I appreciate it when he shifts topics. I still have my eye on my daughter, who has entered whatever odd game of chase the Kelly siblings are engaged in. It’s wholly inappropriate for the occasion, but I like hearing my little girl giggle, and it is completely on brand for our team’s goofiest player. Gus’ sister, Maeve, was recently accepted to Yale, moving in temporarily with her brother and his roommate, Obadiah “Obie” James. Obie is paired on the ice with Gus, forming one of our defensive lines. As Gus gently uses Natalia as a human shield, Maeve gives a protesting shout, proving the pair may have gotten older over the years, but haven’t grown up.
“Yes, Margaret isexactlywhat I was looking for. She’s prompt, professional, and handles our schedule with ease,” I explain to Charlie. He gestures grandly in front of him, expecting the rest as I pause. The whole team knows the difficulties I’vehad this past season with finding consistent childcare. Nannies would last for days to weeks at a time. None ever fully clicked with my schedule or with Nat. I hold in an exasperated sigh. “And Natalia still dislikes her, even if they’ve reached a detente.”
I’m saved from any further discussion of why my daughter does not care for the retired empty-nester who watches her by the arrival of Nat, piggybacking on Gus. Maeve and Bea follow close behind, wearing twin smiles.
“Daddy! Bea says it’s almost time for cupcakes, but first we have to play a game.”
Unceremoniously—but carefully—Gus drops Nat to her feet. There’s a slight panicked look on his face, his head whipping around looking for something, as she moves closer to me. My forehead creases at his unusual behavior when I scoop Natalia to sit on my hip. She’s probably getting a little old to be held like this, but she’s petite and accommodating of it, so I still take every opportunity to indulge.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him. Bea scoffs.
“Want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” she snarks good-naturedly, and I can’t help the twist at the corner of my mouth as a smirk threatens to bleed across my face.
“I told you, there won’t be any games in which you have to sniff diapers,” a voice attempts to placate Gus’ concern. From behind me, Crosby and Violet join our expanding cluster of friends. Our new captain is shaking his head, fingers linked with his girlfriend’s, who is giving a small smile. Gus doesn’t look pacified by his best friend’s comment.
“I don’t want to smell diapers!” Natalia protests, looking wide-eyed with disgust and confusion at the adults.
“I’m with Nat. No fake poop.” Gus nods emphatically, pointing a finger at Violet before swinging it to Bea. His eyes narrow at her. “And don’t think I didn’t hear your little comment.”
Bea holds her hands up in surrender, attempting to look completely innocent of the retort she gave at his expense. “Like you’re actually mad at me.” She laces the words with a thick coating of sarcasm, lifting a sculpted eyebrow at him. Gus holds her gaze, the pair locked in a silent argument that ends when his broad, charming smile breaks out across his face. Bea rolls her eyes, but giggles when Gus scoops her into a tight, playful hug, pressing a sweet kiss to her temple.
“Never. I’ve never been mad at you, Beatie,” Gus coos to her. Bea’s face flushes at the attention. I’m struck with a sharp twinge of envy when Bea comfortably wraps her arms around his waist, leaving herself in his arms. It’s not quite the embrace of lovers, but it isn’t entirely that of casual acquaintances, either. Every time we’re together as a group, I can’t quite understand their dynamic. Turning back to Violet, Gus asks, “Now, what’s this game thatdoesn’tinvolve diapers?”
Twenty minutes later, the entire party is in various states of chaos, as guests run around with balloons stuffed under their clothes. The goal is to get each other to “pop” and collect the tiny plastic baby released from the balloon. Like some strange version of capture the flag, it has resulted in some elaborate displays of ingenuity, as well as eruptions of laughter loud enough to disturb the neighbors. It’s wildly weird, highly competitive, and despite the slightly demented nature of the game, it’s difficult to keep a smile off my face as Natalia giggles next to me.
“Careful, Nikita.” Bea’s voice drips down my spine from where she whispers in my ear. The use of my full name feels intimate, and there’s a teasing hint in her pronunciation that flirts with a part of me I try to ignore. Leaning past my chair, she sets two cupcakes on the table in front of me. A fluffy white concoction, covered with green dusting sugar, and a decadentchocolate mountain with a single sugared tan bear. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself. Might ruin your image.”
“Thank you, Bea!” Nat sweetly acknowledges before looking at me longingly for permission. Bea runs her fingers through the wispy ends of Nat’s hair before she walks around to sit across from me. I slide the sugar bomb of a dessert in front of my daughter, carefully cutting it into bites to keep the frosting from ending up all over her face. I slip a napkin into her lap before passing her the fork.
With Nat digging in, I scan the yard to judge the status of the game: Tex and my coach, Cal, are refereeing the remaining face-off between Charlie and Maeve. My friend has a slight height advantage, but Gus’ sister is quick, and he doesn’t expect it when she drops low, jamming her shoulder into his gut. The balloon underneath his button-down pops under the pressure, and Maeve scrambles for the plastic baby lost in the grass. It’s awkward with her own balloon belly in the way, but Charlie doesn’t give up. As Maeve searches, Charlie looks for an opportunity to pop her balloon. The game abruptly ends just as he wraps his arms around her from behind. She stands, thrusting a hand holding the baby figure in the air. The pair are momentarily frozen in each other’s arms. Then, among the gathered crowd, Gus whoops loudly, swooping in to congratulate his little sister. Bea chuckles softly, pulling my attention back to her.
“Why am I not surprised that one of the Kellys won?” she questions, flicking her brown eyes back to me. Mirth and soft fondness swim in them.
“Are you and Gus—” I stop myself from finishing the question as she cocks her head, a lazy smirk replacing the joyous smile, as though maybe she expects this. “Never mind. It’s not my business.”
“He’s the best friend ofmybest friend’s boyfriend. I think I’m stuck with him, so I might as well get used to it.” She shrugs. “He’s grown on me.”
It’s not a denial, but it isn’t a confirmation, and while she seems satisfied with that answer, it leaves me more confused.
“Daddy, are you going to eat the bear?” Nat’s hand tugs at my forearm, gently demanding my attention as she stares at my untouched dessert. I give a scan of her plate, crumbs, and green sugar crystals are the only remnants left on the porcelain. My daughter’s inquisitive face grounds me from my distracted considerations of Bea’s love life. Despite the easy attraction I feel for her, any pursuit is out of the question. My focus barely tolerates being split between dad life and playing hockey. Against my better judgment—because it will only increase the inevitable sugar crash later—I pluck the teddy from its bed of whipped chocolate frosting and pass it to Nat. “Thank you!”
“Are you looking forward to nursery, Nat?” Bea asks. Natalia scrunches her face up. Bea clicks her tongue and asks again, “Sorry, kindergarten?” Her eyes dart to mine for confirmation she’s said it right. It’s not hard to forget that Bea is British—her crisp accent making it impossible—but when she uses colloquial terms from London, it feels far more obvious.
Understanding the question more clearly now, Nat’s face doesn’t fully lose the pinched look. Her tiny eyebrows stay low, and her mouth purses with the bitter thoughts I know she has. With the force only a child can exert, she shakes her head exaggeratedly.
“Oh,” Bea replies. Her lips thin as though she understands.
“Can I go see Gus-Gus?” Nat asks suddenly, seeking to escape the topic of the upcoming school year. I search out her requested friend, finding him talking with Obie and a few others. I slide the napkin off her lap and help her from the chair. She takes off across the grass at my silent permission, running and callingfor him. He turns and bends, easily picking her up as everyone else smiles. The Midnight boys are the only family Natalia has ever known, a fact that used to sadden me. But my teammates and friends embrace her like their own: an extra little sister. Another daughter. A sidekick. She belongs, and that helps ease any sadness I have at being almost twenty-five and alone.
“Not looking forward to school, then?” Bea’s question brings me back to her.
“No,” I answer from across the table without taking my eyes from Nat. She and the boys fan out in the open space, forming a circle before they all sit, Natalia on the outside. With careful consideration, she begins walking around them, tapping each person on the head, calling “puck” before moving on. When she reaches Leo “Hutchy” Hutchinson, our new first-line left winger, Natalia shouts “goal” as she hits him on the head and races off in a blur of delicate peach around the circle to return to his spot. The rest of the team jeers lovingly when Hutchy can’t tag her in time, and a new round starts.
A laugh floats from Bea, full and throaty, vibrating with amusement. I’ve never heard a laugh like hers, but it melts into me, warm with an unexpected buoyancy. I try not to float in it, shifting instead to follow the sound. I see her pointing with pride to where the impromptu game of “puck, puck, goal” is happening. “They must really love her to let her win. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being around you lot since moving here: you have competitive streaks a mile wide.”
Bea’s laugh tapers off as one elegant hand reaches to the center of the table to collect a fuzzy bunny in a cotton-candy shade. She holds the stuffed animal for no other reason than something to do, I think. She wobbles it back and forth, marching it through the green leaves that make up the runner before putting it back where it started. The silence stretches. I think about saying something—anything—to break it. I want to.We’ve spent enough time together for me to open myself up to making a friend—a female friend—without it being a romantic thing. Even if the way the setting sun turns her eyes the color of whiskey, and her pink lips plump into a slight pout as she focuses on the bunny, making them look entirely kissable. But I stay silent, letting the moment move past us awkwardly before Bea rises from her seat. She swipes the bunny, tucking it in her arms.
“Enjoy your dessert.” She gestures to the cake I realize I still haven’t thanked her for. Then, she turns for the house, hips swaying in a captivating movement under the gauzy material of her dress. She brushes Charlie’s arm as he makes his way past her, tilting her head to give him a smile. My friend offers a small nod, then lifts his eyes to me. I’m caught watching them and don’t even try to disguise it. He excuses himself from his conversation with Cal and comes over to me.
