It’sthe perfect Sunday in late October. Clear blue skies, a gentle, cool westerly breeze taking the edge off the bright sunshine draping over The Midnight’s first Fall Family Carnival. Natalia’s hand is firmly in mine as we walk through the entrance. She’s dressed as a Portland Lumberjack baseball player. I try not to take it personally that she’s gotten into a sport I don’t play, but the emerald-and-black jersey with gold piping is her newest prized possession. It highlights the first female MLB player’s last name and number: an internet star from her years in a boutique league that garners a lot of love from their fans for their outlandish dances and game antics.
A couple of weeks ago, Bea introduced Natalia to Georgia Souter one day after school. She came over to the house to film family footage for the crew when Natalia arrived home with Ms. Margaret, crying. A boy in another class had told Natalia shecouldn’t play ball with him and some others at recess because she was “just a girl.”
While I bottled up the choice turn of phrase I had for the little shit, Bea stepped in with a gently flustered attitude that somehow settled Natalia. With a soft conversation, Bea reassured Natalia that being a girl didn’t put any limitations on her, except for the ones she wanted to believe were true. She told my daughter about Manon Rhéaume, the first woman to play in the NHL, who played the same position as me. Natalia sniffled and leaned into Bea’s side on the couch as Bea brought up videos of Georgia Souter playing her first MLB game last spring. Natalia was hooked, and I gave up trying to ignore my attraction for Bea right then. Since then, it has taken no small amount of effort to remain completely professional in her presence.
“Daddy, can I please have some cotton candy?” Natalia asks, pulling at my hand as she points to a vending stall nearby. I hesitate, weighing up how much sugar and processed food I’ll be letting her consume today, when a familiar voice halts all thought.
“If you come to a festival, youhaveto have candy floss!”
“Bea!” Natalia drops me like I’m yesterday’s toy and immediately makes a break for the woman walking toward me. Her black jeans hug her thighs before flaring over a pair of black Jack Purcell shoes. An oversized black tee with designer bleach stains and holes sits loosely on her shoulders, tall and fractured letters asking, “Be My Frankenstein?” on the front. With ease, Bea scoops Nat up, situating my daughter over a hip before booping her on the nose with her finger and gesturing to her jersey with delight.
“Where’s your costume?” I ask as I approach, clenching my fist to keep my hand from reaching for her. With Nat in her arms, the temptation to tuck them both against me is stronger than ever.
“I didn’t grow up doing the whole Halloween thing in the UK. Sure, there are costumes and now more trick-or-treating, but the holiday lacks a certain vibe compared to here. When stacked against each other, it feels more like any other day—only you’re more likely to see superheroes and zombies in the village,” Bea replies. She gives Natalia a squeeze and a big smile when my daughter’s mouth pops open with surprise that this frivolity is not shared by the rest of the world. “But that’s what makes all of this so much fun! I get to see what it’s all about with you, but I’m saving my costume for tonight. Just like your dad.”
Her soft brown eyes do a quick once-over of my jeans and long-sleeved black Midnight shirt. Team gear is my standard outfit for meet-and-greets, which I have to attend soon. The guys and I are doing a rotation through the booth in shifts, and they’ll take Natalia around to enjoy the event when I’m on.
“Daddy has a pretty dress,” Natalia whispers with a volume that belies the secret into Bea’s ear. “He looks like a princess!”
“You’re not supposed to tell anyone!” I reach for her, wiggling my fingers under her arms in punishment for her loose lips. When I take her from Bea, I flash a smile at the curiosity on her face, hoping to downplay the breach of security on our group costume.
“But Bea’s not justanyone, she’s my friend,” Natalia reasons as I set her on the ground. Sincerity bleeds into her simple statement, and I realize how true it is. Bea isn’t just “anyone.” From our initial interactions with mutual friends to our near-daily interactions at the practice facility and occasional visits to my house in the afternoon for the documentary, Bea has seamlessly woven into the fabric of my carefully structured life. She might be professional with me, but I feel her care and consideration go beyond that when we’re together, especially when Natalia is around. Bea is my friend. She’sourfriend. And I love how that feels.
“Which is exactly why I came to find you,” Bea says. Her voice sounds thick, as though she was deeply touched by Natalia’s announcement. With a quick glance, I catch the watery smile she gives before she continues, “I was hoping you’d show me all of your favorite rides while your dad works?”
“Yes, please! We can play games and go on the Ferris Wheel!” Natalia’s face lights up, and she bounces on the balls of her feet. Bea laughs at her enthusiasm but looks to me for permission.
“If you’re okay with having me watch her for a shift? I think Gus is challenging Obie to ring toss or something. It was getting competitive.” Bea smiles as she seeks my permission.
It’s the first time the two of them will be alone together, but my trust in Bea’s ability to look after Natalia’s well-being surpasses even some of my teammates at this point. I nod, and Nat squeals.
“Great!” Bea claps her hands together with excitement and pulls her phone from her back pocket. She gives it a quick once-over and tucks it away again before directing her attention back to Nat. “Shall we head over to the booth to get your dad set up, and then we can have some fun?”
“Do I get a say in this?” I tease.
“No!” Bea and Natalia answer in unison before linking hands and walking away in the direction of where I assume the booth is.
“I thought we were getting cotton candy?” I protest from behind the chatting duo. I’ll make sure to do my required hours with the fans, but I’m desperate for a little more time with the two of them. They freeze, and Bea looks over her shoulder.
“Candy floss is an acceptable detour,” Bea agrees, and I trail happily after them in search of a pink and blue cloudy sugar bomb.
“A dance beltisn’t really all that different from a cup,” Gus opines from behind the cracked bathroom door of my ensuite. “I’m not saying I want to wear one every day, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.”
After eating our fill of carnival food and spending hours with our fans at the daytime event, the boys have gathered at my house to get ready for the nighttime party. My place is the logical meeting spot, not only because it’s one of the bigger houses in our group, but the guys know how important it is to me to put Natalia to bed before we leave. I’ve read her a bedtime story and tucked her in. Ms. Margaret will be on duty until I get home. Now I’m surrounded by my teammates in various states of preparedness in my bedroom.
One of our social media content creators, Amelia, is putting the finishing touches on Leo’s lipstick, while Crosby does his best to shove his feet into a pair of seafoam-green heels. Charlie is in front of the full-length mirror inside my closet, twisting and turning as he flattens the skirt of the matching green dress we will all be wearing tonight. There’s a slit that comes up to his mid-thigh, and he’s doing everything he can to lessen the way the material parts when he moves. Obie is the only one fully dressed, and he’s searching for a place to put his phone. Frustrated, he simply shoves it into the top of the bodice before throwing his hands up.
“Now I know why the girls are always complaining about their clothes. No fucking pockets,” he grumbles, while Ameliagiggles and gathers her things. She bids us goodbye and wishes much-needed luck.
“I don’t know if this makes me understand people who willingly wear thongs all the time, but I kind of like how it cradles the goods.” Gus opens the bathroom door just as Amelia slips out of the bedroom, murmured thanks following her. We turn to face our friend, who stands in a flesh colored, well-padded thong and seafoam-green crown with seven spikes on his head.
“They came with briefs.” I rise from the edge of the bed, my own makeup and crown in place. I have a pair of basketball shorts over my own dance belt—a “necessary” purchase Gus assured all of us would make sure nothing bunched or showed under the dresses. Gus looks shocked by my announcement, but when he checks in with the other guys, they’re all nodding along. “The thong was entirelyyourchoice.”
A moment of silence envelopes the room as I make my way to my closet to change into my gown. As I pull it from the hanger, Gus scoffs loudly, drawing my attention back to him. He spins around, showing the room his pasty white ass, and gives a shake, his cheeks slapping against each other. “It was a damn fine choice. My ass is going to lookgreat.”
“Get dressed,” Crosby barks with a laugh. “We still need to do a couple of rehearsals in full costume.”
Charlie groans next to me, but I just laugh. We’re not getting out of wearing this get-up fromMiss Congenialitywithout a full performance of “One in a Million” from the film. My embarrassment disappeared the second time Natalia took it upon herself to be my dance coach after dinner a week ago. Instead, I’ve loved every second of learning the steps because it’s been a great bonding experience with my daughter on the nights I’m home.
