I’m sure I’m imagining it when I see her across the field. But here she is, ten on a Saturday morning: Felicity Chen, ranting about my shirt being too tight and my thighs being too… there. I’ll ignore the Kendall Roy jab, but I’m taking the muscular thighs comment to my grave.
Before today, I would have thought she was impossible to ruffle. Fizzy says what she thinks, takes what she deserves, and makes no apologies for either. But when she finally turns to face me, she’s visibly flustered.
“Batman is a bit too toxic masculinity for me,” she says, and brushes the hair from her face. I think it’s supposed to be one of those casual and carefree gestures, but I remember her doing it at the bar that first night and wonder if it’s something she does when she’s anxious.
“But Lifeguard Lego could work,” she continues, eyes moving over my entire torso. “You’re both hard workers and clearly have great upper-body strength.”
“Thank you… I think. And for the record, this shirt is not too small.”
The corners of Fizzy’s mouth turn up, all traces of embarrassment gone and replaced with the spark of challenge. “It wasn’t a complaint.”
“There’s technically nothing inappropriate about any of this,” someone says, “but it still feels like we should cover all the kids’ eyes.” I follow the woman’s voice, and it’s only then that I notice the couple watching from the side: Juno’s parents, Jess and River. I read the words on Fizzy’s shirt, and it suddenly makes sense.
“Wait, you know Juno?”
“I do.” She throws an accusing look at Jess before turning back to me. “What I didn’t know was that you know her.”
“She and Stevie just started on the same football team.” I pick up the whistle hanging around my neck. “I’m the coach.”
“Hi, Connor,” Jess says, abandoning all pretense of not listening and coming right over.
“Hi, Jess.” Awareness lands. “Ah. River must be the friend Fizzy mentioned is involved in the DNADuo technology. I get it now.”
“And you must be the hot TV guy Felicity hasn’t shut up about.” Jess turns to Fizzy with an exaggerated grin. “I get it now.”
I bite back a smile, sensing backstory here and that Jess is getting some long-awaited revenge.
“Okay, Jessica,” Fizzy says. “Take your gorgeous husband and just sit down over there.”
Still grinning, Jess waves and ducks back into the sunshade.
River extends a hand and I meet him with a quick shake. “Connor,” he says.
“River.”
He opens his mouth, but with a quick glance in Fizzy’s direction, he seems to recalibrate. “Good luck on the game,” he says instead before joining his wife. I don’t know either of them well; Jess has always been friendly and is the first to volunteer rides for the other kids and snacks. I’ve seen River once or twice, but we’ve never spoken at length.
When it’s just the two of us again, the silence feels loaded.
“You called her Stefania,” Fizzy says accusingly.
“Stevie is her nickname,” I explain. “Yelling ‘Stefania Elena Garcia Prince’ around the house would be rather a mouthful, don’t you think?”
The silence stretches. It’s not awkward exactly, but aware. I might have said no on Fizzy’s doorstep, but I suspect we both know I wanted to go inside. How do we move on from this?
A breeze darts across the field, ruffling the trees and sending umbrellas and blankets tumbling along the grass. When I reach up to push my hair off my forehead, Fizzy’s eyes follow the movement. I’m reminded that she said I should wear it like this more often, that she likes it.
I clear my throat, ready to steer us in a less dangerous direction. “I forgot to tell you: callbacks were great. I think we’ve found our Heroes.”
Her entire face brightens. “Oh my God, tell me everything. Wait, first tell me they’re all insanely hot.”
I mentally stumble at the shift in her enthusiasm, and just how much I dislike it.
“Ratings-through-the-roof hot,” I say. “I don’t want to say too much because nothing’s finalized, but we narrowed it down to eight men. All approved archetypes.”
She’s about to reply when there’s a blur of movement and two small tornados collide into our bodies. Stevie looks up from where her arms are wrapped around my waist. Juno is hugging Fizzy.
“Can we have ice cream after the game?” Stevie asks.
I bend to kiss the top of her head. “Sure. Can you say hello to Fizzy? She’s starring in the show I’ve been working on.”
I turn her around and Stevie tilts her head back to look up at me. “I already know who Fizzy is,” Stevie says. “She’s walked us home a few times.”
Fizzy reaches over to twirl the end of Stevie’s long hair. “Sometimes we stop for hot chocolates on the way. Sometimes for cocktails. Depends how the day went.”
Both the girls giggle, but then something catches Stevie’s eye—a sticker on the back of Fizzy’s phone—and she steps forward to examine it. “You never said you liked Wonderland!”
“She looooooves them,” Juno says.
“How have we never talked about it?” Fizzy says. “They are my happy place!”
I look closer at the small holographic logo, wondering how I missed it when there’s a similar one attached to fifty percent of Stevie’s belongings. Probably because when I’m with Fizzy, the last thing I’m looking at is her phone.
“Have you seen them in concert?” Fizzy asks.
Stevie shakes her head. “I’ve never been to a concert before.”
“They’re coming in two weeks! You should go!”
“It’s sold out,” I say.
Fizzy swats this detail away. “I could get us tickets. I dated an executive over at the stadium, and let me tell you—” She stops, noting my apprehension over what might come out of her mouth, and settles on, “I know a guy.”
“That’s a pretty late night.” I’m already imagining carrying a sleeping Juno and Stevie across a mile-long parking lot. “They’d be exhausted the next day.”
She scoffs. “It’s summer! Besides, being exhausted after a night of screaming your face off is a fangirl rite of passage.” She gives me a silent, pleading look, adding quietly, “Joy, remember?”
I exhale, unable to resist any of these females and their sweet persuasion. “If Fizzy knows a guy…” I hesitate long enough for my common sense to rescue me. It doesn’t. “I guess we’re going to see Wonderland.”
“We are?” Stevie and Juno scream in unison, already jumping up and down.
“We are!”
“You’re the best dad,” Stevie says, and throws her arms around me.
“Thank Fizzy, not me, love.”
And while I watch Stevie embrace Fizzy next, I can’t help but think this is a terrible idea for at least a hundred reasons. The last thing I need is to spend more time with Fizzy. Happy time, joyful, enthusiastic Fizzy time. My guts twist in dread and anticipation.
“It’s going to be great,” she says as the girls sing and dance around us. She gives me her widest smile, the one that makes me think of words like effervescent, sparkling, fizzy.
