Pretty Brown Eyes
THIS CHAPTER HAS A SOUNDTRACK
alyssa
It was Saturday afternoon, and the entire Wade family had taken over Lennox Falls Community Park like it was a family reunion.
It was the first official game of the season, which qualified as a major event.
Coolers, folding chairs, a whole portable canopy covered the Wades’ commandeered section.
Micah was out of the car and gone toward his team before I finished telling him to go.
Aunt Lorraine spotted me halfway across the grass and waved me up like I was late.
“There she is. Alyssa, baby, come on, we saved you a spot.” I climbed the bleachers, Simone shifted Zaria to make room, and Lorraine reached over and patted my knee without looking — the way she’d been patting my knee since the wedding.
Khaz came up the bleachers with a tray off coffee and leaned past Simone to hand me a cup. “From Eighth. Hazelnut.”
“How’d you know I like hazelnut?”
“Family group chat. Asked everybody’s order, Julian said hazelnut for you.” He shrugged like it was nothing and took the seat behind me.
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I said just thank you and drank my coffee.
Julian was already pacing the sideline, whistle in hand, calling keep your pad level low and run your routes like he was mic’d up for ESPN.
Zion and Tre were there in matching Wade Athletics Youth League shirts wrangling the kids, giving pep talks and walking through plays.
Raschad was out of town for the week, and Simone had him on FaceTime to watch the game.
The first quarter went fast, Micah made a tackle, somebody scored on an end-around Lorraine treated like the Super Bowl, and Simone screamed that’s MY BABY enough times to start losing her voice.
“Mom, did you see me?” Micah hollered up from the sideline.
“I saw! You’re doing amazing!”
That’s when I clocked her. She was crossing to the sideline in heels, maneuvering on grass. Cropped pants tailored to the inch, a blouse definitely not designed for a youth football game, sunglasses the size of saucers, and straight silky hair down to her waist.
Lorraine saw her the same second I did. “Oh, Lord. That one.”
“Tell me why she’s here,” Simone muttered to Taryn.
Taryn shaded her eyes. “Wearing Louboutins. To peewee football.”
“Coordinated with the team colors, too.” Simone pointed with her cup. “Blouse matches the jerseys? You think that’s an accident?”
“Whole outfit screaming pick me, Coach!” Khaz said behind me, dry.
They all laughed. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know who she was. So I just watched as she made it to the sideline. She said something to Julian and he nodded, polite and brief, then turned back to the field.
I’m not going to watch this, I told myself. None of my business. I’m not going to watch this. I watched.
She tried again; he said something without turning around.
Then she put a hand on his arm and he stepped back, half a step, and crouched down to one of the kids on the bench instead, tying his cleats.
She stood there for a while after that, checking her phone, then drifting toward the fence a few feet away. He didn’t acknowledge her again.
“Girl can’t take a hint,” Lorraine said, loud enough for four rows.
“Mama.”
“She doesn’t, Khaz.”
“She can probably hear you.”
“So?”
By halftime she’d attached herself to his side. Simone and I walked over to check in with our boys and give them their halftime snacks of orange slices. I knew better, but couldn’t help but slow down, hearing her mid-sentence:
“…could discuss it over dinner. That new place downtown?”
“Sabrina, I don’t have time for that.”
“It’ll be quick.”
“Uncle Julian, watch this!” Zhaire chucked a wobbling spiral, and Julian scooped him up mid-spin. “That’s perfect. You’re gonna be better than all of us.”
She rolled her eyes just slightly. He missed it but I didn’t. She tried once more. “Julian, I just want to—”
“Sabrina, no.” Simple. Final. “I’ve been clear.”
Halftime ended and Julian went back on the field, leaving Sabrina to go back to finding something fascinating on her phone.
When the game ended we’d won by two touchdowns. The Wade section erupted like we’d won a title, Zhaire and Micah hugging and high-fiving midfield. Tre was filming and taking pictures, and Zion had a kid hoisted onto his shoulders.
“Food at my house,” Lorraine announced.
Sabrina materialized one more time as we packed up. “That was…fun. Where are you headed?”
“Family brunch,” Julian said, leaning on the word family.
“How about if I —”
“It’s just family, Sabrina.” Then, softer, like he felt bad: “I’ll have Glory send you the investment contact Monday.”
She perked right back up. “Perfect. We can discuss that opportunity.”
“Sure.”
She picked her way back across the grass, and the second she was out of range, Tre shook his head. “Bruh, you gotta cut that loose.”
“It’s handled.”
“Is it? She shows up out of nowhere too much to be a coincidence anymore.”
“She knows the deal. I’ve been honest.”
Zion snorted. “You could tell her you’re planning to treat her like trash and she’d still think she could change your mind.”
“Can we just go eat?” Julian rubbed a hand down his face.
They drifted toward the parking lot, still teasing him. I stayed back, waiting for Micah to finish talking and laughing with a few of his teammates, pretending I had not been listening to any of it.
The lot had mostly cleared by the time I got Micah's gear bag zipped. Julian came over, gloves and a stray water bottle in one hand, and there was a half-second when he glanced toward the fence where Sabrina had stood, then back at me, like he was deciding whether to say something about it.
“Earlier…” he started.
“You don't have to do that.” I kept my voice easy, busying my hands with the bag so I didn't have to look at him. “You don't owe me an explanation, Julian. It's none of my business who shows up to a football game.”
He nodded slowly, then took the bag out of my hands and slung it over his shoulder.
“Anyway. That was a great game. Micah's floating. I had fun.” I lifted the coffee cup, empty now. “And thank you for this. That was thoughtful. I appreciated it.”
“Anytime,” he said.
I called Micah over and turned for the parking lot, very pleased with how mature and fine I'd sounded. He walked with us, without saying anything else. When we got to my car, he loaded the gear bag into the back seat, waited for Micah to climb in, then closed the door.
He tipped his chin at me. “See you at Aunt Lorraine's.”
“See you there.”
“You know the way?”
“Simone texted me the address.”
“Okay.” He walked off toward his car and I sat in the driver's seat a second before I started my car, watching him cross the lot in the rearview, telling myself I'd handled that exactly right and trying not to register the rest of it.
That seeing a woman he'd been with had done something small and unwelcome to my stomach.
That when I'd heard him tell Tre that it was handled, done, some quiet part of me had felt relief I had absolutely no right to.
He didn't owe me a single thing, least of all an ending to something that was never mine to have an opinion about.
Lorraine's house was beautiful chaos. Too much food, too much noise, Micah and Zhaire turning the den into a Nerf war zone until somebody confiscated the blasters. A few hours in, Micah was rubbing his eyes, leaning against my arm and I knew it was time to head out.
I said my goodbyes, got hugged by every person twice, and Julian carried a half-asleep Micah out to my car and buckled him in as I slid behind the wheel and turned the key.
It clicked. Then clicked again. Then nothing.
“Why won’t it start?” Micah mumbled with his eyes closed.
“It’s okay. It’s just being temperamental.” It very clearly was not.
A knock hit my window, Julian, calm as anything.
I rolled it down. “Hey. It’s fine, really. Just acting up.”
He tilted his head at me. “Pop the hood.”
I pulled the hood release and he disappeared under it for a few minutes, came back wiping his hands on a gym towel.
“Starter, most likely. She’s not going anywhere tonight.” He nodded toward his car. “Grab your stuff. I’ll take you home.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Leave the keys. Whoever comes for the tow might need them.”
Micah had perked up in Julian’s car and talked the whole first stretch of the drive.
Every catch, the touchdown, what Coach Julian said about his hands getting better.
Julian listened intently, giving him feedback and praise until Micah glowed.
Then Micah’s voice cut out. I looked back and he was slumped against the seatbelt, passed out again.
“He always crashes like that,” I said. “Full speed until he just drops.”
Julian smiled. “He's a good kid. Smart, too. You're doing a good job with him.”
I smiled. Before I moved here, I couldn’t remember the last time someone told me I was doing something right. It seemed like Julian always found a way to compliment me. My hair, my legal skills, my athleticism, my resilience, now my parenting. It felt good.
We were stopped at a red light when the opening notes of Pretty Brown Eyes filled the car, and I couldn’t help the smile that broke across my face.
“I looove Mint Condition,” I gushed. “I haven't heard this in forever.”
When Stokley's voice came in I sang along, softly at first. Then louder. By the chorus, I was fully committed, hand on my chest, hitting every run.
I caught him watching me out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly got embarrassed. “Sorry,” I said, pulling back. “That was—”
“Don't apologize,” he cut me off. “I was enjoying the performance. Sing,” he said like a commandment.
So I did. I sang the rest of the song while Julian listened. By the time we reached our building, Micah was still dead to the world. Julian scooped him up, following me to the elevator and up to my floor.
“Couch is fine,” I whispered, getting the door.
He set Micah down and pulled the throw over him.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“You don’t have to help.” He didn’t have an answer for that.
Before I could think it through I stepped in and put my arms around him. He went still for a second, probably because he hadn’t seen it coming. Then his arms came around me, and he let out a breath. He pulled me in, solid and warm, his chin coming to rest just above my head.
Neither of us moved. The hug went past the length of a thank-you, past friendly. I could feel his heartbeat where my cheek pressed his chest, a little faster than steady. One of his hands moved once across my back, slowly.
I was the one who finally stepped back, and only because if I hadn't, I wasn't sure I would have. He didn't step back. He looked at me for a long moment, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Sorry,” I said, because the quiet was too much. “That was—”
“You apologize too much.” He was still looking at me. “I needed that as much as you.”
Then the moment folded itself back up. At the door he paused. “Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow about your car.”
“I’ll take care of it. But thank you for the ride. Goodnight, Julian.”
“Goodnight.”