I offer her a proud smile. I thought I would have to create some boundaries for her, but Stevie has been able to do it all on her own.
Her mother continued to reach out all summer, but Stevie kept her distance. It wasn’t until late August that she started mentioning opening that line of communication again. My biggest worry was that her mom would have easy access to say whatever she’d like. But Stevie surprised us all when she suggested they could start speaking again only if it was during family therapy sessions that always included either her brother or dad.
This will be week four of their sessions over video chat, and she seems good with it—happy even. The therapist was a referral from Eddie, and every Saturday afternoon, after Stevie gets off the computer, she looks lighter, as if more and more of that toxic relationship is disappearing with each passing week.
I wasn’t stoked about it, that’s for sure, but Stevie’s dad, Neal, came to visit a few times this summer and eased me into the idea. He might be one of the best guys I know and just wants his family to be whole again, so I can’t blame him for trying.
“Okay, Zee. We have to get up. We’re late.” Stevie is off our bed before I can stop her.
I give one more deep scratch to Rosie’s head before I usher her off so I can stand. I trade my T-shirt for a button-down, tuck it into my suit pants, and throw on my blazer. Heading into the living room, I gather anything I forgot to pack—headphones, phone charger, sunglasses. After staying in Chicago all summer, I almost forgot how to travel. Either that or I just don’t want to.
“Don’t forget your dad is driving in on Sunday morning with his girlfriend, and we have MJ’s birthday party that afternoon,” Stevie calls out from our bedroom.
“I know. I got MJ’s gift from us already.”
Stevie pops her head out of the bedroom, brows pinched in confusion. “No. I got MJ’s gift from us already. What did you get him?”
“I found this cool little Prada tracksuit in his size.”
Stevie bursts into laughter.
“What?”
“Zee, he’s turning one.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve got to start them young. What did you get him?”
“A few books and some toys. Things he can play with.” She says it slowly as if the words need to sink in.
“Well, you put your name on that gift, and I’ll put my name on mine. We’ll see which one MJ likes better.”
She playfully rolls her eyes, heading back into our bedroom, but before she’s too far, I hear her say, “You don’t need to label yours. They’ll have no problem figuring out who bought Prada for a one-year-old.”
If shit-talking is a love language, then it’s ours, and I thoroughly plan on bantering with my wild girl for the rest of my life.
My once dark and masculine penthouse now pops with color. When Stevie moved in four months ago, she not only brought her bright energy, she brought her favorite thrift store finds too. They don’t exactly match my décor, but they’re hers, so I’m happy they’re here. They brighten up the place the same way she does.
Rosie leisurely walks into the kitchen to find me, so I bend down, giving her all the love I won’t be able to provide over the next three days. As much as I hate that Stevie isn’t on the road with me this season, I’m stoked Rosie can stay home and not have to schlep back and forth to her dog-sitter.
“Ready to go?” Stevie casually asks, walking into the living room.
I stand from the ground, spotting her across the room, and my mouth falls open, eyes going wide. “Damn, Vee. Look at you.”
She gives me a little twirl, showing off her skin-tight black jeans and cropped Raptors tee with my name and number on it. She looks incredible. However, she’s still wearing her dirty Nikes, regardless of the new ones I bought her, which are still sitting in the back of her closet.
“You like?”
I hold her hand above her head, spinning her again. “I love. You’re stunning.” My hands find her ass, pulling her into me. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”
She slings her arms around my shoulders, placing a kiss on my lips. “I’m going to miss you. Call me as much as you’d like.”
“Oh, I’m going to blow your phone up for three days straight, Stevie girl.” I tap her ass a couple of times. “All right, let’s do this.”
I park my Benz right in front of SDOC, though the outside is barely recognizable from the business it was a few months ago. The paint is fresh, the sign is new and eye-catching, and the roof has been fully repaired.