I take another bite of food to give me an extra second or two, but she's right. It's time to finish our conversation from earlier.
Taking the bottle of beer she offers, I grab the opener lying on the counter to pop the cap. “Where shall I start?” And what do I want to share with her?
“I’m not sure.”
I wrap my lips around the bottle to take a decent sip of the beer, a specialty brew called Matchbox. “My mom has always helped raise Hadley, because Hadley’s mom never wanted to be a mother.”
April leans over the counter onto her arms and holds her bottle between her hands. “Who is she?”
“Just a hookup who signed away her parental rights the same week Hadley was born.”
She offers me a sympathetic nod. “I would say I could never understand how someone could do that, but I get it. Not everyone wants to be a parent. Her loss, Hadley is a cute kid.”
“I would say so,” I breathe out. “And Hadley doesn’t come to my baseball games, so she has never been around the media. That’s more because she's too young to sit through a long game.”
“Baseball games do drag,” April confirms, and I flash her an unimpressed glare. “But people in Lake Spark know?”
“One of the joys of this small town is that everyone keeps what happens here in our bubble. I mean, your best friend and uncle literally walked around for months in Lake Spark together with not a word coming back to you.”
“True.” She rolls her eyes.
“And I’ve never brought Hadley to any of Hudson’s parties since she's a young kid.”
April straightens her posture. “That explains a lot. But I don’t understand you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your effort is…”
I get defensive and stand up from the stool, my hands landing on the counter that I tower over. “What the hell does that mean?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I just mean that, well, hell, I don’t need to protect your cherished emotions, but damn, Spencer, let go a little around her.”
“What the fuck?” I feel steam brewing between my ears. She has some damn nerve.
“Okay, hear me out.” She holds her hands up to try and calm me down. “You keep her a big secret. I mean, you literally compartmentalize her life here into two rooms in this house. I don’t even see any photos of you both anywhere around. And outside? I mean, get her a swing or something that says, ‘this is your yard too.’ Instead, you have a netted area to practice your pitching.”
“She can play outside,” I’m quick to justify.
“When she asks to bring toys outside. Why did she mention during pasta-making that a babysitter is coming next week?” She gives me a stern look.
I bite my inner cheek trying to suppress my rage. “Because I need the help.”
“It’s off-season,” she counters.
I circle around the kitchen island to get closer to April, because this chick makes something inside of me want to throttle her, as I don’t need her parenting views.
“I need someone to help around the house, and last time I checked, I’m missing the housewife.”
April raises a finger. “Ah, so you need someone to help clean and do laundry. Not play with Hadley while you try to avoid her?”
“I’m not avoiding her. I’m doing my damn best, and I don’t appreciate you criticizing me after only a day here of seeing us together. Don’t take your daddy issues out on me.”
April’s mouth drops open then slowly closes before she abruptly turns and leans against the counter to take a sip of her beer. “You’re right. I just hate to see anyone miss opportunities with their parents.”
Her statement is like a knife to the chest because I couldn’t agree more, but I’m not going to highlight that.
“No. You just want to make me the bad guy,” I correct her.
