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Chapter FourSummer weekends were my favorite, especially when it involved soccer. I was thrilled when Edenvale’s Recreation League added a shortened summer season this year. It was basically conditioning for the fall, which was fantastic. My girls were excited because they were determined to win the fall championship. It meant new strategies and trying new field positions. They had been practicing hard and I was proud to call them my Pink Ladies. I smiled every time I thought of the name they had chosen this season. As weird as it sounded, I could always hear Mom giggle when I said it or when I put on my pink jersey. Pink was not my color, yet it followed me everywhere.
Our game was at eleven, but we met at the soccer fields at ten to warm up and make sure everyone had the proper gear. Inevitably, shin guards or cleats were forgotten every game. Parents would have to hustle home to retrieve forgotten items. I couldn’t ever get upset at the girls, being chronically forgetful myself. To try and be a good example, I kept a crate in my Jeep filled with all my coaching gear, including things like my clipboard and our practice and gameday plans. So I may have already forgotten the crate this morning. The jog back to my Jeep was good for me.
My only complaint this season was with my assistant coach, Gwendolyn, or as I thought of her, the annoying warm body. To follow the rules, each team had to have two coaches always present. She was the only person who volunteered. All I could say for her was that she was present, at least physically. Most of the time, Gwendolyn, who gave me a lecture the first time we met that at no point was I ever to call her Gwen, was on her phone or filing her nails, even painting them on occasion. She brought a lounge chair and umbrella to each practice and game. It mortified Poppy, her daughter, who played on the team. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but I would have paid some parents under the table to take Gwendolyn’s place.
Speaking of my partner in crime, she showed up in the tiniest white shorts and a halter top, wearing sunglasses bigger than her face. Her newest husband trailed behind her carrying all her gear. Poppy was running ahead of them, hoping not to be associated with them. I could feel her pain.
Gwendolyn was upon us, in heels I might add. “I brought everyone a treat today,” she sing-songed unnaturally high. “Set down the cooler, Mario,” she ordered her new, younger Latin lover husband. He did so with a loud thunk before stretching his back.
Was that glass I heard jangling in the rather large cooler?
“Ladies, gather round. Gwendolyn,” she loved to refer to herself in third person, “brought you something extra special today if you win.” She pointed at Mario with her ridiculously long, painted gold fingernail. “Open the cooler.”
Her boy toy obeyed like he was a dog and she would pet him afterward. I hoped she didn’t, especially not in front of me or the kids. I was pretty sure there were league rules against it. Poppy should probably plan on years of therapy. I knew I would have needed it if ol’ Gwennie was my mom.
Mario obeyed and revealed Gwendolyn’s surprise, which was more like a gotcha!
The smell hit us first. We all backed away, except Gwendolyn, who actually did some lifting and pulled out two crystal platters. Yes, I said crystal. She held them out as if she’d actually made them herself, which there was no chance of. A lot of what she did during practice was order takeout.
“Look, my little darlings, smoked trout crostinis and curried shrimp tarts, annnddd,” she handed the trays to Mario before retrieving a nice, cold glass bottle of Perrier, “sparkling water. Isn’t that exciting?”
All the girls looked at me to answer.
“You know, Gwendolyn, carbonated drinks aren’t the best for kids to rehydrate.” I know what a hypocrite I sounded like, because who was going to be downing a Dr. Pepper after the game? That’s right, this girl. Win or lose I was stopping for one. “And a few of the girls have shellfish allergies.” I so lied. It was worth it for the twelve beaming smiles I received and to see Gwendolyn’s collagen filled lips pout.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this? I need an entire list of allergies. Do you know how much this food cost? What am I going to do with it? I can’t eat it. Do you know how many calories are in these little delectables?” She gave me a scrutinizing once over. “You probably don’t count calories.”
She would be correct, but even if I did, I wouldn’t admit to it, especially not in front of girls who needed positive body reinforcement. “You’re right, I don’t, and neither should the girls.” I turned to twelve sets of wide eyes. “Let’s warm up.”
