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But all laid out in the grass with the darkness getting blacker, their bellies are starting to growl again. So’s mine, and one of the guys at home probably already snuck into the kitchen and ate the plate Mama Louise leaves for me on football practice nights. Looks like a drive-thru is in my future before I head out to the farm tonight.
I mess up his hair, trying to stay casual. “No worries, kid.” Realizing my mistake, I make an exaggerated face of disgust and then wipe my sweat-soaked hand on my jeans. “So, how does this carpool run for you two?”
Cooper raises his hand like he’s in school, and I lift my chin his way, giving him unspoken permission to speak. Coach’s rules still apply, I guess. “Our moms make this big official schedule. There’s a calendar meeting once a month and everything, though it’s mostly just our moms with pens, highlighters, and glasses of wine. They work on it together and then stick a copy up on both our refrigerators and keep another copy on their phones. We sneak out as soon as dinner’s done.” Liam and Cooper roll their eyes at each other, laughing at the antics of adults.
“The after-school babysitter dropped us off today, but it’s supposed to be my mom picking us up,” Liam explains. “Since she didn’t answer the phone, though, I’m guessing she’s stuck at work.” Unconcerned, he plucks another blade of grass to add to the pile he’s already accumulated beside his thigh.
When practice had ended and all the other parents had left with their kids, Cooper and Liam were the last men standing. I volunteered to stay with them so Mike and Evan could get home. After a few minutes waiting to see if she was just running late, we’d called Michelle and got sent straight to voicemail. Then we’d tried Allyson, both her cell and her work line, where I talked to a lady named Debra who’d worriedly said that Allyson was in a closed-door meeting. After reassurances that I was fine hanging out with the boys until someone got here, her appreciation had bordered on overwhelming.
I bump Liam’s shoulder, having learned my lesson to keep my hands off their sweaty grossness. “What’s your mom do again?”
“She’s a nurse at the hospital. She works twelve-hour shifts a few days a week in the operating room so she can be home with me most of the time. When she’s not, that’s where Ms. Allyson tags in.” Liam holds his hand up and Cooper slaps a high-five to his palm, not giving a single shit about the dirt they’re smearing between them.
“Tag!” Cooper says a little too loudly in the quiet evening air. “Mom works days at Mr. Rick’s law firm, so Liam gets to stay with us when his mom’s working overnight or when his dad’s home. They call it ‘village parenting’.” Cooper’s voice says he’s heard that saying more than a time or two.
Liam picks back up. “My dad does sales and travels all the time, so it’s usually just me and Mom. And then we he comes home, they take a night to ‘date’ and then we all hang out as a family.”
Even in the dark, I can see the flash of the boys’ white-toothed grins, and they giggle as they make kissy noises and both say, “Date! Ewww!”
I chuckle along, acting offended. “What? Old people can date.”
Cooper groans. “We know that means sex, Coach B. Gross.”
“Oh, uh . . .” I stammer, not sure what to say to that. I mean, he’s not wrong, at least about ‘date’ being code for sex, but it’s definitely not gross. Knowing this is definitely not my place to add any details to their discussion, I stick with as little as I can say as possible. “You might feel differently about that when you’re older.”
Liam gives Cooper’s shoulder a friendly shove. “At least your parents aren’t having s-e-x every time they see each other while you go on sleepovers at my house.” They giggle again, wrestling around a bit.
“So, what about your dad, Cooper?” The words blurt out before I can stop them. Part of me is desperate to hear his answer. The other part wants to shove my big paws over his mouth to stop him from saying a word. I don’t want to cause him pain if it’s a hard story, but my curiosity overrides my reticence when he doesn’t burst into tears or show any real emotion.
“I don’t remember him. And Mom doesn’t talk about him. Ever.” His complete lack of emotion is suddenly more telling than if he were upset. He’s swallowing a lot, keeping it bottled way down deep. It takes one to recognize one, and I’ve definitely been accused of being a stoic robot a time or two.
