“Mom! We’re going to be late!” April calls from downstairs.
“Coming!” I grab my purse and head down, where April is already waiting by the door with her coat on.
She takes one look at me and stops mid-bounce. Her eyes go wide as she stares at the number that’s emblazoned on my shirt for the whole world to see.
“You’re wearing Grant’s jersey,” she says, but her tone is almost completely flat and I can’t tell how she feels about it.
My heart thumps against my ribs. This is the first of several moments I’ve been both anticipating and dreading all day. “Yeah. I am.”
“But you always wear a regular Aces shirt. You’ve never worn a player’s jersey before.”
“I know.” I take a breath and crouch down so we’re eye level. “Can we talk about something on the way to the arena?”
She nods, and her eyes go even wider.
We get in the car, and I focus on pulling out of the driveway, trying to figure out how to start this conversation. There’s no instruction manual on how to tell a nine-year-old that I’ve started dating the person we’ve both come to trust and adore.
“So,” I begin as we merge onto the main road. “You know how Grant and I have been spending a lot of time together?”
“Uh-huh.” April’s voice is careful, like she’s already guessed where this is going.
“Well, we’ve become more than just friends. We’re dating.”
Complete silence.
I glance over at her to catch her reaction, and she’s looking at me with an expression that’s way too knowing for a nine-year-old. “I already knew that.”
Now my eyes are the ones going wide. “You did?”
“Mom.” She sighs like I’m the child and she’s the adult. “I’ve known for weeks. Maybe longer.”
I blink, nearly missing my turn. “What? You have? How?”
“You smile differently when he’s around. And you laugh more. And sometimes when you think I’m not looking, you look at him the way people look at each other in movies.” She pauses. “Plus, I heard you guys talking in the kitchen that one morning. You called him something that wasn’t just his regular name.”
Oh god. What on earth did I say? I clear my throat and try to keep the rush of panic out of my voice. “What did you hear?”
“Not much. Just voices. But it was enough.” She swings her legs, completely unbothered. “Are you happy?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Are you happy? With Grant?”
I think about how good it felt to fall asleep and wake up with him still on the phone. About the way he looked at me yesterday in his jersey. About how, for the first time in years, I’m not just surviving—I’m actually living.
“Yeah, I am. I’m really happy.”
“Good. Then I’m happy too. Grant’s nice. He’s funny, and he helps me with my homework, and he doesn’t get mad when I beat him at video games.”
I have to laugh at her list of standards. “He let you win that last time, you know.”
“I know. But he didn’t make it obvious, which is nice.” She’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “So he’s going to be, like, your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Cool.” She goes back to looking out the window, then turns back to me. “Can I still call him Grant? Or do I have to call him something else now?”
“You can call him whatever you’re comfortable with, sweetheart.”
