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“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Matt says, “after you left practice yesterday, a bunch of the cheerleaders were looking at some of Alleghany’s social media, and the weird thing? Cole wasn’t inanyof them.”
I stiffen but keep my eyes on my phone.
“So?” Liam asks.
“One of the guys asked where he was in the video, and Fields said he was off training.”
Liam scoffs. “Probably knew we’d hear about it and they’re trying to psych us out. Cole always spends the summer partying and getting laid.”
“I know, but he wasn’t eventhere,” Matt stresses.
“Who cares?” Liam replies. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Overthinking what?” my father asks as he and my mother reappear.
“Just a rumor about Weston Cole, Coach,” Matt replies. “Someone said he’s training hard this summer.”
“We’ll be training harder,” my father responds, unlocking the car.
We all pile back inside to continue our trek south. I resume staring at Wes’s latest text, hating how conflicted I feel.
We pull into my grandparents’ driveway just before eight. As soon as Liam and Matt evacuate the middle row, I slide the chair forward so I can climb out and stretch my cramped muscles. Salty air fills my lungs and coats my hair. I can feel the ordinarily straight strands turning wavy as soon as I leave the confines of the car.
My grandparents sold the Glenmont house they’d resided in for decades several years ago to move to the beach house I’m staring at now on a permanent basis. I’ve always been partial to lakes over the ocean, but I can’t deny the view overlooking the whitecaps is stunning.
“You’re here!” My grandmother appears from the side of the house to welcome us. She greets my father first, and then makes her way through the rest of us, including Matt.
“Look at you, Maeve,” she says when she reaches me. “You look so grown up!”
“You look so young,” I reply, grinning. It’s been our standard greeting to each other ever since I started going through puberty.
My grandmother laughs, and I’m enveloped by the scent of gardenia and lemon as she squeezes me tight.
“Come eat!” she urges. “You must all be famished.”
We follow her through the sprawling gardens. My grandmother’s favorite hobby is gardening, and my childhood years are littered with memories of digging in the dirt next to her. Thanks to South Carolina’s more temperate climate, her yard here is even more vibrant than the grounds surrounding their old home in Glenmont were.
We approach the stone patio that juts off the back deck, and my grandfather comes into view. He’s standing at the grill, flipping sizzling chunks of meat. The resemblance between him and my father is uncanny. Same proud chin, strong jaw, and sloped brow. Their similarities aren’t just physical. They have the same steadfast, no-nonsense personality Liam also inherited. I guess I did too, to a certain extent.
My grandfather gives us all hugs as well, but they lack the exuberance my grandmother is bubbling with.
We all pile our plates and settle down at the patio table to eat. My grandmother asks my parents some questions about the drive down, and then my grandfather chimes in with a gruff question. “How’s the season looking, John?”
They may look alike, and act alike, but the common thread between my grandfather and father will always be football.
“Can’t we have one family meal without discussing sports?” my grandmother requests.
“I’m simply asking about my grandson’s team, Greta,” my grandfather responds. My grandmother clucks her tongue but doesn’t say anything else.
“The team is looking good this year. We’ve got a lot more depth on defense, and I’ve had Liam running weight trainings to start getting the guys in shape this summer.”
“Weston Cole still causing problems for you?”
I watch a muscle jump in Liam’s jaw from his seat across from me.
“I won’t have any official stats until their season starts. But he played well last year,” my father replies. There’s an unspokenobviouslyat the end of his sentence.
My grandmother jumps in, peppering Liam, Matt, and me with questions about our upcoming senior year for the remainder of dinner.
