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I try not to smile at her implication that there will be a next time.
“Nice seeing you again,” Fisher says. “For a couple who isn’t together, you sure are together a lot.”
“Your brother can’t take no for an answer.”
She walks up the hill with him as I trail behind.
“So, I wanted to thank you two… we just ordered twenty ball gags for the department.”
Calista laughs and I smile at being able to unapologetically watch her. I love her laugh.
It’s as if someone injected a needle filled with happiness into my heart every time I hear it. “How can you say that with a straight face?” she asks.
Fisher shrugs. He’s by far my grumpiest brother.
We reach the field and my niece, Maisie, is on the bench, her feet kicking back and forth. As usual, the coach is only playing her best players. During our weekly phone calls, my mom told me this has been going on.
“Look who I found.” Fisher thumbs toward Calista and thankfully, for once, doesn’t out me for making out with her.
I’d hate to give my family false hope that I’ll be returning home more than I do. Still, they swarm her as though she’s a long-lost relative no one has heard from in years. She smiles and accepts their hugs and well-wishes, and she compliments my parents on how wonderful they look, tells my sisters how beautiful their hair is or how she likes their lip gloss or outfit, and hammers out comebacks to my brothers when they give her shit for being with me.
Soon though, Mandi stands next to her, and I come up along Calista’s other side.
“That’s my daughter, Maisie. She’s nine.” Mandi points across the field.
“Well, her red hair doesn’t give it away. Then again, I guess she could be Posey’s, but she looks tall for her age.” Calista looks around for Mandi’s husband, Noah, who is, like, six-five or six-six or something crazy like that.
“Noah’s running late from a photo shoot, but he’ll be here by the half and he’s going to go berserk if Maisie isn’t on the field.”
The stress of kids’ sports seems unreal from a parent perspective. I don’t think I really realized it when I was young. I wonder what kind of dad I’ll be. If I’ll even have kids by the time I retire from soccer.
Calista watches the girls and I do too. Yeah, some of them are good, but there’s no reason Maisie shouldn’t be out there.
“Does she like it?” Calista asks Mandi.
“She did before the season started, but when it got to games and she just sat on the bench except for a minute here or there, she lost interest.”
“Can I say something please?” I ask Mandi.
Calista’s hand lands on my forearm. “Give it a bit.”
The other team scores two goals on the goalie who’s busy staring at her shirt and shoes and doesn’t even realize that the ball flew past her.
“This is ridiculous.” I cup my hands. “GOALIE!” The girl looks behind her, then at me.
“BLOCK.” I show her with my feet and hands. “YOU’VE GOT THE GLOVES!”
“Rylan,” Mandi seethes.
“Oh, Mandi!” A woman with long blonde hair approaches. Her makeup is flawless, and although she’s wearing boots, they’re the fashion ones that will do her no good in Alaska.
“Who’s this?” I ask Mandi, thumbing toward the blonde.
“I’m the goalie’s mom.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Mandi, so great that Maisie always has the most fans on the sideline. I told my husband the other day that those Greenes sure have time on their hands. Especially since Maisie doesn’t see the field too much.”
“What do you want, Kara?” Mandi asks, and the bite in her tone says she is not a fan of Kara. And Mandi doesn’t hate anyone.
“I just wanted to remind some of your members…” Kara eyes me and Calista laughs.
