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I put my hands on her upper arms, turn her around, and then give her a small nudge. “I’ll see you later.”
Jillian waves over her shoulder on her way to Robert’s car, her diamond engagement ring catching the last rays of sunlight and sparkling. “Bye!” Her smile is contagious and the corners of my mouth turn up in response. I keep it there until the car pulls away and I look down at my bare left hand.
*
The next morning,I walk into the kitchen to find my dad plating blueberry pancakes. It’s our Sunday morning ritual. Mom made them when I was young and we keep to the tradition whenever we’re both at home. The smell of batter and warm berries brings back memories I’m grateful for. “Good morning, sweet pea,” Dad says.
“Hi, Dad. How are you feeling today?” I grab my ceramic baseball mug out of the cupboard—it’s extra-large and I need the additional ounces today—then pour myself some coffee.
“Good.”
I note his face appears relaxed, but “good” is always his standard answer. It’s frustrating more than reassuring. The man is annoyingly stoic. He hates for me to worry about him. Three months ago he experienced severe headaches, jaw pain, and scalp tenderness. He had to beg off umping a game, something he’d never done before. A trip to the doctor and many tests later, he was diagnosed with a type of vasculitis known as giant cell arteritis. The condition causes inflammation of the arteries in his head, especially around his temples. We hoped it would improve without treatment but the flare-ups continued, indicating his condition is chronic. Last week he scared the crap out of me when he had an adverse reaction to his medication. I’d rushed him to the ER, fighting tears the entire drive. I don’t want him to worry about me either.
Thankfully, he was helped quickly and easily, his meds were changed, and I’d only been an hour late to my meeting at Landsharks’s stadium.
Dad playfully bumps my side when I turn to open the fridge. “How are you?” he asks.
“Good.” Two can play this game. I take out the vanilla creamer. Iamgood. Mostly.
“Glad to hear it.”
We sit at the square pine table. The kitchen is the largest room in our quaint three-bedroom house. With a TV on the counter and a bay window above the sink that overlooks our backyard garden, we spend most of our time here. Or at least I do, working on my laptop or phone from this very spot. I pour the creamer into my cup. Once my coffee is sufficiently blond and sweetened, I take a sip.
Dad cuts into his pancakes. I watch him eat a few bites before digging into my own. I like when he has an appetite. He’s lost fifteen pounds over the past few months. Further complications from his disease can include blurred or double vision or even blindness. I push away the unwelcome fear.
“What’s on your agenda today?” I ask.
“Carol and Ron invited me over to watch the Chargers play the 49ers.” Jillian’s parents are the closest thing we have to family besides my aunt Becky who lives in New Jersey.
“How much did you and Ron bet this time?”
“Fifty bucks says my Chargers will crush his team.”
“Want me to drive you over there?”
Dad’s eyes, the same flaxen color as my own, narrow. “No thanks. I told you I’m good.”
“Just thought I’d offer.”
He sighs. “And I appreciate it, but I promised you I’d ask for help if I need it, and I’ll keep that promise.”
“I know. It’s just sometimes…” I’m still scared to death about letting him out of my sight.
His hand covers mine. “I will never let you down, sweet pea. Not if I can help it.”
I nod and get out of my chair to hug him. He gave me his shoulder to cry on after Leo broke up with me. He listened to me prattle on about Finn and how excited I am to have this assignment. (I left out the part about how goose bumps have found a brand-new path over my skin whenever Finn smiles at me.)
And he’s right—he’s the one man I can always count on no matter what, so I’m not about to doubt him or myself right now.
Chapter Five
#OutInLeftField
Finn
At the soundof the doorbell, I swallow down the rest of my morning shake in one gulp. If I had to rate this morning on a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three. That’s like a batting average under one fifty. The reason for this low number? My brothers.
“We got it,” they call out in unison, practically tripping over each other to get to the front door. Sammy is fast on their trail, her barks of excitement pulling a smile out of me. She’s the best buffer to Ethan and Drew there is.
