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Beau: The tent pole wilted at the sight of the aforementioned greasy handlebar mustache.
Me: You’re terrible.
Beau: It’s the same facial hair he had when he was the AD fifteen years ago. Not even a gray hair. Are we sure he’s not a vampire?
I snort, remembering Beau’s sense of humor when we were kids. And yet something is bugging me about this. It’s that nagging feeling that he’s not taking this job seriously. On the other hand, maybe he’s venting about his first day. Ron can be a pretty hard-nosed boss, from what I hear.
Me: Maybe his wife likes facial hair. I think Ron looks handsome in it. Like the Pringles man.
Beau: You think the Pringles man is handsomer than me?
Me: Hmm. It’s neck and neck. You win if I can stick my hand in your ear and pull out delicious potato chips.
Beau: I’ll work on that.
His wink emoji reminds me of how he winked at me after Patty discovered us tumbling out of the supply closet, looking disheveled and flushed. That woman is an eagle eye, and there’s no way she didn’t guess what had been going on. That playful wink had made me feel frisky all over again. Thinking about it makes me wish Beau was here right now.
Mary: So, how was practice?
Beau: That’s one thing I wanted to call you about. I don’t post the positions until next week, but after one day of watching Micah play, he’s definitely a first-string quarterback.
My heart leaps.
Me: Oh my god! That’s fantastic news! I don’t know how I'll keep that under wraps, but I’ll try.
Beau: Yeah. I wouldn’t mind if you told him, but I know what happens in this town when info gets leaked. Especially around football.
Me: When it’s official, we’d love to have you over for dinner after practice one day.
Beau: I’d love that. As long as it’s okay with Micah that I’m hanging out with his mom.
Me: Are you kidding? You’re a superstar. Everything I do embarrasses him. You, on the other hand.
The three little dots appear and disappear a couple of times, so I set my phone down and focus on cooking dinner.
Cooking is not my favorite thing, so it was fun bantering with Beau through the process. What would it be like to have him here in person? Sneaking up behind me and circling his arms around my waist, warming my skin and teasing my throat with kisses.
No, Mary. That’s not what this is. This is purely physical; there’s nothing else there.
Micah bangs into the kitchen with three of his friends, overwhelming my tiny kitchen. The foursome has just walked home from the town pool, the group of them a sopping wet mass of shoulders, braying laughter, and braces.
Though the house is small, I may never move away for something bigger, for the location alone—easy walking distance to everything in our small town. The city pool, the library, the high school, everything we need is close by. Plus, we got lucky with a responsible landlord, and the rent is decent enough for a single mom who teaches high school.
The air fryer dings and I dump the mound of chicken wings onto a platter on the table, adding my homemade buffalo sauce, plus steak fries from the oven, and sautéed veggies because a mother has to try to get something green into her growing boy.
I smile as the boys elbow each other to get to the wings and sauce.
“Your mom makes the best food. My mom doesn’t know how to turn on the oven.”
I know Travis’s mom, and that’s simply not true. However, I don’t mind eating up the praise. My cooking skills are as strategic as my choice of a rental house. I feed children, and they come back. And now, I feel pretty good that this house is where Micah and his friends want to hang out. Micah stays home more often that way.
Do I spend more on groceries than I would otherwise? Yes. But with Micah visiting his dad every other weekend, I get a break from the astronomical grocery bill twice a month.
And once Micah started the pre-teen growth spurts and began eating all the food in Ryan’s kitchen on his visits, Ryan started to send more than his share of child support.
I’m acquainted with enough single moms who get bupkis for child support, so I consider all this damn lucky for me, and I don’t take a single penny for granted.
After dinner, the boys take out the trash and help clear the dishes before racing back outside to play basketball at the hoop in the driveway. It’s a small mercy that some of my training sticks.
