Page 110 of Sweet Distraction

“Are you asking me to lie? Asking her to lie?”

“So it’s true,” she says, and I don’t respond. “And, no. I’d never ask that.” She pauses and then exhales like she’s gearing up for something worse. “You’ll be in Des Moines soon, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask me the day, though. They’re already running together.”

“I know your schedule.”

“And?” I drag the word out. For some reason, I hate where this is headed.

“Olivia’s parents live an hour outside the city. I think it would go a long way if you met up with them. Let them spend time with Poppy.”

The words slam into me harder than I expect. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me. I think you showing cooperation by meeting them halfway here shows that you’re willing to share her with them, let them see her, not shut them out . . . it might go a long way with the judge.”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to the hundreds and thousands of pictures on the internet of you partying hard.”

“All done before I knew about Poppy. Plus, who says being a parent means you can’t let loose every now and again?”

“Right now it’s about optics.”

“Why can’t it be based on the here and now?” I’m getting irritated.

“Agreed, but I think this would be a good move on your part. They’ve requested an opportunity to see her, and rather than go through the courts for this like your hand is being forced, it might look better if you agree to it.”

“You want me to just give her to them?”

“I want you to let them see her. You can stay in the same room, sit at a different table, I don’t know . . . but no, I’m not saying to hand her over without supervising. They probably want to—need to—grieve the loss of Olivia through her. They never knew they had a granddaughter. Maybe let that love soften whatever they’re holding on to. It might help the case. More than that, it might help them. It might be good for Poppy when she’s older to know more of her family.”

I hear what she’s saying, but I don’t have to like it. I get to my feet, needing to move. “They could take her.”

“Rocket—”

“They could walk off with her and then what?”

Her breath is stuttered. “They won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right. I can’t, but we have to believe the best in people. Otherwise, you spend your life not trusting people.”

I grunt and stare at Willow again. She’s crouched beside Poppy now, blowing a new round of bubbles, letting her fall backward into the grass with a delighted shriek.

Fuck, man.

“Just think about it. Let me know in the next day or two.”

The call ends, and I barely remember sliding the phone back into my pocket because I’m jogging across the grass.

And then I dive next to the two of them in a purposely clumsy, dramatic flair. Poppy shrieks and puts her hands on both of my cheeks.

“Swings?” I half-shout, half-wheeze the word before blowing a raspberry on Poppy’s cheek.

Willow raises an eyebrow, breathless and smiling at the same time Poppy shrieks and points to the swings before taking off in a toddler-speed sprint toward the playground. I’m on my feet in seconds, running after her. As I get close, I scoop her up and spin her in a circle.

She emits her addictive belly giggle as I lower her into the toddler swing and begin to push her gently.