I’m released from the hospital late that night with a prescription for mild anxiety and a strong lecture from the ER doctor to make sure I go see that therapist.
Fia stayed with Coach since there was no point waking her up to drag her to my place in the middle of the night. He says they’ll drop her off first thing tomorrow.
The next morning, I’m in bed, waking up later than normal. Physically, I feel fine, but there’s no denying I’ve uncovered an issue. I’m allergic to kindness or affection or good attention, whatever you call it when people want to shower you with niceness for no other reason than they think you’re awesome.
I’m far from awesome.
Yeah, sure, I work hard for the things I want. I’m loyal to my brother, a guy society’s written off. I take my responsibilities seriously. I do not believe in leaving things to chance or allowing circumstances to define me. All good traits.
But I have plenty of bad characteristics, too. For example, I don’t like complicated, which includes relationships with women. I don’t trust easily. I don’t like being put up on a pedestal. I’m just a guy doing his best. And—
That’s it. The epiphany hits me like a head-on collision with a linebacker. It’s the whole pedestal thing. That’s what my trigger is. I can’t handle the pressure of everyone treating me like I’m perfect when I’m not. I don’t want their adoration because it feels like a lie. No, I have no problem with being respected as an athlete, but a pedestal takes it to a whole new level.
I grab my phone from the nightstand to assess the latest developments in my situation. If I’m lucky, my story will die down in a day, and I can get on with my life. As for the money, no one says I have to take it. I can quietly return the funds. Right?
My eyes scan the latest headlines. What the…? “Young college football player becomes insta-dad with surprise baby. Team, community, and university rally to help him afford daycare and diapers.”
This made the national news?
I fling my phone somewhere on my bed and scrub my face with my hands. Fuck. Now I’m definitely on a pedestal. How the hell did this take on a life of its own in one day? And according to this article, the donations are up to eighty grand. Thousands of people have given. Major fucking pedestal happening.
No. Nooo. Don’t think about it. Do not do it. I’ll pass out if I do.
Beer. Cardio. Jerking off—I try to think of everyday things that relieve pressure instead of creating it.
The wave of tension melts from my chest. I sit up and sigh. That was a close call, but I did it. See, you got this, Dean. I simply need to stay focused. I’ll have to maintain strict control over my emotions going forward, and everything will be fine. No more meltdowns on the field.
I hit the shower, knowing I have a long day ahead. I need to buy books, call Flip, schedule that therapist appointment, and confirm Lara’s taking Fia tonight.
While I go downtown with the mountain fresh bodywash—a man’s balls can never be too clean—my mind shuffles through my to-do list. Honestly, none of the items sound enticing except for talking to Lara. I kinda can’t wait to see her.
I finish my shower, towel off, and give her a call from my room while I dress.
“Wow, if it isn’t dad of the year,” she says.
My hackles rise. Pedestal alert. Pedestal alert. “Let’s not insult all the men out there who’ve suffered sleepless nights and invested years of their lives being good fathers.”
“Agreed. But can you explain how you’re trending as hashtag Hot Daddy Dean and the internet is exploding with a pic of you and Fia?”
So no mention of my panic attack. Guess that’s a plus. “One of my teammates probably posted it.”
“Well, they are getting one thing right.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask.
“Your stepping up to take care of her—no questions asked—is pretty awesome.”
I groan.
“What?”
“I’m not a hero,” I say tightly. “I’m just watching her until her mom comes back, which I know she will.”
“You sure?”
“Have you seen Fia?” I say. “Who wouldn’t come back for her?”
“She is pretty damned cute. Kind of Gerber baby meets cherub. She’s lucky. My cousin Riley was so ugly they nicknamed him Cheese Log.”
Mean. “Why?”
“His face sort of looked like a long rectangle, almost like a brick of Velveeta with lips and eyes. Except he always had snot crusted on his nose—allergy condition—so I guess they thought he looked more like cheese covered in nut chunks.”
“Poor kid.”
“Naw. He’s normal looking now, but wow, the looks he got when he was a baby. No one wanted to take his picture. But Fia, she’s like a sweet little yummy gumball you just want to gobble up.”
“Does this mean I shouldn’t ask you to sit for her tonight because you’ll try to chew on her?”
“Maybe. But I promise to stick to the toes. Baby toes are the cutest.”
Okay… “I hadn’t noticed. Mostly because I’m usually trying to get formula in her mouth or shit off her butt and vag—”
“Thank you, Dean. I get it.”
“What? You said you’re going to sit for me tonight, right? You might have to get in there and do some extreme cleaning. By the way, why did nature give girls so many cracks and crevices? Seems a little unhygienic to me. I had to give her three butt baths in the sink yesterday.” It’s a full-time job keeping her clean.
“You’re actually making me feel skeeved out about my own body right now.”
“You? I doubt there’s a place on your body I wouldn’t kiss or lick.” What the hell am I saying? I can’t be flirting with her.
“Nice segue into a suck-up there, Dean. Yes. I can sit for you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Which other nights will you need me?”
I give it some thought. Nina said she could help out. Unfortunately, both Lara and Nina have day jobs, and my to-do list is growing. I need to get to the gym. I also have to put in some hours at the Ranch and go shopping for supplies for Fia. They delivered my groceries last night when I was out, but she needs socks and something warmer than her leotard. So yeah, I’ll need someone to watch her in the daytime for a few hours this week. I could use some of the donations—just a few hundred bucks—to pay for daycare a couple of afternoons.
I hear a knock at the front door. It’s probably Coach dropping off Fia.
“I’m not sure yet. Can I get back to you?” I say.
“Sure.”
“Thanks. See you around five. I have to go.” I end the call, feeling unusually anxious, but in a good way. Baby’s here!
I rush to the door and find Coach’s wife. I know who she is, since she goes to all the games, but we’ve only exchanged a few hellos over the years.
“Hi there. I have a special delivery,” she says with a smile. There’s a pink backpack slung over one shoulder, an empty car seat hooked over an elbow, and a bundle of squishy wiggles in her arms.
My eyes meet Fia’s, and a wave of relief washes over me. I hadn’t realized I’d been feeling stressed over being away from her. Not that I think Coach and his wife wouldn’t do a good job of sitting, but accidents happen. No one is going to be more careful with the baby than me.
“Hello, ma’am. Thank you so much for watching her.” I step aside to let her in.
“Call me Jo.”
“Yes, ma’am—I mean Jo.” I reach for the empty car seat to help free up Jo’s arms. She’s a thin brunette with short hair, probably mid-fifties like Coach.
We go to my sparsely decorated, but clean, living room, and I set the carrier on the beige carpet.
“How did Fia do?” I ask.
“Great. I had to go to the store and get a few supplies, though. You didn’t bring a diaper bag to practice.”
Oops. Rookie move. I scratch the back of my head, feeling a little embarrassed. I brought one spare diaper and some wipes to practice yesterday, but I left them in my truck. “Yeah, I don’t actually have a diaper bag. I guess I’m kinda new at this.”
“So I’ve heard. It’s a really great thing you’re taking on.” She smiles, beaming at me, and I wish she wouldn’t. I feel my body rising toward that pedestal. “Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of stocking a backpack for you.”
Just then, Jo hands Fia to me. Her teeny lips form into a smile.
“Did you see that? She smiled at me!” The tension in my chest instantly melts away as I settle her in my arms. “Hey, did you put lotion on her? She smells kinda sweet.” I give her hair a little sniff.
Jo chuckles. “Boy, you’re a goner.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. No, no lotion.” She slides off the backpack and unzips the front pocket. “There’s a supply list right here. If you make sure you’ve got these items before you leave the house, you’ll be in good shape. Oh, and be sure you always have a clean supply of pacifiers. Once she starts eating solid food, you’ll need to include the items on the back of the list—snacks, juices, extra sippy cups, baby spoons, etc.”
“Wow. Thank you.” I like being prepared, so a fully equipped diaper bag is definitely a good idea. But did she have to make the backpack pink? I’ll look stupid carrying that around.
“Don’t mention it,” Jo says. “Happy to help. Our kids are all grown now—no grandkids yet either—so it was nice getting my baby fix. She’s wonderful, by the way. Such an easy baby.”
I didn’t know there were different kinds of babies. I figured they all just sleep, eat, cry, and shit.
She adds, “I gotta run, but if you need anything, just give me a call, okay? I left my cell number on the bottom of that list—always have emergency contacts in the bag, including her pediatrician. That way if someone sits for you, they know who to call if you’re not reachable.”
Oh. Another good tip. “Thank you. I’ll have to add that pediatrician number once I get a doctor for her.”
No. Wait. I’m not keeping Fia. I know I can’t take care of her. It wouldn’t be right to pretend otherwise. I’ll be on the road, at practice, or in class every second of every day until December—if our team does well this season. When I’m not doing that, I’ll be sleeping or trying to study. I also have to put in a few hours every week at the Grape Ranch.
No time for a baby.
And despite the public’s kindness, money doesn’t change anything. You can’t just leave a baby with strangers, in daycare or with a sitter twenty-four seven. It’s like getting a dog and leaving it at a kennel. Not really fair to the dog.
Not that Fia is a dog, but if she were? Not cool.
I walk Jo out, and she gives Fia a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you, baby girl. Make sure you tell your daddy to take it easy. He’s gotta take care of himself, too.”
She means I can’t run around having panic attacks. I’m sure Coach told her.
Jo leaves, and I take Fia to my room. She feels so wiggly and warm. “So what would you like to do today?” I ask her. Her big gray eyes go wide, and she makes a funny little “ba” sound. “Oh, you want to take a giant crap and have another bath? I bet you would, my sweet little turd factory.”
“You can’t call a baby that, man.” Mike appears in my doorway.
“You’re home.”
“Yeah, in between girlfriends again.” He shrugs like he couldn’t give a shit.
“Sorry to hear that, man.”
“I’m not. I like to keep the door revolving. Makes things easier.”
He hates attachment. I get it. “Since you’re not busy, want to help me do some shopping? Fia needs a bathtub, some socks, and probably some warmer clothes.” Even if Marli comes back, these are all things she can use. “And that portable bassinet is a joke. I need to get something that doesn’t take an engineering degree to assemble.”
“Sorry. I have a date with the gym.”
I scowl. “Come on. Don’t make me go baby shopping alone. I need a baby wingman.” I’ve never been in a store for infants, but I get the feeling it’ll be like going to the tampon store. I won’t have a clue what I’m doing.
“Fine. I’ll go, but don’t ever call me baby wingman again, and you owe me.”