and watch the wind-down of the class until Bell cartwheel-skips back to me.
“Did you see me?” she asks.
“Yes, baby,” I say as she climbs over the seats to me like a monkey. “You were great.”
“You say that every time.”
“Well, you’re great every time.”
She gets on my lap and puts her arms around my neck. “The coach thinks I’m ready to try a backflip next class.”
Moms filter into the gym to pick up their daughters, some waving in our direction. There are no men in here. “Backflip?” I ask, focusing on what she’s saying. “Backflip—really? It’s not too advanced?” I cringe as I say it. I might as well have just dared her to try.
“No,” she says. “It’s not that hard. I could probably do it right now—”
“Not so fast,” I say. “I’ve told you. No gymnastics off the floor.” I don’t even like her doing them at home or in the backyard without a coach’s supervision. I pat her knee. “Get your stuff. Let’s go home.”
“Why were you talking to that lady?” Bell asks. “She’s the teacher who gave me the card.”
I shake my head because my throat is suddenly thick. “No reason.”
“Was it about me?”
“No. Never mind, Bell. Get your stuff.”
Jutting her bottom lip, she climbs off my lap and twirls around between the seats, teetering, hopping, almost flying off the bleachers. She gasps. “Ohhh. I know why you were talking to her.”
I grab the strap of her gym bag, haul it up to the seat below me, and unzip it. “Shoes.”
“Don’t you want to know what I know?”
I get her cardigan out along with her flats. “Nope.”
“She wants to kiss you,” Bell screams loudly enough to make everyone in the gym look over. She makes a kissy face, sticks her butt out, and wiggles. “She lo-o-o-ves you,” she sings. “She wants to ki-i-i-ss you.”
“Stop it,” I say. “I’m warning you.”
She jumps up on the bench and spins in a circle.
“Get down.”
“All the teachers and mommies want to kiss my daddy,” she croons. “He’s the most handsome, most nicest daddy—” She stumbles over her own two feet and falls onto her knees, nearly toppling over the side before I grab her.
“Goddamn it, Bell,” I shout, pulling her to her feet. “I told you to get down.”
She looks up at me silently, her eyes wide.
I’m instantly chastened by my own reprimand. I rarely yell at her, but the combination of intentionally defying me and risking her safety in the process makes me snap.
Her face crumbles, and she hiccups with her first wave of tears. “I-I’m s-sorry.”
“Ah, shit.” I run both hands through my hair, sit on the bench, and pull her onto the seat next to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
When I put an arm around her, she turns into my chest and sobs. I have to restrain from crushing her. “I’m sorry, Bluebell. I’m not mad. I’m just—” I shake my head. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, and I’ve told you—it’s inappropriate.”
She warbles something unintelligible.
“Why do you keep talking about kissing?” I ask, pushing through my discomfort. “Are you curious about it?”
She pulls on my t-shirt a few seconds and lets go to look up into my face. “I don’t know. When I go to Sarah’s house, her mom kisses her dad. Is it bad?”
My stupid, hard heart cracks down the middle. I take her hand and close both of mine around it. “No, it’s not bad.”
She looks around a little bit, her brows furrowed. “But you get mad.”
I’m a bad parent. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. My heart hammers. Whether or not I’m ready, we’re having this conversation. “What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend to kiss? Like other dads? Don’t you want one?”
I close my eyes. What . . . the . . . fuck. She’s just a little girl. How can she possibly be thinking about this, much less worrying about it? “I’m not like other dads, Bell.”
“I know,” she says, as if it’s a fact. “Does that mean you won’t ever have someone like Sarah’s mom? Her parents are happy when they kiss.”
“Do you think I’m not—” I swallow through the lump in my throat. “Not happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“You make me so happy, Bell. Daddy is very, very happy.”
“If you do find someone to kiss, then what? Will you go somewhere else?”
I cinch my eyebrows together. “Where would I go?”
“I don’t know. You kissed my mom. She left.”
“I . . .” I