Chapter 29
Hallie
It is easier to build strong children
than to repair broken men.
~ Frederick Douglass
“Go Mia!” Dustin shouts from his spot about four people down from me in the bleachers.
Yes. My whole crew is here—at a coach pitch little league game—with their wives and girlfriends and their friends. Including my mom and Avery, we take up more than a whole row.
And Dustin is cheering for Mia when the game hasn’t even started.
“Meee-yuh! Meeeeee-yuh! Gooooo Mia!”
“Shhhh,” Emberleigh puts her hand on Dustin’s forearm. “Babe, at least wait til she’s up to bat.”
“I’m getting her pumped for the game. It’s a thing.”
He pulls a stuffed unicorn head out of a bag and pops it on his head, waving a glittery wand around. “Go Llamacorns!”
Emberleigh leans forward and looks down the row at me. “I’m sorry!”
I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe. “It’s okay. I’m used to him.”
“Tell me your secrets,” she says through her own laughter. “I’m married to him and I’m not used to him!”
I glance out across the field toward the dugout and catch Greyson’s eye. He’s practically scowling at the row of our co-workers and friends—especially aiming irritated laser eyes at Dustin, our new half-mascot.
Greyson did explicitly tell everyone not to come, but I think it’s sweet that they showed up. And I actually think under his crusty exterior, Greyson does too.
Avery leans in close so only I can hear her. “Five.”
“Five what?”
“Five times he’s looked your way since we sat down. That’s the only score I’m interested in today.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her.
“I’m living through you.”
“Why don’t you date someone?” I whisper. “I can live through you.”
“Maybe one day. I’m holding out for a guy who makes it worth my while.”
“I fully understand that,” I tell her. “Try swearing it off. Seems to be the time someone you can’t resist comes into the mix.”
She giggles.
Mom looks over. “No fair, you two. Keeping secrets when you were little was one thing. As adults, we’re all supposed to share.”
I send Avery a quick look that says don’t you dare. She pinches her lips shut.
The team moms are all seated together on the row behind us.
The players for both teams warm up and then our opponents, the Honey Bears, take the field while the Llamacorns gather helmets and bats. Greyson and Will start calling players’ names, having the girls line up near the dugout fence.
Greyson takes the mound. And he glances at me—again.
Avery leans in. “Eight.”
“Are you really going to keep score this whole game?”
“Oh. I’m absolutely keeping score. This is awesome. He can’t help himself.”
I want to be irritated with my sister, but honestly, she’s right. It is pretty awesome.
The game progresses. Dustin gets everyone to do a wave. It’s a mess, but we’re all laughing.
Then he starts a chant each time a batter comes up to the plate, shouting their name and saying, “Go Llamacorns!”
Greyson keeps shooting him death glares, and that only serves as fuel to Dustin’s antics.
Mia’s fourth at bat. We’ve got a girl on second and one on third. One player already struck out.
She plants her feet in a batting stance, adjusts her grip, and nods at Greyson. He throws her the ball, not holding back like he did for the other three batters before her.
Dustin shouts, “Gooooo Meeeeee-aaaahhh!” right as she swings and the bat makes that satisfying thwack connecting with the ball.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering and whooping. Parents are shouting over one another, “Run! Run!”
It soars over the infielders’ heads, out over the outfield and keeps flying almost to the fence.
Mia takes off like a bolt of lightning. The girl on third runs home.
Luna’s on second. She stands still until Greyson shouts, “Run, Luna! Run!” Then she runs to third, landing on the base with a hop and a smile around at everyone.
“Run home, Luna!” Greyson shouts. Mia’s almost to third at this point.
“Run! Home! Lunaaaaaah!” Dustin shouts. Then he starts singing “Run Home, Luna,” to the tune of Hang on Sloopy.
“Remind me not to catch anything on fire when he’s on duty,” Avery says to me.
“Believe it or not, he can be serious when the occasion requires it,” I tell her.
“Not. I’m going with not,” she says.
The game goes on for four innings, with each team getting two turns at bat. The last Honey Bear strikes out.
I turn to Avery, my mouth wide open. “We won! We won!”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, Llamacorns!” Dustin shouts. He stands up and starts randomly high-fiving everyone around him, even parents from the opposing team.
“Line it up!” the opposing coach says.
The teams line up, running past one another giving high fives and fist bumps and saying, “Good game! Good game!”
The Llamacorns gather in a huddle.
I can’t hear what Greyson’s telling the girls, but he’s smiling like a proud father, making eye contact with all of them. They end with “Goooo Llamacorns!” and then kids scatter. Families and friends flow off the bleachers. Players run to their families.
I’m off the bleachers, standing next to Mom, Avery and my crew.
Mia runs up to us, giddy and smiling ear to ear.
“Hey!” I shout as she leaps and flies into my arms. I spin her around and set her down.
“Did you see my hits?”
“Of course! You did great!”
“And Whitney did too! She’s getting better, Mommy!”
“She is,” I agree.
“You know what it’s time for?” Mia asks.
“What?” Avery asks.
“Our victory dance!”
I glance up. Greyson’s eyes are on us. Is he even trying to hide the fact?
“Ready, Mommy?”
“Let’s do it!” I say, focusing on Mia and ignoring the hot coach staring at me from across the field.
“Ooooh, booga booga!” Mia shouts as we twist, holding our hands up in the air and wiggling our fingers. “Victory!” she shouts at the top of her lungs.
Dustin steps closer. “Wait. Wait. Wait. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“It’s our victory dance,” Mia says. “Want me to teach you?”
Dustin says, “Does a Honey Bear get chased by a hive of bees in the woods?”
Mia cracks up. “Okay. You just shout ‘Ooooh booga booga!’ and then you twist like this and hold your hands up and shake them in the air over your head like this.”
Dustin and Mia do about four rounds of victory dances.
She’s giggling and he’s smiling. The rest of our friends are all gathered around watching the two of them and chatting with one another.
Mia thanks Dustin, gives him a high five and then she says, “I need to thank my coaches.”
“Yes. You go do that and then we’ll go get ice cream,” I tell her.
She starts to run toward Greyson. Then she turns back toward me and shouts, “I wish my daddy could be here! He would be so proud of me.”
I go suddenly still, unable to move. My gut is a wind tunnel. The air whooshes out of me. Avery’s hand is instantly on my back—silently holding me together.
I muster a smile for Mia. She turns and runs to Greyson and Will to thank them.
“Gut punch,” I tell Avery.
“You’re not kidding. Kids are amazing. How can she still want him here when the idiot doesn’t even show up for stuff like this—ever?”
Avery carries so much of my righteous indignation for me, and I’m eternally grateful to her for it.
“People can’t do what they can’t do,” I say simply to my sister. “And I’d far rather be the little girl with a heart wide open than the grown man who somehow lost touch with his.”
“Touché,” Avery says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “She’s awesome because she has you.”
My eyes drift over to Mia. She’s smiling up at Greyson. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking down at her, telling her something. I wish I knew what he was saying.
He gives her a high five, then he holds his hand higher and she jumps and slaps his hand with hers.
They turn toward me at the same time.
When Mia walks away from Greyson, he follows her—in my direction.
“Congratulations,” I say when he’s within earshot.
“Thanks.” He looks from me to Avery and back to me.
I told him she knows about us now.
“Avery,” Greyson says. “Do you mind if I have a minute with Mia’s mom?”
“Ohhh. By all means. Go talk baseball things with Mia’s mom.” She winks at Greyson and I give her an elbow to the side.
“Ouch!” she says, far too loudly.
Mia’s already running up and down the bleachers with two other players while their moms talk at the end of the row.
Greyson pulls me aside. “I wanted to ask you to dinner.”
His posture looks like he’s talking about baseball. Anyone watching us would have no idea he just asked me to share a private meal with him.
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah. Can you get away to come over?”
“Let me check with Mom to see if she can watch Mia. I’ll text you.”
“Great,” he says. And then, as he walks away. “Let’s extend the snack rotation to include playoffs.”
I almost chuckle at his attempt at a cover-up. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to the other moms.”
Do I really have to talk to them? They don’t seem to want to talk to me. Chirsty does, but the rest are still only mildly cordial—on a good day.
I walk back toward Avery.
She immediately asks me, “What was that all about?”
“What was what?”
“You and the hot coach?”
“Stop calling him that.”
“Turn your head and follow my gaze.”
I do. She’s looking at Greyson. He’s squatting in front of Luna, hand on her shoulder. He’s turned his ball cap backward and his face is full of quiet pride.
“What?” I ask.
“Hot coach.”
I roll my eyes.
“So, what did he want to say to you?”
“He wants me to come over for dinner.”
“Really?” Her voice carries.
“Yes. Please keep it down.”
“Are you sure you two still need to keep hiding? He’s so obviously into you.”
“You heard Mia. She wishes her dad were here. It’s not time.”
I don’t expect my sister to understand needing to protect a seven-year-old from an attachment that might end up devastating her. She’s not a mom yet.
I sigh, turning to watch Mia who is now playing tag with her new teammates. “I wish it weren’t so complicated, Avery. You have no idea. Greyson’s amazing—protective, thoughtful, easy to be with and … I really, really like him.”
“Like. Yeah. You like him.”
“Stop.”
“Fine. You like him. Look at Mia.”
I glance at my daughter. She’s tagging Greyson and then she takes off running. He runs after her and then pivots and tags Tabitha.
I turn back to Avery. “Caring about a grown woman is one thing, Ave. Being part of a seven-year-old’s life when life gets real is another.”
“He looks like he’d slide right into that role just like he could slide into home base.”
“This is Mia’s life.” I bite my lower lip.
Of all the people in the world, it matters most to me that Avery understands my reasoning.
“I don’t get a do-over. I can’t put Mia through that kind of loss again. She could already say Dada when Danny left. And then he was gone.”
I look Avery in the eyes, fighting the fresh sting at the thought of Danny leaving us the way he did.
“Greyson and I are still in that easy stage when everything feels magical and perfect.” I pause, looking over at Greyson who has abandoned tag to talk to a few of the dads.
“Easy isn’t the same as proven, Ave.”
Avery nods. “I get it. And you’re right. The selfish thing would be to lock things down with the hot coach. But, as usual, you’re putting your daughter first—for her good.”
“I’m not saying things won’t work out. They might. We talk about the future as if that’s where we’re headed. We just haven’t gotten to the point of really discussing anything realistic.”
“Because you’re tapping the brakes.”
“Because my daughter deserves some reliable consistency in her life and not another man who matters but disappears. Even if he’s sticking around, announcing our relationship will change things for her. And she’s had plenty of change this year already.”
Avery nods again. “You’re the best mom.”
“I’m doing my best. It’s not always the best.”
“It looks like the best to me. Though, our mom did a pretty bang-up job too.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Look at us. She did great.”
Avery laughs. “Right? We’re awesome.”
“Thanks for pushing me,” I say. “I need you to do a sanity check. If you think I’m wrong, tell me.”
“You know I’ll tell you. Bottom line? I just want to see you happy.”
“Thanks. I am happy. I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time. It might not be ideal having to hide what we are from everyone, but I’m ridiculously happy when I’m with him. And that has to be enough for now.”