Beyond Home

Camila

I'm sitting across the booth from Lauren and Em, who insisted she sit next to her, and watching their interaction. She's been great with her all day. When the pizza, cheese of course, was delivered to our table, she asked her to cut it up for her, and even though I protested that I could do it, she did it herself. All while smiling and listening to my daughter yammer on about how she wants pink soccer shoes but they were sold out when we went to the store.

"Mommy, can I go play games now?" Emily asks with pizza sauce all over her face.

"Not like that you're not." Lauren laughs and gingerly wipes her mouth with a napkin.

Watching her with her pulls at something deep inside me. I've mourned the loss of my husband, but I don't know if I'll ever mourn the loss of the father he was supposed to be to our little girl. I know what it felt like to have his eyes smile at me, what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of his hugs, but Emily, she doesn't. Not just Shawn, but any man. Now here we sit, with the all-star, the queen of the Portland's, Lauren Jauregui, and she's lavishing her—hell, if I'm honest—both of us with her attention, and my daughter is soaking it up like a sponge. Me, on the other, I'm fighting it—this pull I feel every time she ruffles her hair or returns her hug. Every time she smiles down at her then turns that megawatt grin on me, I'm fighting it, but I don't know how much longer I can.

"There," she says, setting down the napkin. "Now can we go, Mom?" She asks. I raise my eyebrows in question, and she shrugs. "We want to play Skee-ball."

"One game, then we need to get going. It's almost your bedtime," I tell her. She nods her little head up and down like a bobble head doll. Reaching into my purse for some singles, I turn to hand them the money, but they're already gone, racing toward the games.

Just as I'm about to join them, my cell phone rings. When I see Vanessa's face on the screen, I know that if don't answer, she'll keep calling back. "Hey," I greet her, keeping my eyes on Lauren and Em.

"Where are you?"

"Pizza place just down from the stadium."

"Oh yeah?" She asks coyly. "How was it today? Did you run into her?"

"I did. I saw Max as well."

"So I heard. I also heard the three you left together."

"We did."

"And?"

"And what?" I'm evading, and we both know it.

"Spill it, woman."

"She offered to take us to dinner and offered pizza. You know little miss loves pizza."

"Uh-huh, what next?"

"She was excited, and she's been so good to her all day. I didn't have the heart to tell her no."

"What about you? Has she been good to you?"

"She's ...not at all what I pegged her to be. You should see her with her, Vanessa. She jumps right in, cutting up her food, wiping her mouth. They're now playing Skee-ball." Once my words register, worry starts to kick in. "What am I doing? I can't let my daughter get attached to her. Stupid," I mutter to myself.

"First of all, it's one day. Second, you're not stupid. You need to open up, live a little. Max assures me that Laur is a good woman."

"Said the ax murderer's mother," I bite back.

She laughs, "You know better than that."

She's right, I do. There is just something about her, this feeling I get when she's around that I know deep in my bones she's a good woman. I would never let her get this close to Emily otherwise. "Still," I try to argue.