fall under the category of unbiased. “I’m—I’m not sure I can do that, bud. There are rules.”
His blond brows lift in disbelief. “But you’re Aunt Maggie.”
Forget Messi. His faith in me makes me want to bring Pelé back from the dead. “My job makes it tricky. Understand?”
His face screws up, eyes closed, mouth pursed, and he shrugs. “That’s okay. Tricky is your specialty.”
Heaven help me. I don’t get to reply or explain that I don’t know every soccer player out there, and even if I did, I could lose my job if I started socializing with players. Nope, the front door opens, and a very dreamy-looking Lindy steps inside.
Ugh. There’s no Brent alongside her, so I’m assuming the man an entire decade older than my sister didn’t bother walking her to the door.
“Well, hello, you two,” she says, her lips parting into a wide grin.
Wyatt bounces on his seat. “Mom!”
“Hey, Lind.” I swallow, my pulse thudding, and do my best to look normal. “How was your date?”
Wyatt wrinkles his nose—he’s pretty sure dating is weird and gross and should not be talked about. I might agree with him when it comes to Brent.
She flops into the plush chair across from the couch Wyatt and I are perched on. Her arms and legs flail out, and she peers up at the ceiling. “Dreamy.”
Wyatt looks at me, his tongue out, shaking his head.
I make a face right back just to let him know I feel the same.
“Mom! Guess what! Guess what!” He rocks in place, calling out to her until Lindy looks at him. “I want a soccer player to come to my birthday party!” Wyatt is happy to change the subject.
“Ooo,” Lindy sings, standing once more. “Lucky for you, you’ve got an aunt Maggie!”
“Yes!” my little guy shouts.
“Lindy, my job—”
“Come on, sis. It’s Wyatt. You can make this happen, right?”
I swivel my neck back to the big blue eyes of my little buddy.
My mouth has gone dry. I could invite Callum.
Callum wouldn’t say anything. We both know I won’t be biased.
He’s not the kind of person that would expect something from me.
And if I say nothing, and he says nothing, and the six kindergartners invited to the party say nothing, who will find out?
It could be fine.
Ugh. The ever-growing pit in my stomach tells me all that justification is for the birds. It’s not fine. Not one little bit. That doesn’t mean we can’t pull it off. It means we’ll be crossing a line and giving Aunt Maggie an ulcer.
“Whew. Tricky,” I repeat. “I can’t guarantee—”
“You can do it!” Wyatt says, bobbing until I’m seasick. “You’ve done it before!”
Before? Before when?
“Yeah, she can.” Lindy holds out a hand, and she and Wyatt high-five.
Wyatt grins up at me. “Okay.” He rubs his palms together. “I would like one Lucca Cruz to come eat banana cream pie with me and my friends on March twenty-sixth.”
Wait.
Lucca?
“Did you say Lucca?” I ask, hopeful that my hearing has suddenly decided to go at the ripe ol’ age of twenty-eight.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “He is my very favorite Red Tail and my Little League mentor. I want Lucca. And you got him to come to our soccer practice. You can do this, too.”
I’ve never been a lucky sort of person. Skilled, hardworking, willing to experiment with trial and error—yep. But lucky? No way.
So, of course he wants Saint Lucca at his party.
I slide Wyatt’s backpack onto his shoulders and pat him on the back, right on the dancing banana with a face on that pack. “All set,” I tell him. We’ve got four minutes until his bus arrives.
“When Lucca comes to my party, I’m going to make him his very own banana cream pie, ’cuz that guy is gonna love banana cream pie, I bet.”
I clear my throat, and Wyatt turns on his heels to face me. “That would be nice,” I say. “You know, bud, Lucca Cruz is a really busy guy. He’s got practice and games and—”
With his lips in a flat line, Wyatt gives me a head shake. “Red Tails can’t practice all day long. They’d bust their ankles. And they’re really hungry after practice, so he’ll be all ready for pie.”
I bite my inner cheek and crouch down, looking into Wyatt’s face. “I guess that’s true. But buddy, I don’t even have his number.” I shrug. “I don’t know how to contact him.”
He sets a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” Wyatt sighs, like this is a mere speed bump on his road to partying with Lucca. “You got him to the soccer fields. You can get him to my party. I know it. You’re Aunt Maggie.”
Oh boy. I really wish he’d stop saying that. “Do you know Callum Whitaker, number ten? He’s a really nice guy. I have his number. He’s the captain of the Red Tails. He scored in that game you—”
“See?” Wyatt beams. “You have his friend’s number. He’ll give you Lucca’s.”
“But Wyatt, sometimes professional players don’t like their phone numbers given out.”
He trots over to the front door. “Lucca and I are friends. He won’t mind.”
Our three-minute wait is long gone. Wyatt opens the door, and the kindergarten bus is already waiting outside our house.
I follow him out. “Have a good day, sweetie,” I say, pulling him in for a hug.
His little arms wind around my neck, and he plants a semi-sticky kiss on my cheek.
His toast with honey is the gift that keeps on giving.
With both hands on my shoulders, he pulls back to look at me.
He’s missing one tooth on the bottom row, and somehow that little gap makes him look older.
My throat aches and tightens with the thought.
“You’ve got this, Aunt Maggie. I know you do.” He nods like he is my own personal cheerleader, then takes off for the bus before his driver can honk.
I stand on the porch of my parents’ home and wave goodbye to Wyatt, who happily waves back.
I turn for the open door to see Dad watching us.
“Did Wyatt get off?” Dad’s flannel shirt is untucked, its tails lying flat over his gray sweatpants. He’s got a cup of coffee in one hand, and his gray hair is standing straight up on one side.
“Yep, he’s off.” I nod toward his mug. “Didn’t your doctor tell you to switch to herbal tea?”
“He did. But I already had a bar of soap this morning. So, I figured I’m all set.”
I smirk and hold my hand out for the mug. Dad takes one more swig before relinquishing it to me.
“Our boy’s growing up,” he says.
My heart jolts again. “He is. How can a person be so small and so big all at once?”
“When you raise somebody, they always seem bigger and older than they should.” Dad wraps one arm around me. He’s still the strong, brave father that kept me safe as a little girl—and yet he’s not. Maybe when you’re raised by somebody, they seem to become smaller than they should be.
“We’ve all cared for Wyatt.” I swallow. “I know I’m not his mom.”
Dad doesn’t answer right away. He just presses a kiss to my temple. “Your sister and your nephew are lucky to have you.”
I lean into his hold. “And you.”
“Well, that’s the truth,” Dad says, dropping his arm around me.
“What are you up to today?” I breathe in the coffee grounds and Old Spice that seem to cling to him.
“Oh, there is a cornflake in the shape of California going up for auction today. Don’t tell your mother. But I’m all over it.”
I grin. “My lips are sealed.” I’m ready to shower. I’ve got a full day of chores ahead of me, things I need to get done before Wyatt gets home.
“You’re a good girl,” Dad says. “And you are an exceptional aunt, Maggie.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“What are you planning to do about the whole soccer player at Wyatt’s party problem?”
Over the past few days, Wyatt has informed everyone that I’m getting Lucca Cruz to attend his party. I’m like a broken record that says each time, It’s tricky, bud.
I sigh. “What else can I do?” He’s the one who said I’m an exceptional aunt. I can’t be Wyatt’s mom. Even if I want to be at times. “I’m going to get Lucca Cruz to commit to Wyatt’s party.”