Chapter 39
Seth
She looks ridiculous tiptoeing out of the room to check on Jasmine. I told her Jasmine would sleep for another eight hours, but Layla insisted on checking on her. I hope she doesn’t wake her. If that happens, we’re both screwed for the next few hours.
I hop out of bed, still naked, to go warn her, but my worries are unnecessary. She’s hunched over the crib and slowly covering Jasmine with one of her pink fuzzy blankets. Once she’s done, she kisses her fingertips and gently presses her fingers to my daughter’s chubby cheeks. Jasmine doesn’t stir, but something inside of me does.
She frowns when she sees me standing there watching her. I snicker and gesture at her. She’s in nothing but that ugly floral shirt and one sock. The shirt isn’t even buttoned. She looks down at herself and shrugs.
She leaves Jasmine’s room and goes into the suite while I return to bed. She comes back a few minutes later with a tray of strawberries and pineapple and two water bottles. I take it from her, and she takes off that hideous shirt and slides back into bed.
“This is the life,” she says a few minutes later. “This has been the best vacation.”
“Really? Even though we have a baby with us?”
She shrugs and says, “The cutest baby. She doesn’t bother me. I love having her around.”
“You’re not so bad either,” I say to her. She looks up at me in surprise and blushes.
“Um, whatever,” she says. She shoves a strawberry in her mouth and looks away. I lift the tray and set it on the lamp table next to me and inch closer to her.
“Why are you so uncomfortable with compliments?”
“You’re not so bad either is not a compliment,” she says, crossing her arms. She still won’t look at me. I move closer to her, and she moves away. She moves until she’s at the edge of the bed. If she moves another inch, she’ll fall.
She shrieks when I pull her and put her on top of me. I wrap my arms around her, keeping her in place.
“Shh,” I warn, and she quiets down. She looks up, with the blush spread across her cheeks like a blanket. Her eyes meet mine, and I channel what Coach or Chastain would say to their wives. “You’re pretty, and I love that mole on your face.” I move one hand and touch her cheek. “Your lips are soft and sweet.” I lean up and press mine to hers. She makes no attempts to move away. “And you already know how I feel about that fat booty.” I slap it and she manages to move out of my arms.
“You ruined the moment,” she sighs.
“I’m serious. I like being with you,” I say. She’s the first person I’ve ever said that aloud to. “Come here.” I pat the spot next to me and she comes and rests her head on my shoulder. “Can I ask you something?” I ask. “And be honest. Spousal privilege.” I hold out my pinky and she looks at it.
“Only if I get to ask you questions too.”
When I nod in agreement, she wraps her pinky around mine.
“You’re really beautiful and kind,” I begin. I feel her tense next to me, but she remains quiet. “You are. So, what I don’t understand is why you were still a virgin at twenty-two?”
“What’s the big deal about that?” she asks. “Not everyone loves to spread it around.”
“I didn’t say anything about spreading it around. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” When she shakes her head no, I ask, “Why not? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“According to you, you’ve never had a girlfriend. What difference does it make?” she asks. Since I don’t want to have another conversation about my past whoring, I remain quiet. “I was scared about getting pregnant,” she finally confesses. “A couple of my friends from high school got pregnant junior year. It was a mess. One of them got kicked out and moved in with us for a little while. At least until my mom went to her house and tore a new asshole on her parents. They came and took her home. Both of the guys ghosted them. I didn’t want that to happen to me. I figured the best way was to stay away from the opposite sex. Besides, my parents were always fighting, and I didn’t want that either.”
“Okay. I get it,” I say slowly.
“And I was in school and working, so I didn’t have time. I only recently decided I was ready. I had a couple of dates, but they all sucked,” she admits. “How come you never decided to give someone a chance?”
“Are you kidding? And what? Take her home to meet my father? Can you imagine that? No way.” I tighten my arm around her and kiss her forehead. “And you didn’t see the dump we lived in before. It was a shitty trailer, and my father was practically a hoarder.”
“You took me home to meet him.”
“Yeah, but we were already married. If you had met him before, you would have run screaming. I wouldn’t blame you. If I ever turn into him, I want you to take Jasmine and leave.”
“You know your father likely experienced some sort of trauma, right? Something happened, and it probably happened outside, according to Google. Have you experienced any trauma?” she asks.
She says the same thing the shrink I saw said. I remember snorting and waving my hand away.
“My entire fucking childhood is a trauma,” I remind her.
“I’m talking about one life-altering event.”
“My most life-changing event was leaving that shitty trailer. I wish I had it in me to never look back. Leave him and it behind.”
“Well, you don’t. You’re doing the best you can.” She moves from my chest and looks into my eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Our last day in LA is spent lounging in the hotel pool and napping in the big bed together as a family. With the three-hour time difference between New York and California, it’s after five when we land in New York. The city is rainy and traffic-jammed, and by the time we make it to our apartment, it’s almost seven o’clock and everyone is cranky, tired, and hungry.
Layla feeds Jasmine a snack and bathes her while I cooked us dinner. Normally, I would have had to do both, and because Jasmine was hungry, it would have been a nightmare. Now that she’s clean and not hangry, my little girl is happily playing in the corner with her toys while I continue to cook. Layla has set the table, and when the food is done the three of us eat shrimp and chicken tacos like any other family. At least that’s what I think other families do. Either way, I want this to become our norm. I want to eat dinner with my wife and daughter every night, and on those nights when I’m traveling for work, I plan on video calls so we can still eat together. Even if I’m hundreds or thousands of miles away. I know this is what Chastain does when we’re traveling.
Once dinner is done, Layla changes Jasmine again and then helps me clear the table and load the dishwasher.
“That was fun,” she says. “I love LA.” She almost sighs.
“We should take a honeymoon,” I suggest before thinking.
“Really?” Her eyes widen in awe. “Like to Europe?”
“Is that where you want to go?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to London,” she says. “And Paris. I saw this movie once that took place in Milan and that looked nice. So did Barcelona and—”
“Whoa,” I say, cutting her off. “We’ll have Jasmine so we can’t do too much. Pick two cities and we’ll go. I have some time before training camp.”
I wait for her to be disappointed at having to take Jasmine. That’s one of the things Chastain warned me about a few months ago. He and Vickie sat me down and told me to be careful who I bring around my daughter. Coach gave me a similar lecture, but Chastain told me about a specific issue he had before he met his wife.
“Oh, I know,” she says. I hold my breath and wait for her to suggest we leave Jasmine with her mother and cousin. “I’ll ask Vickie for recommendations. She’s always finding the most amazing kid-friendly resorts.” She claps her hands and grins from ear to ear. I exhale in relief at not having to shut down any thoughts of leaving my daughter behind. Unless I’m working, she goes where I go. Layla runs to me and grabs my collar. “You think we can fly first class?” Her eyes widen as she waits.
I nod slowly at her.
“Yes!” she says before she hugs me. Then she cups my face, gets on her toes, and kisses me. She ends the kiss much too fast, and I have no time to wrap my arms around her. “Come on, Jazzy Girl.” She goes and picks up my daughter. “Let’s go read some books. We’re going to read every night now.”
“Go take a break or something,” Stella Jackson says to me. She lifts Jasmine up and kisses her cheek. “Let me have some grandma time. When Grandma’s here, you can go and do your own thing.” She lets out a big sigh. “My ex-husband is with Mom today. I didn’t have the energy to cuss his ass out. I need a break from that depressing place.” Gaga was discharged from the hospital and went to rehab the day we flew to California. “But go,” she waves me off, “I need a night not to think about that, and making dinner here is just the distraction I need.”
Jasmine bounces in her arms. She even grabs one of her locks and yanks, but Stella barely flinches.
“You’ll need me here with her while you cook,” I tell her. There are plenty of nights that I cook with her following me around the kitchen.
“Boy, please. This ain’t nothing. Go get some air or go take a nap. I’ve got this. All parents need a break sometimes.”
She’s not wrong. It’s been nice having Layla here. In no time at all, we started working as a team. Either I cook while she takes care of Jasmine, or she’ll cook while I have her. We take turns bathing her each night, or we do it together. She reads to her, and they practice their letters. When we put her down to sleep, Layla sings off-key, and I laugh while I stick my fingers in my ears.
“I’ll take you up on that,” I tell her. I stand, kiss her cheek, and say goodbye to my daughter. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I close the door behind me before Jasmine starts to cry or before Stella changes her mind. I remain behind the door and wait for her to cry, but all I hear are Stella’s high-pitched voice and Jasmine’s coos.