Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Did you have a good time?” she asked me.
“The best,” I assured her.
Bowie Jane turned to her dad. “When are you going out on a date again? Because you must get flowers,” she reminded him. “Girls love flowers. And jewelry. But flowers first.”
Foster shot me a look before answering, “Yes, we are going out on a date again and yes, I will get flowers.” This was news to me because it wasn’t something we’d yet discussed.
That seemed to satisfy Bowie Jane and she started chatting about her new friend Amy who’d hosted the sleepover. She took great joy in telling us that they stayed up all night and got tummy aches from eating too much candy, but that it was worth it.
I grinned at Foster, because late nights and lots of candy are forbidden in this house. But he never said a word, more than happy that his daughter made a new friend. It was another way she was establishing herself here.
When we were done eating, I cleaned the kitchen and Foster went to pack. He was on his way to New York for a two-game, three-day trip.
My mind was lost in thought as I loaded the dishwasher, so I didn’t hear him come up behind me. He cornered me at the sink by spinning me into him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure we were alone and then pulled me in for a long, slow kiss.
When we broke apart, he said, “I’ll figure out a time for our second date. Assuming you want to.”
“Yes, I want to.” God, did I want to.
Foster left and it was a tearful goodbye on Bowie Jane’s part. I think some of that is on the heels of feeling her mother’s abandonment, so I can’t blame the kid. I just kicked up my nanny mode to super Mary Poppins care, and we went on an adventure to the Pittsburgh Zoo.
Since leaving on the road trip, Foster has FaceTimed Bowie Jane every day, sometimes twice a day, depending on his schedule and her time at home from school. With me, he texts.
Admittedly, I don’t text him because I’m always afraid I’m bothering him when he’s concentrating on his job. I also don’t want to look needy and am trying to be respectful. But I’m always relieved when I hear from him.
My phone rings, startling me from the perusal of my last text exchange with Foster. Lo and behold, his picture appears on my screen along with the icon to indicate it’s a FaceTime call. That means he wants to talk to his daughter.
I don’t answer it but instead walk across the kitchen to hand the phone to Bowie Jane who grins with delight when she sees it’s her father. She hits the Join button and starts chattering away as I move back to the spice rack and my organizational deeds. I don’t intentionally eavesdrop, but I can’t help but listen.
Foster is the type of dad who wants to know what Bowie Jane does every moment of her day. He meticulously goes through all the important things for school and asks how she’s doing with her homework. He wants to know what she ate for lunch, who she played with at recess and what was her favorite moment of the day. He’s so engaged and connected with her that I admire him all the more.
“So, you know I have a home game this Saturday,” he says to Bowie Jane.
I glance over at her to see her nod at the screen. “And Thursday, but that’s a school night so I can’t go to that one. But Saturday’s I can.”
“That’s right,” Foster replies with a laugh. “Well, Ms. Norcross, who owns the team, is hosting a kids’ party at her house Saturday night. Rather than go to the game, she’s inviting all the players’ kids to have a pajama party. Y’all will watch the game, eat all kinds of good food and probably play other games. Miss Kiera is going to chaperone along with a few of the other moms. Are you interested in going?”
“Yes!” Bowie Jane exclaims.
I love that kid. She is fiercely independent and socially outgoing, so the opportunity to play with other kids and go on an adventure is right up her alley.
“You can stay all night or I can come and pick you up after the game,” Foster says, and I hear the slight worry in his voice. He worried about her first overnight last weekend, afraid she would get scared and need him.
She never called once.
“I want to stay all night,” she says quickly.
Foster laughs. “Okay, kiddo. All night.”
They chat a bit more about her upcoming choir recital and the songs she’s practicing. He’s going to be away next week on the West Coast and won’t be able to attend but I’ll be there to support her.