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Back then, his chest had been bare. Carved with muscle because of how hard he worked in the weight room, there was only the smallest hint of chest hair at eighteen. Now, though, just past the last button he’d done on his shirt, I could see a peek of dark hair.
It was so manly, I could scream.
I ripped my eyes away because I was staring at his chest. In public.
“Get it together,” I whispered.
“What?” he asked.
I blinked over at him. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Ian eyed me for a moment, then turned his attention back to the game.
I turned forward, clearing my throat as Sage’s team lined up on offense first. After that, there was no more time for looks with subtext or even a lot of conversation.
There was so much yelling and screaming and jumping up on the bleachers. I swear, if she ever played a sport in college or the pros, I’d actually expire from elevated blood pressure.
Ian paced the sideline, shouting encouragement and tips, hands either propped on his hips or arms crossed over his chest. Even my dad cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled when her team scored a touchdown. My mom and Sheila were more subdued—likely from sheer embarrassment.
At one point, when Sage lined up behind her center and danced back, rolled to the right when someone got past a blocker and sent a sharp, perfectly thrown ball about thirty yards into the hands of a waiting receiver who ran straight into the end zone, Poppy and I screamed like they’d won a freaking Super Bowl.
Sage’s team surrounded her, offering high fives, back pats and hugs, and she was so happy, I was afraid my heart might burst.
Sheila looked back at me with a massive grin. “She’s amazing, Harlow.”
I sniffled. “Thank you. I think so too.”
Then like she couldn’t help herself, Sheila wrapped an arm around my mom and squeezed. “You must be so proud of these two. Your daughter is an amazing mom, you know.”
When my mom’s eyes flicked back toward me, I couldn’t read anything in her expression, and for a moment, my breath stalled.
“I know she is,” she said, quiet and firm. And maybe she was uncomfortable with the hug from Sheila, but she didn’t shake it off. She raised her head a little. “She always has been, even if I don’t do a great job of saying it out loud.”
Now time stopped for a different reason. It wasn’t from heady eye contact or the sweet possibilities that came with it. It was a breath-stealing, unexpected burst of honesty. To anyone else, it might have seemed like a weak substitute for an apology, but I was always more of a fan of changed behavior over empty words.
My mom knew I’d heard, even if her eyes didn’t cut back to mine. My bottom lip trembled dangerously, so I dug my teeth there to hold it still. The bite of pain helped, even if part of me wished it didn’t mean so much to hear her say it. But it did.
Sheila didn’t so much as blink at my mom’s admission, probably because it wasn’t as stunning to her as it was to me. She simply nodded. “Sometimes I think watching our kids come into their own, being truly good at something they care about, is the best part of being a parent. Scary too, of course. Because we can’t do much except sit back and watch, hope they don’t fail at whatever it is.” Then she patted my mom’s hand where it still clutched her purse on her lap. “But I think you’re doing just fine, even if you’re just saying it now. Now’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” my mom agreed.
“I think it’s hard when our kids go after something that we never would’ve dreamed of,” Sheila continued. “When I married Tim, I certainly never imagined that two of our boys would play professional football. We sat at games in the rain and cold and snow, for years and years, and I still had no idea what would come from it.”
My heart beat hard in my chest, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my mom’s face. She hadn’t looked back at me since Sheila started talking, and that was okay. I wanted to know she was listening, even if it came from someone else.
“I don’t know how you handled that,” my mom said quietly. “I’m not sure if I could have.”
“I think their jobs are a little insane, if I’m being honest,” Sheila said, leaning in closer to my mom, speaking just loudly enough that I could hear. “The attention, the toll it takes on their bodies, the risk involved.” Then she closed her eyes and smiled, like she was back at one of their games. “But my word, the way those boys light up when they play.” She patted my mom’s hand again. “I don’t need to understand it. Them loving what they do is plenty for me.”
The line of my mom’s throat moved on a tight swallow. “And you don’t … you don’t worry about them failing?”
Understanding filled Sheila’s face, as it often did. “No. Because even if they do, I think it’s pretty wonderful that they were willing to try, no matter the outcome.”
My mom did not respond immediately, but she stared down at her lap for a long minute. “You’re a wise woman, Sheila,” she said quietly.
Sheila waved that off. “That’s because I’m old and have a million kids. You can’t help but gain wisdom if you want to survive a family of our size.”
And then my mother smiled, emitting the smallest of laughs. It wasn’t big, and she didn’t show teeth, but it was more warmth than I’d seen out of her in a long time, the kind usually only reserved for her grandkids. And it had a pleasant, warm feeling spinning through my whole body.
