by Meghan Quinn
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to just put some sweats on.” I sigh and run a hand over my face. “Why am I so goddamn nervous? It’s a phone call. It’s not like I’m going on an actual date with her tonight.”
“Maybe it’s because you haven’t been interested in anyone for a really long time, someone you actually want to take out on a date.”
“For good reason,” I answer, thinking about Shea and all of my reasons for putting my personal life on hold.
“She is old enough to understand that you’re going to go on dates, that shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”
“I don’t want her to become attached. Her mom has already made things tough on me, bringing a possible date into the mix will make it that much harder. Plus, our schedule is fucking insane, how am I really going to date someone when I’m barely home? And who the hell knows if this girl wants to be in the spotlight? Because you know the minute the media catches wind that I’m taking someone out, they’re going to be all over her. I signed up for that kind of life but she didn’t. I should really just call her and tell her never mind, or hell, maybe I just don’t call her at all. Not get her hopes up, because you and I both know this is going to be a very bad idea.”
I take a deep breath just as Hayden says, “Are you done?”
“This is a bad idea.” I continue. “Besides the fact that I have no idea what to wear for a phone call anymore, I don’t know what I was thinking trying to pick someone up while I was wearing a bedazzled tiara.” I slouch on my couch and cover my eyes with my hand, trying to relieve the tension I can feel forming in my head. “What if she just felt pity for me? You know, look at the poor man dressed up like a lady, calling himself Wanda and flapping his fairy wings for attention. Maybe she was throwing me a bone.”
“Dude—”
“And Hayden, she was hot. No not just hot, but beautiful. So fucking beautiful and she had a quick tongue on her, good sense of humor. And her body, tits for days man.”
“Calder—”
“And who wants someone with a daughter? We’re young, she probably has better things to do than be some pseudo-mom for my daughter, especially when I’m out of town all the time. And who’s to say they’ll get along? They might hate each other, and then what? I like this girl but I can’t go out with her because what happens if Rachel says she likes Paw Patrol more than Sophia the First? That’s just asking for a living nightmare.”
“Will you shut the fuck up,” Hayden yells into the phone. “Fuck, man.” His tone and agitation are evident from the huff of breath he takes before saying, “It’s a phone call, that’s it. You’re not marrying this girl, she’s not moving in with you, and she doesn’t have to meet Shea any time soon. If you like this girl, just take it one step at a time. I know you’re a planner and you have a daughter to think about, but there is no need to do any worrying when you’re just going to make a phone call. Take the first step man and worry about the rest later.”
“I don’t know.” I drag my hand down my face. “Am I ready for this? Rachel, she’s not a girl you take home for a night, you know? She’s more than that. I haven’t really dated since Shea was born, I haven’t had time between her and hockey.”
“And you’re a lonely mother fucker who watches 90 Day Fiancé at night once his daughter is asleep. It’s time, man.”
He’s right, I’m too invested in Antonio and Nikki’s lives.
“You know I’m right, I can tell by the silence that you know I’m right, don’t be shy, just come out and say it. Say Hayden, even though you’re younger than me and are a rookie with one hell of a slap shot, you know more about life than I do.”
Now he’s stretching it.
“Pushing it with that slap shot stuff. I’ve seen better.”
“Ha, okay man. Seriously though, stop coming up with excuses and just call her, alright? I can help you sort out the bullshit later, just go on the date and see where it goes.”
Even though I’m apprehensive and careful of my personal life and the decisions that affect it, I can’t help but think about Rachel and what it would be like to take her out on a date. I really want to see what makes her tick, why she would stop to talk to a guy in fairy wings and a tiara.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to get off the phone now and just call her before I tell myself not to bother.”
“You know, you’re really losing that alpha card you like to slap down in the locker room. If only the guys knew about this conversation . . .”
“And if you want me to continue to bring my mom’s homemade brownies to the stadium for your eating, then you’d better keep your damn mouth shut.” The threat rings truer to my personality than the indecisive man I’ve been over the last few minutes.
“Don’t take my brownies . . . you animal.” He chuckles at the exaggeration. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Damn right it is.”
I say my goodbyes and hang up. Keeping my phone in my hand, I scroll to Rachel’s name in my contact list and stare at it, willing the universe to telepathically send me an opening remark full of swagger that will make Rachel all fucking swoony and needy to go out with me.
But I get nothing. I’m drawing a blank.
Maybe it will just come to me . . .
Before I can lose the courage, I press dial and put the phone on speaker so I don’t have to hold it up to my ear.
The phone rings three times before she picks up. “Hello?”
My breath catches in my throat and my voice comes out as more of a squeak than the voice of a manly hockey player with a set of abs that would put any body builder to shame.
“Hey.” Clearing my throat, I try again. “Hey Rachel.” There, that’s better.
“Is this Wanda?” She asks in a teasing tone, a tone that puts me at ease.
“Why in fact it is. Were you impatiently anticipating my phone call?”
“On the edge of my seat.” There is a teasing lilt in her voice. “So tell me,” Her voice drops to a low, sexy tone, “What are you wearing?”
“Asking what I’m wearing already? Seems a bit forward, don’t you think?”
“Never.”
Laughing, I look down at my red, faded sweatpants and say, “Do you really want to know? I kind of expected to start this conversation out a little bit differently.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. Don’t get shy on me now, Calder.”
Chuckling, I answer with a hint of “seduction” in my voice, because I have to make sweatpants sound sexy somehow. “I’m wearing what I would describe as a sensual red sweatpant, a little racy, with no shirt, and no socks . . . eat your heart out.”
She’s silent for a second before she asks, “You didn’t dress up for this phone call? I wore my blue sequined ball gown with white, glittery tulle, and you show up in a pair of ratty old sweatpants. What’s that about?”
Even though I know she’s kidding, I still feel a bout of sweat form on the back of my neck. I knew I should have worn something nice, like jeans and a button up . . . although, that seems pretty dumb to dress up for a phone call, now that I really think about it.
“Blue glittery ball gown with tulle, huh? Does that dress come with a pumpkin carriage as well?”
“Are you calling me Cinderella?”
“Well, I mean you have the blonde hair and the ball gown, just need to prepare myself in case you decide to run out on our date at the stroke of midnight.”
“Oh no need to worry about that,” she deadpans. “I never stay out past nine-thirty.”
“Really?” That seems odd.
“No,” she laughs. “But on school nights I call it an early night because I need my sleep when my days call for wrangling children. It’s exhausting.”
“Wrangling up Shea is exhausting, I can’t imagine multiple kids. Does that mean you’re a teacher?”
“I am. Kindergarten. Want to show me how you can count to fifteen and then backwards? I’ll give you a scratch-and-sniff sticker
if you nail it.”
Chuckling, I start to relax. Talking to Rachel seems almost too easy.
“Scratch and sniff, huh? That’s one hell of a prize.”
“Root beer is the favorite amongst the kids which I have low stock in, so don’t even try to ask for one.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I pause for a second before asking. “So about that date?”
“Yeah, about that . . .”
“When are you available?” I think over my schedule and cringe to myself when I recall all the nights I DON’T have off. This is going to be difficult.
“You tell me . . . Calder Weiss.” Oh shit, she knows who I am.
“Do some Googling when you got home?”
“Talked to my dad actually. Told him I met a guy outside the toilet and he was wearing a tiara and his name was Calder. I said you were positively irresistible.”
“Hell, you told your dad that?”
“Of course. I tell him everything. But in the midst of me describing the beauty that was your fairy wings and how they bitch slapped me, he interrupted me and asked for your name again. When I told him, he asked if your last name was Weiss and I told him I had no clue, which then spurred him to send me a text message with a picture attached and guess what? The picture was you.”
“Imagine that.” I chuckle.
“I asked him how he knew who you were, and can you believe he went on and told me you’re some professional hockey player with a knack for ramming full-grown men into walls with what seems like zero effort?”
“Oh believe me, there is effort involved. They’re not as light as they seem.”
“Shocking.” She laughs. “So, you’re kind of a big deal in the sports world. Now that I think about it, before we went on winter break, I saw some kids wearing Brawlers jerseys with Weiss on the back.”
I smile to myself. Knowing I’m a role model for little kids will never get old, it’s why I try to conduct myself in the best way possible, especially when it comes to my daughter. Setting a good example is one of my top priorities, besides taking care of Shea.
“I wouldn’t say big deal, but if you’re looking for an autograph, don’t think I’m just going to hand you one, you’re going to have to earn it.”
“Oh yeah?” There is humor and intrigue in her voice. “And how do you expect me to earn that precious autograph of yours?”
“I have a night off this Friday, go out with me.”
“Mmm . . . I like how forward that was.” She pauses and I hold my breath. “I think I can move things around so I can go out with you.”
“Yeah? You can clear your schedule for me? I feel honored.”
“As you should.” God, I like her. “Okay, so text me the details and if you really like me, don’t wear those ratty sweatpants on our date.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good, see you Friday.” Her voice drips with promise.
“See you Friday, Rachel. Have a good night.”
I hang up and rub my fingers up the side of my jaw while staring at the wall in front of me that’s covered in pictures of Shea from birth up until now. Frolicking in meadows, jumping in puddles, sitting in buckets, all personal photos I’d taken of my little girl. There’s a bright, beautiful smile on her little, cherub face, a light in her eyes that would make any father proud. I’ve done well raising her, I’m not ashamed to say that, especially given the challenges of my job and schedule. I’ve pulled in every resource I had available to me and spent countless hours making sure Shea has a normal life, despite being raised by a single parent.
I’m tired, I’m spent, and I’m lonely.
Shea is thriving. She’s kind, and sweet, and so goddamn funny—I created that. I’ve given her everything in me, the last five years of my life belonged to her and the Brawlers. I think it’s about time I give some time back to me. I think it’s time to do something for myself.
Snagging my computer from under the couch—not the best storage place, I know—I start searching for date ideas for Friday. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I want to impress Rachel, and since I’m out of practice, I’m going to need a little Google magic to help myself out.
Chapter Three
CALDER
Rachel: Have you ever been slapped in the back of the knees with a hockey stick?
Calder: No, but the hamstrings, calves, and ass, yes.
Rachel: Did the ass slap hurt? I would think it would actually feel more kinky than painful. If I was slapped by the blade of a hockey stick, I would probably welcome another one < - - too much?
Calder: LOL. Never too much. I appreciate your honesty. Question, did you have to look up the term blade?
Rachel: Are you stalking my internet search history? If so, please ignore the searches on there for resale value of Beanie Babies.
Calder: I heard the tie-dye rooster is going for a thousand dollars.
Rachel: Seriously???
Calder: No.
Rachel: You bastard! The date is off!
Calder: No it’s not, there’s no way you can get out of it now. You’ve committed, there’s no turning back.
Rachel: Damn it. You’re right, there’s no possible way I could stand you up . . .
Calder: Don’t even think about it. You already gave me your address. If I have to, I will camp out on your lawn until you come out for our date.
Rachel: Challenge accepted.
Rachel: Do you eat breakfast every morning? Are you one of those guys who eats half a dozen eggs, downs a rainbow sherbet flavored protein smoothie, and grabs a Power Bar on the way out to your gym session?
Calder: If I said you were almost one hundred percent accurate with that assessment, would you cancel our date on Friday?
Rachel: Yes.
Calder: Then nope, don’t eat breakfast every day, but when I do, it’s about a donut for each finger. I dangle them like rings and nibble away at them in the morning, just to feel whimsical.
Rachel: That’s my kind of man.
Calder: Have you ever gone skydiving?
Rachel: No, have you?
Calder: No, but I think we might on our date.
Rachel: You’re joking right? You’re drunk right now and have lost your damn mind. Tell me you’ve lost it, that you are truly certifiable at this moment right now.
Calder: Sober as sober can be.
Rachel: The date is REALLY off now.
Calder: I thought you had some adventure in you, maybe I read you wrong.
Rachel: Oh don’t get me wrong, there is adventure in me, but I like to keep it to a minimum. Jumping out of a plane with a guy I met outside a place where humans deposit their excrement doesn’t scream “best idea.”
Calder: Jumping out of planes with strangers is America’s new favorite pastime.
Rachel: Lies! America’s new favorite pastime is taking pictures of their food and letting it get cold until they get the exact shot they want. Cold fries is America’s favorite pastime, not plane jumping with bitch-slapping fairy men. Nice try, Weiss.
Calder: So I’m assuming that’s a no to the skydiving.
Rachel: That’s a hard no.
Rachel: Are you taking me to one of those wine-and-paint places? You know, where you get drunk and accidentally paint a nude-colored, phallic-shaped tree rather than what the instructor is teaching you to paint?
Calder: I take it you’ve been to one of those places before?
Rachel: I have two penis trees hanging above my fireplace. I named them Rueben and Jerry.
Calder: Are they . . . lovers?
Rachel: Who? Rueben and Jerry? Are you insane? Of course they’re not lovers, they’re brothers. God, what is wrong with you? Is that what you’re into, incestual dick paintings?
Calder: I can’t believe I gave myself away and you figured it out. God, I love some good brother dick-on-dick action . . .
Rachel: Okay, our date is REALLY, TRULY off now.
Calder: That’s what you keep saying, and yet you co
ntinue to talk to me.
Rachel: Consider it a sick fascination.
Calder: Thoughts on laser tag?
Rachel: Thoughts on spending Friday night alone?
Calder: Noted.
Rachel: How many times have you searched “Fun dates in Philly” on the internet this week?
Calder: About seven.
Rachel: Impressive, I would have guessed twice that amount.
Calder: I rounded down.
Rachel: How far did you round down?
Calder: Little less than half.
Rachel: That sounds about right. Are you having a hard time coming up with something?
Calder: The hardest. There aren’t many places that seem suitable for your ball gown-wearing self, who needs to be home by nine-thirty or else you turn into a ragged chambermaid.
Rachel: Don’t forget pumpkin carriage parking, it’s important that’s added into the mix.
Calder: Believe me, I’ve called two places already asking if they valet pumpkins.
Rachel: Any luck?
Calder: No, but I have received a few numbers for psychologists.
Rachel: Can you pass those along? From the sound of it, I might need to talk to someone after this date. . .
Calder: As a parting gift Friday night, I will hand you a laminated card with their numbers.
Rachel: A man who laminates, now we’re talking.
Calder: Hang up the ball gown and pull out your casual attire. I have our date planned and it doesn’t require you to drown yourself in tulle.
Rachel: What about pearls?
Calder: No.
Rachel: Sweater set?
Calder: I would prefer something not so . . . stuck up.
Rachel: Let me guess, you’re hoping for something along the lines of skinny jeans, tight shirt, heels, and a form-fitting leather jacket?
Calder: Now you’re talking.
Rachel: Too bad for you I’m ironing my peasant dress as we speak in preparation for Friday. And if you’re lucky, I might just don my bonnet.