3. CHAPTER 3
The sun clung to the sky as if it knew it was summer vacation.
Ricky and I sat in my car, parked in front of Easton’s grandparents’ place after our fifth practice of the summer.
It was one of those single-story houses with tan siding and aluminum storm windows.
A pair of stone gnomes sat in the garden and stared at us like they knew too much.
Easton had run inside to grab a change of clothes; Zach had skipped baseball for football practice, and we hadn’t seen him in hours.
Ricky shifted in his seat for the fiftieth time as we waited. “What’s he doing, ironing clothes with a candle?”
“He said he’d be right back.”
“Right back in old-people time or real time?” Ricky popped open his door. “I’m going in.”
“Nope.” I grabbed at his shirt. “You can’t kick open the door. They’re—”
“What? Gonna swat me with a remote? I’m being polite.”
“You’re being you. Which is so much worse.”
He was halfway across the lawn by the time I unbuckled. I sprinted after him, catching up as he raised his hand to knock.
The door opened before he touched it.
A woman who could only be Easton’s grandma stood in the doorway wearing an apron covered in roosters. Her hair was whiter than a new baseball and perfectly curled, and her back hunched as she leaned on a walker.
Ricky froze, possibly for the first time ever. “Oh. Hi.”
She squinted at him and then at me. “You're not those vacuum salesmen again, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “We’re Easton’s teammates.”
She peered at us like we were part of an optical illusion. “Teammates? Like that Forkknife thing?"
“Baseball,” I said gently.
“Oh, sure, baseball,” she said, as if that clarified absolutely nothing. She pointed her walker at Ricky. “You’re the one who jumps a lot.”
I nodded. “That’s him.”
Ricky gave a confused little wave.
“Come in before the bugs eat you.”
We stepped inside Easton’s house.
The house was…time-locked. Doilies. A glass candy dish. A VHS collection. One of those couches with stiff floral upholstery that looked like it had never known joy.
A man sat in a recliner watching a game show with the volume at thirty-eight. His head was bald, but his eyebrows were thick and fierce, like they were fighting to stay young. They were the only parts of his body still fighting that battle.
“Grandpa,” Easton said, appearing in the hallway with his duffel bag over one shoulder. He was still pulling on his shirt, as if he hadn’t been done changing when he’d heard our voices. I looked away before I let the wrong instinct win. “These are my teammates—Tanner and Ricky.”
The old man looked at us. “Which one’s the smartass?”
“Depends on the day,” I muttered.
“That one,” Ricky said at the same time, pointing to me.
Grandpa grunted. “Figures.”
Easton’s grandma rolled into the room with a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses. “Sit. Sit. Do you boys like sugar?”
“Yes, ma’am. And you must be Easton’s mom?” Ricky joked, trying for flattery.
Dead silence.
Easton’s body shook, his jaw clenched. He refused to look at us.
I wanted to kick Ricky. He might have been the smartest person I knew, but at least I was smart enough not to make a joke about the mom of the kid living with his grandparents.
After what seemed like an eternity, his grandma said, “Aren’t you sweet?” She poured him a full glass without breaking eye contact. “Drink up. You look parched.”
I took the smallest possible sip of my tea.
Easton slid into the spot next to me, stiffly and quietly, as if he was afraid to move too much or say the wrong thing. “Sorry,” he whispered. “They’re old.”
“I noticed.”
They looked about eighty, and their house reminded me of sitcom reruns from the 70s. His grandpa had turned the TV down enough to let silence fill the space.
“So,” Grandpa said, “you the one that plays shortstop? Tanner?”
“Yeah. That’s me,” I said.
“You fast?”
“Quick enough.”
“You stay back on grounders or charge the ball?”
“Charge it.”
He grunted again. “Good answer.”
Ricky leaned in, unable to control himself. “He’s good. And modest. That’s a rare combo.”
Grandpa pointed at Ricky with a shaky finger. “You talk too much.”
Easton cracked, finally smiling. His eyes weren’t, though.
After we ate the sandwiches, we said goodbye to his grandparents. Easton quietly told them he loved them before we left and walked to my car.
I dropped Ricky off at his house; he had long since outgrown spending every summer night at my place. He said he preferred his own bed.
Easton and I sat in the car, country music blaring from the radio, both of us lost in thought. As we pulled up near my house, Easton broke the silence. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“My grandparents. They’re embarrassing,” he said. His eyes were on his shoes.
“They were fine,” I said. “They’re normal grandparents. I have some of my own, even.”
A smile crept across Easton’s face before he could stop it, and it even seemed to reach his eyes this time.
I put the car in park, keeping my eyes on the steering wheel. “You know you’re good to come here whenever you want, right? Mom and Dad pretty much have an open-door policy in the summer, as long as you follow their rules.”
“Cool.” His mouth opened slightly and closed again. He glanced at me, then shifted his gaze to the floor, words forming and fading behind those hazel eyes.
We stepped out of the car. Laughter floated from the backyard—Zach and Gavin must have been home from their practices.
Easton stood there, eyes flicking toward the sound.
I didn’t say anything, just waited. Our bodies both leaned on the hood of the car. Our hands were inches apart, my fingers itching to move closer, but I wouldn’t let them.
After a second, he started walking with his bag strung over his shoulder, slowly and quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here and was trying to give himself permission to move forward.
He hesitated again at our steps—not for long, just a half second longer than he needed to—and I realized something. He’d been holding back since I’d met him and was tired of pretending he had it all together.
That confidence was still there, but when we’d met his grandparents, I’d seen it slip for a second. Just enough to let a little of the real Easton—the part he tried to hide—slip into the open.