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College scouts.

I had already fucked up once in front of them. If I did it a second time, they definitely wouldn’t pay me a visit the spring of my senior year. I should have already been working on verbal commitments. Signing in November or December.

Now I’d be lucky to sign in April.

Ben was good enough to go at least D2, maybe D1 if he could get his GPA up and stay out of trouble. He was already in talks with UNC, his dream school, and I was happy for him.

Mostly.

The truth that I couldn’t admit to him or anyone else was that I wasn’t sure what I wanted most: to play college baseball or to not be left behind.

Later that day, I sat in the living room trying to read a copy of Romeo and Juliet from Nana’s bookshelf. Why were people so obsessed with this depressing play? And the feud between the Capulets and Montagues? No one knew what started it.

At least our feud with the Crowleys made sense.

Nana called from the kitchen, “Reed, could you come help me with dinner?”

“Be right there.” I stuck a receipt from the gas station into the book and stood. The sofa made a sticky ripping sound. Nana said that on a farm, plastic had to cover the furniture or everything would be ruined. I think I would’ve taken my chances without it.

Plastic on a sofa was as comfortable as Saran wrap on a toilet seat.

The old oaken floors creaked under my feet. Mickey, Granddad’s old border collie, wagged his tail on the checkered tile near the sink, and Nana danced along to some music near the stove.

“Smells good in here.” I rubbed Mickey’s head before smiling at her.

She tossed me a head of lettuce from the counter and patted her side. “Did I tell you I got Lucille hooked up to my phone? Now I can read my levels without having to take her off my belt.”

I smiled. “That’s great.” Lucille was Nana’s insulin pump. She had been a Type 1 diabetic for as long as I could remember. Mom and Dad helped pay for Lucille a couple of years ago when Nana’s other pump kept malfunctioning. Nana fought tooth and nail against it, but after a couple of bad hypoglycemic episodes, she gave in.

Nana opened the fridge and took out some raw vegetables, placing them near the sink and a cutting board before staring at me. “Well, don’t just stand there.”

I brought the lettuce over and started shaving it off at the sides.

“What in the world are you doing, Reed?” she asked.

“Making a salad.” I kept shaving the lettuce. Wasn’t this how you did it?

“Honey, you keep cutting the lettuce like that and that salad won’t be ready till next week.” She laughed and smacked my arm with the spoon. “Don’t you know how to make a salad?”

“Usually, we dump a bag of it in the bowl.”

Nana placed a hand on her chest. “Dear Jesus. I’ll have to have a chat with your mother—”

“No, no, no.” I turned around. “She makes salad. But we don’t have a garden like you. Remember? Plus, I’m not home for dinner a lot.”

Nana raised an eyebrow. “A boy needs to make time to eat dinner with his family. You hear?”

“Loud and clear.” What I didn’t tell her was that I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t home a lot for dinner. Dad supervised a lot of the trainings at the base, and Mom, well, she didn’t like coming home to an empty house. So she waited until one of us texted before she left the library where she worked.

Nana chopped the lettuce in half and then chunked the rest before tossing it all into the bowl. Next, she pulled out a peeler and a small knife. “Peel those carrots into the compost bucket near the back door.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you guys got a garbage disposal for your sink?”

She huffed. “Foolish to replace good composting with one of those fancy gadgets. You’ve been away from this farm for too long.”

She showed me how she went away from her hand that held the carrot when she peeled. “Nice and slow. And then cut them into small pieces about the size of a nickel. Got it?”

I kissed her cheek right underneath one of her light brown age spots. “Got it.”