I’m not sure I like where this is going. “Number twelve.”
She whistles. “I know football better than I know baseball. Are major league contracts guaranteed?”
I definitely don’t like where this is going. “Yup.”
Her laugh is made of pure disbelief. “So you have millions in the bank for playing that one game. I grew up on food stamps, so forgive me for being naive.How exactly is that a curse?”
Her words hit like a pitch to the ribs. I sink into my seat, the blood in my veins feeling cold and sluggish. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never looked at it that way. I’ve never once imagined that my situation—my humiliation—could be seen as something to be envied.
I can feel some tiny part of me trying to agree with her, some corner of my mind reframing hundreds of hours of Granddad’s hitting drills as the blessing that got me to that one fortune-changing game …
But that’s her map, not mine. My roads are full of dead ends, and unlike Poppy, I don’t trust the GPS.
I would argue, would explain that she doesn’t understand, but the way she said “I grew up on food stamps” stops me.
“You know I’ve never touched the money,” I say in a low voice. “Felt like ill-gotten gains. Like I didn’t deserve it.”
The sound coming from Poppy’s throat is like a tea-kettle boiling. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
I shake my head.
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Keep your eyes on the road for me. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Open your eyes.” I put my hand on the steering wheel, my finger brushing hers. “And don’t be sick!”
She opens them back up, but her head is shaking. “I know we just met, but I think I hate you.”
A laugh explodes from my mouth. “I didn’t see that coming, Elf on a Shelf.”
And now she’s laughing. “A height joke? You just admitted to having millions of dollars in a bank account; I told you I grew up dirt poor, and now you’re mocking me? You suck, Ollie Fletcher.”
I breathe out another laugh. “Sorry, Poppy … what’s your last name?”
“Lewis.”
“Sorry, Poppy Lewis.”
She shakes her head. “So what changed with your family?”
“Evan got a new lease on life about two years ago, when he met his fiancée. Now he thinks his accident was a blessing in disguise. And after years of ‘MLB or bust,’ my family suddenly changed their tune, at least with Evan. Everything Evan says or does gets a pass. Me, not so much.”
“So they’ve moved on with him, but they haven’t come to accept that coaching is just as good as playing?” she asks.
“It’s not,” I say. Poppy’s warning look screams“I will smash this car against the guardrails to teach you a lesson, so help me.”
“Yeah, maybe I have a good job, but every conversation with my granddad includes him listing my disappointments. And my dad parrots them half the time, too,” I say, because she may have a point, but it doesn’t erase how real, hard, and all too heavy my family pressure is.
“Do you like coaching? Managing?”
“I don’t dislike it.”
“You love it,” she says with a decisive nod. “That’s great. Your family needs to get a handle on their feelings and stop putting them on you.”
I shrug. Again. What is this, my tenth shrug of the day? “I’ll be sure to tell them you said that.”
She scoffs a laugh. We’re approaching the turnoff for the next highway, but Poppy’s eying a sign promising a roadside café. “We should probably stop for a meal, right?”
I’d rather keep going—we’re already burning daylight—but I’ve only eaten peanuts since breakfast, and I’m positive Poppy could say the same.
