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“You’re in my kitchen, eating ice cream from a carton on a Saturday night instead of out with the girls,” Mom says, and Aunt Nattie nods in agreement.
“Fine. It’s Cross,” I tell the two of them and shove another spoonful in my mouth.
“Ohh... the hockey player?” Nattie turns her head to Mom. “The single dad?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Mom agrees, and I smack the counter.
“What the heck, Mom? You told the whole family?”
“No,” she protests, but I can tell from the guilty look on her face she totally did. “Okay, fine. I may have mentioned it to Nat, and Amelia and Carys already knew.”
Nattie raises her spoon. “I told Sabrina and Catherine.”
“Grandma knows?” I gasp. “That is the definition of the entire family, Mom.”
“In my defense, your brother came over with his dirty laundry and mentioned that Cross and his kids were at your condo for the Kings game last week, and I got excited.”
“And drunk,” Nattie adds. “That was the night last week with those margaritas during book club.”
Oh great. Book club is basically when my mom and all my aunts get together to act like they’re talking about books, but really they’re talking about sex and testing out whatever new cocktail recipe one of them saw on Instagram that week.
And they were talking about me.
“It was,” Mom agrees, and I drop my arms on the counter and lay my forehead down on them.
“Do you think maybe we could focus here?” I mumble from behind my arms. “You two haven’t been sneaking the tequila into your tea, have you?”
“No, dear. Whiskey goes in tea.”
My mother, ladies and gentlemen.
She wasn’t always this crazy. It’s probably partially my fault. Maybe one-fifth my fault, if we split her craziness between the kids.
I lift my eyes without moving my head from my arms and look at these women. My mom and my aunt. Two women who married professional athletes. Quarterbacks at the top of their games. And both have disgustingly happy marriages. At least, based on how many kids they each have and how many times they’ve gotten caught doing naughty things with their husbands on family vacations. Still not as bad as Grandpa and Grandma though.
My eyes may never recover, and I’ve never even seen it.
“I really like this guy. He listens to what I say. Really hears it and doesn’t just act like he’s paying attention while he looks at my boobs. He’s a gentleman. And his kids. He’s so good with his kids. And he stops by the shop with coffee, just to see me for a few minutes after practice. It’s just a few minutes, but I look forward to it each day. And he doesn’t push. Not at all. Like he’s just so sure it’s going to happen when it’s supposed to happen that he’s not worried about it. Why can’t I be like that?” I ask, frustrated beyond belief. “I’m falling hard, and I’m petrified.”
I finally admit it and stab the ice cream, waiting for one of them to give me some pearls of wisdom. But they don’t say anything. Nothing. Not a single word. They both just stare. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me I’m being stupid?”
“Doyouthink you’re being stupid?” Nattie asks. “I don’t think you do. I think you’re nervous, and that makes sense—because this is a different type of relationship for you.”
“What scares you, Everly?” Mom asks, and I try to figure out how to verbalize the answer.
“I’ve dated athletes before?—”
“Stop,” Nattie cuts me off. “Just because two people are athletes doesn’t mean they have a single thing in common, otherthan being an athlete. Don’t lump this man in with an ex who was an athlete just because they both play a sport.”
“Honey.” Mom drops her spoon in the sink and moves around the counter to sit next to me. “What your aunt is trying to say is what you’re doing isn’t fair. Yes, some athletes are jerks and terrible boyfriends. They’re probably awful husbands and lousy men in general. But for every bad one, there’s a good one like your father and your uncles. Those men treat us with so much respect, honey. We’re their equals, their partners. Your father has put me before everything in this world for twenty-four years. I’ve never doubted him, and I’ve never regretted my decision to let myself love him.”
Aunt Nattie points her spoon at me. “A good man is a good man, Evie. It doesn’t matter what their career choice is. But I want you to keep this in mind. An athlete’s job demands different things than a teacher or a lawyer’s job does. The hours are different. The travel can be awful. The press is intrusive. And the fans think they own them. There are plenty of reasons to be hesitant to get into a relationship with an athlete.” Nat reaches across the counter and grabs my hand. “But you were born into a football dynasty. You know those pitfalls. And I’d bet they don’t have anything to do with your fear.”
“They don’t,” I grumble, already knowing they’re right.
My head knows it. My heart still needs to work through it.
“And if he hurts you, Uncle Sam could make him disappear,” Nattie adds, and Mom laughs.
