There’s not a ton of traffic, which is a miracle in L.A., and I feel a surge of excited anticipation as I get out of the Uber. The sun is shining, the sky is cloudless, and because we won both games on the road trip Coach says we don’t have practice until tomorrow afternoon. So my mind is on how I can bond with Dylan in my extra free time.
I’m thinking of maybe taking him to the park, with Mallory of course, and maybe we can all go out to dinner. If Mallory is still ticked off at me, then maybe she can have the day off and I can take Dylan. She can go explore L.A. or whatever she wants.
All these ideas are running through my brain and I’m feeling optimistic as I round the side of the building, where the private parking lot is located. I had texted Mal and asked her to meet me there, so we could walk in together. I didn’t want her to have to go in there and fill out the forms alone.
I turn the corner and see her standing by the passenger door of my Mercedes. She’s got three takeaway coffee cups from Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in her hands.
But leaning against the driver's side door, holding the car keys and my son, is my sister.
“Morning bro!” Tenley calls out like she’s Mary Freakin’ Poppins about to break into song or something. “Good to have you back home with your son. My nephew.”
It feels like the ground underneath my feet has turned to liquid. My blood pressure spikes. Tenley motions for me to keep walking because I’ve stopped. “Put your luggage in the trunk and we’ll have a chat as we head into the clinic.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Of course not,” she replies and my heart starts to beat in a normal rhythm again. “Now hurry up or you’ll be late.”
I start walking toward them again. My eyes slide over to Mallory. She holds out a coffee cup. “I didn’t tell her. I was ambushed.”
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” I mutter and drop my bags in the trunk as it opens. I hit the button for it to close on its own, ignoring the coffee Mallory is still holding out to me, and reach for my kid.
Tenley doesn’t look like she wants to give him up, but she does. I hold him up, high above my head. “Hey! How’s my boy?”
He wiggles his arms and legs and gurgles. Did he… smile? Maybe? A little. I think he smiled! I bring him back down and try plopping him onto my hip but he twists his chunky little torso and reaches for Tenley. Fucking Tenley! She’s known him, what? A day? Two?
I don’t let her take him. I just turn and start walking toward the medical building with him. Mallory drops into step on one side of me and Tenley starts to walk with us too, but I turn and say, “You don’t need to be here.”
“But yet, here I am.” Tenley shoots me that smile she’s had since she was born, the smug, I-give-zero-shits smile. ARGH.
Dylan continues to wiggle and pout. I stop walking and turn to Mallory. “Trade you coffee for kid?”
She nods, hands me the cup I ignored earlier, and a second one I pass off to Tenley, and then takes Dylan from me. I ignore Tenley as she follows behind us into the building. I walk up to reception. “I have an appointment with Bedard Labs.”
The woman types on a computer. “Identification please.”
I put my coffee down on the counter between us and pull my license from my wallet. Mallory is digging in her bag and pulls out her passport. The receptionist’s eyes move to Tenley. “She’s waiting down here.”
Tenley slaps her license on the counter next to mine and gives the woman a sugary smile. “I’ll be going up. I’m his emotional support animal.”
Mallory smiles. It's small like she's trying to hold it back.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“Sorry.” She bites back the smile even more.
“I’m going with you Tater Tot so stop wasting time arguing,” Tenley replies.
The woman behind the desk has already chosen to ignore us. She’s back typing on her keyboard and then there’s a buzzing sound and she starts handing us passes. “Fifteenth floor.”
I grab my coffee and pass and turn toward the bank of elevators. Tenley falls in step beside me, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Fifteen. Lucky number. This is a good omen.”
“Fifteen, like your jersey number,” Mallory says and I nod.
“He loves the number fifteen.”
“Why?” Mallory asks my sister, instead of me, as I punch the elevator button and the third one from the end opens with a ping.
“Because he needs to score fourteen short-handed goals to tie my dad but fifteen to beat him,” Tenley explains.
