7. Sean
Ididn’t mean to almost kiss her, but I also didn’t stop myself. I set up my pucks and go down the line. Astrid was minding her own business, icing her ankle, and I’m the idiot that almost kissed her.
“Jesus,” Cory says, pulling off his helmet. “What’s gotten into you?” His stare pierces me, but I choose to ignore it.
I tap my stick against the ice. “Working something out,” I say. It is true. Practice ended half an hour ago but I’m still out on the ice, and the thing I’m trying to work out is Astrid. Since that day helping her move, I haven’t been able to get her pretty little face out of my head.
Or the way she watched my lips as if hoping for a kiss.
“Well save some of that for the scrimmage next week, idiot.” He skates over to me and slaps my shoulder.
I line the pucks up again. And again.
I don’t stop until hands hurt. I also take extra time in the shower. It’s become a part of my routine. I turn the water on as cold as it will go, rolling back my shoulders as a bit of the tension releases. It helps. But it never seems to release everything.
That feeling has been building for a while now.
Violet and Astrid have spent a good deal of time together this week. I wasn’t sure at first how it’d be to work with older kids and then someone Violet’s age. Kids can be a lot. Especially when the kid isn’t yours. But they get along well. And Astrid says it’s a nice change of pace to spend time with her instead of her high school students.
I can see bits of that teacher mentality. It has only been a few days, but I think having Astrid around the house has made some improvements. For one, Violet seems happier, less closed off, less quiet. Less like me. And when she’s happier, she does a better job at remembering to put away her toys when she’s done playing with them, which means I’ve had fewer early mornings stepping on stray Legos.
Being busy has meant that I haven’t seen much of Astrid either. Probably part of the building tension that knots beneath my skin.
I haven’t brought up our almost-kiss since it happened. I wanted to give her space at first, and now it seems too silly to bring it up. Maybe she didn’t notice. Or, maybe to her it didn’t mean anything. And that’s fine. Definitely fine. As long as she isn’t mad.
I don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it is. So I’ve just never brought it up again, which has been easy since the high schoolers started classes and Astrid has been working a lot. We haven’t really had much time together, but it’s cordial. She’ll say hi in passing, tell me if she needs anything. But otherwise, she acts as if everything is normal.
And everything is definitely normal.
But I have the weekend off. As nice as that sounds, it means that we’ll be home together.
I close my locker and pack up my stuff, throwing on my hoodie. The locker room is empty now, I think even Cory is long gone. The only sound that I can hear is the sound of the Zamboni on the ice, just outside the player’s tunnel. I suppose I don’t have a choice but to go home now.
And this is Victoria’s weekend, so Violet won’t be home.
It is for that reason only that I choose to push back the drop-off time tonight. I said I wanted to have dinner with Violet, and that’s not a lie, I do.
But I also want that buffer. Not for me, but for Astrid.
The less time we spend alone the better… right?
“Daddy!” Violet yells from across the front yard as the school bus drives away. She runs right into my outstretched arms.
I lift her into the air and spin her around, making her giggle uncontrollably.
“How was school?” I ask, carrying her inside.
“I had so much fun, we had art today.” She takes off running to the table in the kitchen when I set her down.
I watch as she climbs onto the stool and unzips her backpack on the table.
“Why don’t you unpack over there,” I tell her, pointing to the living room. “We’re about to have dinner.”
She climbs down and does as I ask. She’s a good kid. She doesn’t really complain, those aren’t the kinds of problems I deal with as a parent. In some ways, that makes me feel very lucky. Her worst behavior is that she forgets to put things away or gets distracted. Judging by most parents’ struggles, I have it easy.
But that just means that the problems I do have with Violet are more serious. The silent kind. Like when she goes a long time without wanting to talk. Or when she doesn’t like to play with the other kids, when she stops wanting to socialize.
All the problems she’s inherited from me.
So days like this, when she comes home from school all excited, I make sure to be as engaged as possible, even as I stick the pre-made casserole into the oven and start preparing a side salad.
I hear the garage door open and then close, telling me that Astrid is home now too.
“Hi,” Astrid’s voice calls from the hallway a moment later.
My heart beats a little faster. “We’re in here,” I say, loudly, so that she’ll hear me. “We’re getting dinner ready.” I hate the way I can feel my pulse beat beneath my skin.
“And Dad, we did book reports in class,” Violet continues talking from the living room.
I listen to every word she says as I set up for dinner, setting out three plates and three sets of silverware.
“And Dad,” she says, nearly breathless from her nonstop monologue, “the teacher said it was the best book report in the class.”
“Violet, that’s great. I’m so proud of you.”
Violet smiles, taking a seat at the table. “Astrid helped me.” She looks over to Astrid, who’s just walked into the room.
“Oh?” I look over at Astrid, but she just shrugs.
“It was Violet that put it all together.” She looks at Violet with so much pride.
I didn’t realize they had bonded so much.
“Thank you,” I whisper to her as I set down her plate. I don’t know what to make of this. Astrid helped her. My chest swells. “I uh, I know Violet likes you, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to do that. I know you spend all day helping kids…” I don’t know how to communicate my gratitude so that’s all I can come up with.
“It is alright. We had fun.” She beams.
That constriction in my chest tightens around my heart.
“I like helping her. She’s so smart.”
“She is, isn’t she? I think she gets it from me.”
Astrid rolls her eyes, but that smile stays on her face.
We eat dinner with continued commentary of school. I like to listen to Violet, but I don’t always know what questions to ask. I want her to take pride in being smart, but I don’t want to make it seem like that’s the only way I’ll be proud of her. She is really smart though. It’s a delicate balance encouraging her while also letting her know that it is okay to fail at something or even change her mind at what she likes.
Its hard in general to be a parent. I run a hand through my hair.
Thank god for Astrid. She seems to know what to say and allows me the chance to just nod and agree with her or listen to her questions. And she goes out of her way to better understand her world.
I can’t remember the last time I even helped Violet with a project.
Maybe I could be doing better. I move around my food with my fork. Am I not doing enough for Violet? Self-doubt pushes through my mental barrier the moment I entertain it.
“Do you have any more homework, princess?” I could start making a better effort to check in on that. She’s just usually so self-determined, I guess I don’t think to ask.
“No, I finished it all,” she says. Of course she did.
“Do you want me to look over anything?” I ask, hopeful.
“That’s okay, Dad. Astrid already helped me.” She smiles, her big brown eyes look happy, melting a bit of my unease.
But not enough of it. I stab at piece of broccoli. Am I letting my child down?
Astrid shoots me a questioning look, but I pretend not to see it. I’m not sure what I’m feeling exactly. And I definitely don’t want to talk about it.
“Astrid,” Violet says, dragging Astrid’s attention away from me. I take a sip of my water, trying to erase the sour taste in my mouth. No, this is silly. I’m glad Astrid is helping, and that Violet likes her so much. I wanted that. I wanted someone who would love her and take care of her when the season got busy. That’s why I hired her in the first place.
I just didn’t know that I would feel replaced so quickly.
There’s a lull in conversation as our forks scrape against the plates. It’s tense, but I think it’s only that way to me. I stab another piece of broccoli into my mouth and swallow.
“How was your day, Astrid?” I ask, trying my best to reengage. I know I’m overthinking everything and that I just need to get outside of myself. I shake my head. It’s hard to stop once it’s started. And no amount of self-awareness is going to help it go away in this moment. I must’ve not gotten enough sleep last night or something.
“It was good. It’s spirit week at school,” she says. She shrugs and stares at her plate.
“That sounds… fun.” I don’t know what else to say, she doesn’t really give me anything to go off of, and I’m not exactly great at making small talk. The only people I usually interact with are my teammates or Violet.
“How’s practice?” she asks me. She glances over at me and then away, grabbing her water.
“Good.” I move another piece of broccoli onto a cut of chicken. “Just excited to see how we stack up.”
“I saw a butterfly at recess today,” Violet interrupts the silence. “I drew a picture of it, do you want to see?” She starts to push back her chair.
“After dinner,” I say softly, trying to toe the line of not discouraging her while also keeping her focused.
That doesn’t stop her from explaining what she drew, though. Violet’s little voice carries us through the rest of dinner.
It’s nice to hear her so animated. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk so much. She must’ve had a really good day. And that makes me feel good. I worry about her sometimes. She’s quiet, like me, most of the time. I know how hard I had it in school. I want better for her.
Violet talks so much though that she doesn’t finish her plate. Most of the chicken in her casserole is left untouched, and that’s usually her favorite part.
“No dessert if you can’t finish your plate,” I tell her, standing to clear some of the dishes. She does this when she gets these bursts of excitement. She forgets to eat and then crashes, and sugar will just make it worse.
Astrid gets up behind me to help. She steps beside me at the sink. “You really shouldn’t say that,” she whispers.
“What?” She smells so good. Floral but something more. I want to breathe her in.
“It’s not good to make kids eat past when they’re full.”
My jaw ticks as I realize what she’s said. I have to bite back my comment. Here I am, trying to be a good dad, watching what I say, thinking that Astrid is so helpful, and all she’s doing is judging me.
“Do you think I don’t know how to parent my own daughter?” The words come out more harshly than I intend.
She winces. “That’s not what I’m saying?—”
“Is it because you think a single dad couldn’t understand how to raise a girl?” My jaw ticks. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone has said that to me.
“That’s not what this is at all.” She seems to instinctively move her hand out towards my arm, and then rethinks it. “There are tons of studies on this. But regardless, my intention isn’t to hurt you.” She chews on the inside of her cheek. “This is my job.”
I snort. “I respect you, Astrid. I think that you are very smart. But your master’s degree is not in early childhood development, so please, don’t tell me that you know more than I do about my own child.”
“Sean, listen.” This time she does touch me; I imagine so that I won’t walk away. “I’m not trying to tell you to do anything. I’m just informing you that childhood eating habits determine their adult relationship with food and as a little girl, it’s super important to create a positive environment at home, since the world might not.” She glances back at Violet.
I’m not used to being challenged, but I don’t think I’m wrong. But even if I was, I won’t back down. Even if a part of me understands that what she is saying makes sense. I don’t want to do to my daughter what I saw Victoria struggle with. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I know that I’m taking everything that has happened tonight personally, but I can’t shake the feeling.
I’m Violet’s father. I’m her parent.
“All I’m saying is, I wish my parents would have let me decide if I was full or not. It taught me to overeat, past the point of hunger. It is a hard thing to unlearn.”
I don’t disagree. I don’t necessarily agree either. And I’m not sure that going forward, my parenting style is something that I would like to talk about. I don’t think I’m ready to share this part of my life with anyone. Not even Astrid.
That’s exactly why I don’t need to get close. It is never good to mix business life with personal life. There is too much that can go wrong.
“I have to take Violet to her mom,” I say, eventually.
Astrid takes a step back, looking hurt. “Sean,” she hesitates. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
But I don’t have it in me to continue this conversation now. If I do, I know I’ll say something I regret. And that won’t help either of us.
Astrid’s eyes glaze over, and I realize she didn’t mean to hurt me, and that her emotion is a sign that she cares how I feel too. “I’m really sorry.”
I sigh, not wanting to leave this conversation like this, but still upset. “If you’re awake, we can talk more about parenting methods when I get home.”
Her face is stricken. I know my words hurt, but I can’t find it in myself to apologize now. I just need to remove myself before I make it any worse.
“Sean—” Her voice trails off as I walk away.
“I know. You’re sorry. We can talk later.”