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I finally look up at him. Mistake. Abort mission. My heart stutters. I think I have a heart murmur. I should really get that looked at. It’s the strangest thing, though, because it only seems to happen when Damien’s near me. Or in the other room in the shower. Or singing ridiculously off-key as he is giving Astria her bottle before laying her down at night.
His hair is still damp from his after-practice shower. It’s knotted in a low ponytail at his neck, and his dirty blond curls look even more golden with the moisture that clings to them.
Astria’s tiny hands grip at the v-neckline of his white t-shirt, but it doesn’t appear to bother him in the least. His broad shoulders and chest stretch the thin cotton material, and I know what’s underneath. And not just from the memory of our one night together. God, that seems like a lifetime ago. No, I know what’s underneath because his favorite pastime is walking around our apartment without a shirt on.
It's torture.
Chiseled. Tan. Muscular.
Torture.
I know one thing with absolute certainty. I took our one night for granted. Because every single night we have lived together since, I’ve thought of all the things I wish I’d done – touched, explored, licked.
I shouldn’t allow myself to even consider those things because I am fully aware of our agreement. I realize our relationship works so well because it’s platonic. I’m cognizant enough to realize that I am having these weird thoughts and feelings because I desperately need to get laid. That’s got to be it, I took a psychology class last semester for my general studies.
I’d say there are cobwebs down there at this point, but I know that’s not true.
Stitches? Maybe. Scars? Sure. Loneliness? Definitely. But no cobwebs.
The weirdest part about that? I’m not lonely. Not at all. Actually, my life is the complete opposite of lonely; I’m never alone. My life is full; I have Astria and I have Damien. Not to mention the other wives that live in this building that have quickly become my friends, spouses of Damien’s teammates, and their children. I didn’t realize how many college athletes have wives and children until I became one of them. It’s like we’re our own little community. It’s a community I’ve easily become a part of over the last several months.
Not to mention, I still have my camera, and I’ve never been lonely behind a lens.
Despite all of that, something is still missing. I’m just not sure what it is.
Damien drops his bag on top of the countertop and begins pulling out more dirty laundry with his free hand. When will it ever stop? How did adding a baby quadruple our laundry? It doesn’t add up. Math has never been my strong suit, but I swear this defies all logic.
“Practice was good. I still have a few things I need to work on, but Coach says we’re ready.”
He leans in and blows raspberries onto Astria’s neck and the action elicits my favorite smile. It’s the one she reserves only for her daddy. You carry a child for nine months, and you get no credit. She always saves the best smiles for Damien. That smile. I’m not even a little bitter about it. He makes me smile like that too, baby girl.
You read things about the bond between a daughter and her father, but this is different. It’s sacred. I wonder if I had this kind of bond with my dad. I’m sure I did, but I can’t remember, and that breaks my heart a little. I hope Astria always knows how much she’s loved.
“It’s a good thing, season starts next week,” I smirk as I fold Damien’s briefs into the basket on the floor.
It should seem weird, folding a man’s underwear right next to my black lace panties, but it doesn’t faze me anymore. We’re a team. We wash our laundry together. Our dishes go into the same dishwasher. We share meals. The only thing we don’t share is a bed.
My bed is set up in Astria’s nursery. It makes the most sense. I’m still breastfeeding. I’ve got that part of motherhood down to a science. Things are so much smoother now that my nipples have basically gone numb. Doctor Google says that the sensation will return eventually. I have my doubts.
When Astria wakes up hungry in the middle of the night, I roll over, pick her up and she latches. Half the time I’m not sure I ever fully wake up. We’re a well-oiled milk production machine, and it works. Everyone sleeps-ish.
“Are you coming?” Damien smiles at Astria as he asks me a question I’ve been avoiding for weeks.
I miss photographing hockey. I miss getting shots for the love of it. I took the summer off from taking classes after Astria was born, but now that we’re both back into the swing of things, I’ve barely found any time to get out and behind the camera for me. And I love photographing sports, even though I’m not a huge fan of the actual sports themselves. I love the details. I love the spray of the ice. The droplets of sweat. The look of drive and intensity in the eyes of an athlete just before they make the game-winning shot.
Astria is still so young. I’ve left her at the childcare center on campus while I attend classes a few times, but for the most part Damien and I have adjusted our schedules this semester so that one of us is with her at all times. I’m not sure I’m ready to leave her with anyone else yet. Just the thought makes my stomach roll uneasily.
“I don’t know, Damien. She’s still so small, and her little immune system isn’t fully built up yet. I mean, I know she goes to the childcare center some, but if she gets sick, I’ll miss class because you can’t miss a game. Who would we leave her with? Would it cost money? I just…”
I stumble as I try to put what I’m feeling into words until Damien interrupts me with his calm reassuring voice.
“It’s okay, I promise. I understand.” He stares into my eyes, and I know he gets it. Without another word from me, he knows. “If you change your mind, you promise you’ll let me know?” His smile doesn’t falter.
“I promise.” I close the dryer and stare over his shoulder at the dishes in the sink that sit taunting me. At least Damien’s here now. Help is here, and suddenly everything seems less daunting. His presence is comforting. He’s so much more than I could have ever anticipated.
I take a step toward the sink, but Damien maneuvers his large frame into my path.
“No.” He stops me in my tracks with a single word.
