by Shey Stahl
Drawing in a deep breath, I glance down at the card, then the kids. Last week, before Hawaii, I told myself I was going to quit. I meant it. I was going to and again, Landon pulled me in with his stupid adorable smirk and invited me to Hawaii with him and his friends. It’s like I’m Sandra Bullock in Two Weeks Notice and Hugh Grant is sucking me in time after time. I love that movie by the way, and I can totally relate to her. Only with Landon, he’s not only one of my best friends, there’s some sentimental attraction there.
And that’s exactly it. You’re doing this because he’s your friend. You’re doing this because anytime you’ve ever needed anything, Landon has been there for you both financially and emotionally. You’re doing this because you’re helping out a friend who can’t seem to even think for himself, let alone navigate life without you. You’re doing this for Cat. You’re doing it for these kids because like yourself, you know what it’s like to have nobody. I know Landon wouldn’t just leave these kids, but I know he needs my help with them. My point? This isn’t about Landon. Nope. It’s not his insanely hot nearly irresistible body.
And then I repeat the last part again. For myself. For my dignity I feel I’ve lost every time I’m around him.
This isn’t about him, goddamn it. It can’t be. I won’t let it. I’ll hold my ground.
But fuck, it is. It’s always been about him. I stare at the anodized titanium Amex Black Card with my name laser-etched into the metal like it’s a goddamn Grammy. It might as well be. There’s no version of my life I would ever have something like this if it wasn’t for him.
“Holy shit.” With a half-eaten donut from Nalani in her hand, Cat rips the card from my hand and stares at the credit card with my name on it. “Is that yours?”
“Not technically. It’s Landon’s. I use it when I need to buy things for him. Today is a car and a house. Feel like shopping?”
“This is a Black Card.” She stares at me, blinking slowly. “You have to have a net worth of sixteen million just to get one of these.”
“He’s the highest paid player in the NFL. Of course his net worth is way more than that. And how do you know that and last week you forgot where we lived?”
She shrugs. “What kind of house is he looking for?”
“A big one.”
“And does he have a budget?”
“Nope.”
Looking up, I stare at the kids. They’re bored out of their mind and I can’t blame the poor things. Reaching for the keys to the door, I smile at them. “We’re going out today.”
They all agree, and it takes an hour to get them all dressed and outside.
Seattle streets are busy. And teeming with bums so I keep a close eye on them, and Cat.
With a firm hold on the little one and holding Haisley’s hand, I glance at the kids. “Car first, right?” I have a car, a brand-new Mercedes Landon bought for me, but it’s not fitting five kids. Bus it is. Nothing like showing the kids the city by taking the bus and experiencing the ever-growing homeless population. It’ll be good culture for them.
Everyone nods. Everyone but Marley. She’s staring at the sign for Starbucks across the street. “I really want to try coffee now that I’m a woman.”
“I hardly classify you starting your period as becoming a woman,” Braylee says, air quoting the word woman.
Adler gags, holding his stomach and I wouldn’t put it past him to hurl again. “Don’t say period. It makes me nauseous.”
“I am too a woman.” Marley shoves Braylee off the edge of the sidewalk she’s balancing precariously on. “You’re nine. What do you know?”
“I know a lot. You don’t.” Braylee catches herself from falling into a car parked on the street. “You didn’t even know blood comes out of your vagina until yesterday.”
Marley’s face flushes in anger. I’m finding out her and Braylee never get along. “I did too.”
Cat rubs Marley’s shoulder gently, maintaining pace with me as we dodge people heading to work and those damn bums who think we’re walking through their bedroom. “You started your period?”
Marley stares blankly at her. “Yes….”
“Brain injury,” I remind Marley. “She sometimes forgets what happened even five seconds ago.”
“That’s not completely true,” Cat defends in assurance. “I remember your name. And I just met you last night.” And then she pauses, because she’s not sure. “I think. I did, right?”
Marley laughs. “Yeah, we met yesterday.”
Haisley tugs on my hand. “Are you Uncle Landon’s wife?”
I snort, nearly disgusted. “No way.” I have to be honest, I’ve daydreamed about it before so I can’t say I’m completely disgusted by the idea. He has that look about him that makes you want to doodle his name on your binder and practice writing your married name a thousand times. It’d just be a damn disaster is what it’d be, but surely sexually satisfying.
“Why not?” Haisley prods. “He likes you.”
Have you ever looked at someone and then did a couple of double-takes like you’re giving yourself whiplash? That’s what I do with Haisley. “He only likes me because I’m his assistant.”
“Why not be his wife then?”
I force a tight smile, trying to keep my face from reacting. “Because I don’t really like him that much.” It’s a lie. But no way does this kid need to know I’m in love with him because guess what? Kids can’t keep a secret. None of them. The moment you tell them anything, their brains are calculating how to release the information.
I’m trying not to pay much attention to arguments beside me. Have you ever tried to hold on to a baby in a street full of buildings? Well, you’ve probably never held one like Nalani. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be hard, but this is Nalani and she’s a climber. She’s probably looking at the skyscrapers the way I eye a set of oil paints
“I down? I walk?” she asks, pointing to the crowd, hanging out of my arms.
“No.” I hold on tighter. “It’s a busy street.”
“Do you have cramps?” Cat asks Marley as we cross the street to Starbucks.
Gagging sounds erupt behind me. It’s Adler. Again. That damn kid has the weakest stomach ever. Opening the door, I watch the troop enter Starbucks. “Stop, guys. Poor Adler is turning white.”
Standing in line, the kids stare at the menu like they’ve never seen a coffee shop before. I know they have them in Texas, but they’re not on every corner like they are in Seattle.
“I want a caramel Frappuccino,” Braylee tells me, her eyes on her DS in hand. I’m not sure who’s worse with that thing, her or Adler. Both are equally obsessed.
“I don’t like milk. Or coffee,” Adler adds. “Can I have something without that?”
As I’m staring at him, and the menu, Haisley rattles off her order. “I want hot chocolate with sprinklers. They have that, right?”
“You mean sprinkles,” Marley corrects, then points to the menu. “I want something sweet and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”
Shifting Nalani to my other hip, I smile at Cat. “Did you get all that?”
Sweeping her dreads out of her face, Cat bursts out laughing. “Yeah, right….”
Approaching the cash register, I repeat the order in my head a few times before nodding and taking a deep breath. If I can order Landon’s weirdo health meals and get them right, I can get a Starbucks down, can’t I?
“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get started for you?” the perky barista asks, holding a paper cup in hand ready to write my name on it.
“I have a big order. I need a tall caramel Frappuccino.”
“No whip cream!” Braylee shouts at me from behind.
“No whip on that one. Then I need a hot chocolate with sprinkles.”
The barista eyes me carefully. “We have sprinkles over there. You can put them on, if that’s okay with you?”
Nodding, I cringe that she’s interrupting me because I know I’m going to forget something now. Just when I’m abou
t to tell her I am, Haisley points to the display case beside us. “Can I have that?”
Glancing at the case, I shake my head. “No way. That’s loaded with sugar.”
“So is the hot chocolate, so what’s the difference?” Adler points out like the smartass he is.
Placing my hand over his mouth, I smile at Haisley. “Maybe next time, hon.” I turn back to the barista. “We’ll add our sprinkles. We also need an… uh…” Shit. I’m drawing a blank. Now I know how poor Cat feels.
Adler removes my hand from his mouth. “I’d like a Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher, please.”
At least he used his manners.
Cat stands beside him, eagerly looking at the menu herself. “Oh, those are delicious.”
Look at him adding please in there. It’s only because he doesn’t want me covering his mouth again. “Okay, yes, one of those too. A small one.”
“I’m ten. I think I need the big one.” Adler points to the largest cup they have. “I want that one.”
“You’re not ten,” Marley has to point out.
“Close enough.”
“But you’re not ten so stop saying it.”
Are you confused yet? Yeah, me too.
“Drink?” Nalani points to the board. “Cake? I have cake?”
That’s how the entire Starbucks trip goes but you know what, I manage to get everyone’s drinks ordered and we’re hiking our way up to the bus station to head to the car dealerships. Landon has just about everything out there that’s considered exotic or rare, but that’s not what we’re looking for today. He needs a car that seats an army.
I know he’s not going to text me back until later, but I send him a quick one to see if he has any preference on what he wants.
Me: I know a van is out of the question, but what about an Expedition, Tahoe? Do you have a manufacture preference?
I’m surprised to see after ten minutes, and well before we’re near the dealerships, he texts me back.
LC: I have a preference on thick thighs and a booty.
I roll my eyes. Me: Fine. Minivan it is.
LC: Don’t you dare. I’ll make you return it.
Me: Then BE serious.
LC: I am being serious. I like thick thighs and a booty. Which is why you’re perfect for me. But aside from that, what about a tank? Can I get a tank? They sell them, don’t they?
A tank? Is he serious? Yes, he is actually.
Me: You can’t buy a tank and drive it around with kids. Be realistic.
LC: Fine. I have to go. Check out Escalades. I like those. Black interior only.
Told you he’d care. There’s one thing Landon is very particular on, besides his women, and it’s his cars. I once had to pick up a rental car for him in Atlanta and he made me return it three times because of various things wrong with it. Although, he did admit the last time was purely for his enjoyment to see me arguing with the attendant. The Virgo in me is pretty damn good at arguing.
Whether I want to admit it or not, I’m good at shopping. I don’t know any girl who isn’t. Aside from Cat. Poor girl will go into a store, pick something up, forget why she’s there and leave. She’s also shoplifted a time or two by accident. But she’s also a good shopping partner because she will tell you honestly if she doesn’t like it or thinks you’ll look hideous in it.
With my newly acquired credit card, Cat, and five kids amped up on caffeine and chocolate, we attempt to find Landon a car. We succeed, too. After an hour of hunting, we land on a brand-new black-on-black Cadillac Escalade. I negotiate the price down to them giving it to me for wholesale pricing and even throw in a set of snow tires. It might be surprising how I’m able to do this and get it in his name. I’m his power of attorney. He trusts me that much and unfortunately, the longer someone is famous, the less they remember how to do things for themselves. Landon falls into that category. He can’t even send Oma a birthday card without asking me if I’ve done it for him, and I doubt he even knows how much money he has in the bank, but I do, and it’s a hell of a lot more than I can even fathom.
“Did you just buy a car with a credit card?” Adler asks, his eyes sparkling as he takes in the brand-new Escalade in the late-August sun. I snap a picture and send it to Landon.
“Yep.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “Funny how that works, huh?”
“I think I want to become a football player then.” Opening the door, he jumps inside. “It has DVD players!”
“Does it have a cell phone charger?” Marley asks, holding her phone up. “My battery is dead.”
“Aww, cute!” Nalani points at it, hanging on Cat’s hip like a little monkey, one hand fisted in her dreads, the other clinging to a bag of Goldfish crackers. It’s then I think about the fact that I need car seats for Nalani and Haisley and possibly booster seats for the twins. They are kind of short. This kid shit is harder than I thought. No wonder Landon’s freaking out.
Braylee barrels in the SUV behind Adler and Marley. “Dude, it has an Xbox.”
“Now do we get to go house shopping?” Cat asks, eagerly staring down at her phone with the real-estate app.
“Now we house shop.”
There’s a lesson in house shopping everyone should know. Actually, I have about five lessons for you today, in no particular order.
Lesson #1: If you go house shopping with five kids, in particular, a two-year-old who’s still in diapers, remember things like diapers. And a change of clothes for a diaper mishap.
Lesson #2: When the diaper mishap occurs, don’t panic and think you have it under control in the Target bathroom. You never have control when dealing with a baby. I repeat, they have the upper hand. Landon can attest to this.
Lesson #2 amendment: I can now attest to this.
Lesson #2 amendment 2: The janitor at said Target can now attest to this.
Lesson #3: Plan ahead. Five kids are a lot to handle, and snacks are an important part of the day. Don’t be alarmed if one throws a fit because their blood sugar suddenly drops.
Lesson #4: Hire a realtor and don’t just walk into homes unannounced because their garage door is open. They can and will call the cops on you. And when they do, politely leave their home in the condition you found it, not with crumbs on the counter. Thank you, Adler.
Lesson #5: Keep a hold of Haisley. She’ll make friends with just about anyone and on more than one occasion, offer to hold the sign of a homeless man and feed his dog her lunch.
Okay, I lied. I have more than five. Stay with me here. I have one more.
Lesson #6: After finding a realtor, or stealing one from another buyer, do offer incentives like Seahawks tickets and signed jerseys. You’d be amazed the treatment you get for said items.
All in all, I can say with certainty, I kept the children alive and bought a car. As for the house, I found a few that he might like.
To be fair, I had very little preparation for being a pretend nanny before being entrusted with these poor little souls looking for guidance. You can’t blame me for unintentionally forgetting things like diapers and snacks.
Dink and Dunk – Short passing game. Passes that can frustrate a defense as they’re usually less than 5 yards but a succession of short passes lead to first downs and uses up the clock.
Practice sucks ass. Not even joking about it. I play like horse shit and coach is screaming incoherently on the sidelines, pacing like a maniac back and forth. I don’t know what my problem is, but I can’t get outside my own head.
“Watch it, motherfucker.” That comes from beside me. It’s Jalen talking to another rookie defensive lineman.
The hardest thing for rookies in practice is learning to control themselves. They’re amped up, wanna make plays and impress coaches, but they get tired fast and they’re always on the ground. I don’t know how many times I was hit by them today and there’s nothing veteran players hate more. Practice fast, practice physical, but don’t do that at the expense of a veteran player and jeopardize his career.
Tha
t rookie the coaches are yelling at, I don’t know his name and I doubt I will. There’s an unwritten rule on the field. You hit me in practice and you’re gone. As the rookie’s picking himself up off the ground at Jalen’s feet, I can see it in his eyes he’s scared.
“Give him another shot,” I tell the offensive line coach, who’s already eyeing the rookie himself, ready to tell the kid to find a ride home.
Kerry, the offensive line coach shrugs, squinting into the sun. “Don’t know if he’s going to make the cut.”
I watch the kid for a moment. It’s just nerves. There’s nothing more terrifying than fighting for your job with eighty other players and trying to prove to everyone around you you’re worth it. Talk about job pressure. “I’m fine,” I tell Kerry. “Give the kid a shot. He shows potential.”
Bryant, our head coach, pulls me aside after practice. “What’s going on with you, LC?”
What is going on with me? My eyes sweep to Bryant’s, then away. I’ve always liked Bryant. The right coach, he will impact more players than the average person will in a lifetime. That’s saying something about how he treats his players. He’s passionate and demands success. If he’s quiet, he’s trying to figure you out, or he’s already decided he doesn’t like you.
“Just some shit, Bryant. Sorry. It’s not an excuse.” I don’t look him in the eye. Instead, I raise the towel in my hand to my face, wiping away sweat. I also don’t call him coach. You don’t call any of the coaches in the NFL, Coach. That shit ends in high school. You call them by their name. It’s different than college-level ball on many levels. In college, the head coach rules with an iron fist and controls every aspect of a player’s life from where he sleeps, what he eats and if he passes a class. Believe it or not, there are actually people who take a test for a football player if need be. It’s fucked up, and you didn’t hear that from me, but it happens, and I won’t go into how the NCAA controls that. But in the NFL, we’re grown men. We have lives, charitable causes, families, we don’t need to be told what to do 24/7. We’re expected to know what to do.
