Page 71 of Freefall

I step onto the mat, mimicking her stance.

She rolls her eyes. “You have to take your shoes off, silly.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy?” I ask as I slip off my boots.

“Mommy says I’m assertive.”

I smile. “She’s right. What’s the next step?”

“Okay, we’re going to do a tree pose, so put your arms near your heart and touch your palms together.”

I follow her instructions, and she does the same.

“Now lift your leg and make a triangle with it. Like this.”

She wobbles a little as she tries to stay balanced on one foot. I raise my leg, pressing the bottom of my foot into my thigh. She looks over at me, swaying again with the movement. “Wow. You’re really good at this.”

“I’ve had some practice.” Coach used to make us do these ridiculous balancing exercises he called an “equalizing routine,” but I’m pretty sure it was yoga.

We go through a few more poses she’s memorized, and she laughs when I get some wrong. Before I know it, it’s ten minutes after eight.

“Shit,” I say under my breath after I check my phone.

Daisy gasps. “You said a bad word.”

“Yeah, I did.”

She looks around conspiratorially, then leans closer. “I won’t tell Mommy if I can have another cookie.”

“Nice try.” I push myself up off the mat. “Come on, Daisy girl. Time for bed.”

She studies me for a moment, and I can see the bargaining start to take shape in her little head.

“Five more minutes.”

“No can do,” I say, rolling up my mat. “We’re already ten minutes late.”

She huffs, picking up her own mat and attempting to roll it up. “Fine.”

By the time she’s brushed her teeth and changed into pajamas covered in tiny yellow flowers, she’s yawning every other sentence.

“Mommy usually reads to me,” she says as she climbs into the twin bed in her room. It has a star pillowcase and a fluffy pink blanket.

“One book,” I tell her.

“Two.”

“One.”

She sighs dramatically and climbs beneath the covers, hugging a stuffed narwhal against her chest as I crouch down and reach for the stack of books on her nightstand. Before I can open one, I feel a soft tap on my arm.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to hear the story of my name? Mommy used to tell it to me before bed when I was little.” She wrinkles her nose. “I mean, more little than I am now.”

My hand freezes.