The cartoon starts. Loud colors. Impossible physics. I never liked them as a child. I still don’t, but she does.
“That wouldn’t work,” I say mildly.
Lucy looks at me. “It’s a cartoon.”
“I know.”
She holds up the axolotl. “Stuffed animals are like cartoons.”
“They are?” I ask, curious as to her logic behind it.
“They’re not real,” she says patiently. “But you still like them.”
“I never said?—”
She cuts me off. “You brought me one. Why would you bring me something you don’t like if we’re friends?”
I don’t answer right away, taken aback by how her brain works faster than half my teammates.
Behind us, dishes clink louder, and I can guarantee Hildy is thinking the same thing I am; this child is very perceptive, but she does not turn around.
“Well, ” I say finally, “I never thought of it like that."
Lucy nods, satisfied, and leans against me, eyes back on the screen. The axolotl is tucked under her chin, casted arm resting on it.
I let the cartoon run. No more commentary.
“All right, Lucy,” Hildy says from behind us, voice steady and light, “bath time, story time, and then?—”
“Bedtime,” Lucy finishes for her, already sliding off the couch. She grins at me. “Night.”
“Sweet dreams, little lady,” I say, giving her a wink.
She doesn’t move.
I wait a beat, then another. There’s a look on her face that tells me I’ve missed something obvious. I run through possibilities quickly. Wrong tone. Missed cue. Unspoken rule.
I hold out my arms. “Bring it in.”
She steps forward immediately, small arms wrapping around my middle with surprising force.
“Thank you for Axel,” she says, muffled against my shirt.
“You’re very welcome,” I reply, careful not to make it a big thing.
She pulls back, nods once like the exchange is complete, and trots down the hall toward her room.
Hildy follows without looking at me.
I pick up the remote and switch the TV over, skipping past streaming menus and landing where I always do.
International news. English subtitles. Clean anchors. No opinion panels shouting over each other. This is how I decompress.
I flip through channels methodically. European markets first. A segment on currency fluctuations I half-watch, half-listen to. Then Middle East coverage, conflict updates scrolling calmly across the bottom of the screen. Nothing surprising. Nothing urgent.
I’m not looking for spectacle. I’m looking for a pattern.
I pause on a report about infrastructure talks somewhere I’ve played exhibition games before. The anchor’s cadence is familiar. Reassuring. Facts presented without drama. I let it run while I stretch my legs out in front of me, rolling my shoulders to ease the tightness still sitting there from the game.
