As soon as I pull up to my house, I see a shiny black Lincoln sedan parked in the driveway next to my mom’s minivan. I walk inside, only to be greeted by tense voices.
“What am I supposed to do? This is my job, Alice.”
“Realize that you have a family. Prioritize your wife and your son for a change. What happened last year?—”
“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up again. I already told you I messed up. What more do you want?”
I don’t mean to eavesdrop on my parents. Whatever rigidity that’s palpable from the next room isn’t something that I want to walk in on, but I fear it’s too late. I shut the door behind me with the purposeful intention of making some noise.
“Well, Eddie?—”
All conversation comes to a halt.
“Ev, is that you?” I hear my dad call.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer, walking into the kitchen where my parents are on either side of the island, their hands braced on the marble surface and their body language weary with frustration. My dad walks over to me, reaching for my hand for a firm handshake.
“First game of the season,” he tells me, patting my shoulder. “Nervous?”
I shake my head, unconvincingly smiling at him through my lie. “Just ready to play, Coach.”
“Good.”
“Game starts at five?” my mom asks, turning toward the fridge, her gaze preoccupied.
“Yeah, but I need to be there early.”
“We’ll go early too,” my dad says. “I want to finally meet your coach in person.”
I nod before I head to my room to change. I busy myself with getting ready while keeping my ears open. My parents fighting isn’t something new. Their marriage has always been what I’ve grown to call fragile. With the line of work my dad does, his priorities have always been awry. My mom has always questioned his devotion to us, especially when she’s had to step in and take on the usually assumed roles my dad would’ve taken. As I’ve gotten older, their arguments have gotten more frequent. Often my mom demanding more of his time and his response being that she’s being unreasonable and that she should understand the responsibilities his job requires. Since our move to San Diego, their arguments have been less frequent with the distance between them, but the frustration and resentment from my mom hasn’t gone anywhere. In fact, I’ve seen it linger and simmer without the presence of my dad to reassure her.
An hour later, I’m sitting in the back seat of my dad’s rental as we pull into the parking lot of my school. I get out first, letting my parents take their time making their way to the gymnasium. I make it to the locker room, finding that a lot of my teammates are already there. Everyone seems to be basking in the game day hype, and my mood matches the lively, animated energy around me. Which is good since my nerves have been somewhat on edge all day, knowing the scrutiny my dad will have on my skills for four full quarters.
I find my locker, reaching for my fresh, unused jersey. The locker room starts to bustle even louder with pre-game energy. As the clock counts down to tipoff, we all funnel out to the court, trailing behind one another as we start a round of drills to get our blood pumping. The bleachers are starting to fill, and the cheerleaders have already taken their spots on the sidelines, matching the competitiveness buzzing between us and the opposing team trickling in from the other end.
I pause, taking a moment to drink some water before things pick up, when I catch Teeny walking into the gymnasium. She has her face painted with a bright gold falcon on her cheek and her hair is tied up in two pigtails. She has a large poster that says “GO 44” in big block letters.
“Hey, Hayes,” she calls, her pigtails bouncing as she lowers her sign, and she plops down a step to meet me at eye level. “You ready to kick some ass out there?”
I smirk and jerk my head to her sign made for Josh. “Where’s mine?”
“Didn’t think you’d want one,” she answers, a sheepish smile spreading across her face.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Thought people might think it’s weird?” she says, her voice unsure.
“Hayes!” I turn to where the rest of my teammates are gathering for our huddle with Coach. “Come on!” he calls.
I turn to face Teeny again. “I want mine twice as big for the next game.”
I walk away, my back to Teeny, but look over my shoulder one more time before reaching the now fully formed huddle. Teeny’s still watching me, and I fully face her, waving my hand in her direction like a love-sick fool. Teeny waves back and just as I reach the team, Josh eyes me, having caught the entire exchange.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Just saying hi to Teen.”
He responds with a light hum before we’re interrupted by Coach.
