Chapter 8
“Excuse me. Sorry,” I said, stepping in between a couple on the bleachers as I tried to make my way up to my family on the top row.
“Go Kaylie!” a man yelled to my right as I worked my way past another group. “Run! Run! No, other way!”
“You made it!” Mom said as I sat down next to her. She squeezed me into a side hug.
I leaned forward and waved at my sister, her husband, Chase, and my dad at the very end of our group. Audrey reached across my mom and squeezed my hand.
“Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the 101,” I said as I settled back into place.
That was sort of true. There had been an accident, but it was already moved off to the side of the freeway. People still liked to gawk, though, so it slowed things more than I was expecting. The full truth was, I’d gotten up later than I intended.
This week had not been my favorite. Facing Rob after the kissing session had been just as awful as I’d expected it would be.
He asked me if I was okay and apologized for “letting his feelings get the best of him.” After what Sloane had implied about his intentions being less than honorable, I hadn’t told him everything was fine, like I normally did.
I had said something that felt like it made sense in the moment, but the more I analyzed it, the more I realized it made zero sense.
I had said, sitting at my desk, hair pulled up in a messy bun and lack-of-sleep circles under my eyes: “We’re just on a merry-go-round, and I’m going to have to either puke or get off. ”
It wasn’t: Give me a promotion or I’m going to need to look at other job opportunities. It wasn’t: Read Kari’s damn book, Rob. She’s writing it with or without you.
Thinking about what I’d actually said again now, surrounded by happy parents watching their kids play T-ball, made my stomach flip.
“I wish you lived closer so you weren’t always the one having to travel so far,” Mom said, pulling me back into the moment.
“Then I’d have to commute to work every day.”
“True.” Her eyes went to my empty hands. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring a book today.”
“I only did that the one time.” I had been twenty pages from the end when I had to leave. And I only read it during the slow times of the game.
Mom examined my face. Her expression turned to one of concern. “I’m worried about you.”
I smiled. “I know, I know, I look terrible.” When I’d rolled out of bed that morning, I pulled on a wrinkly T-shirt, some ratty jeans, and a baseball cap.
It was a kids’ T-ball game; I figured I’d be fine.
But my sister was wearing a flowy patterned blouse, dark jeans, and a pair of ankle boots.
We did not look like we belonged at the same event.
But both me and my sister were my mom’s daughters. It was like she had split herself in half and given Audrey all the best parts—her impeccable sense of style, her mind for business, her follow-through. I got the leftovers—her loud laugh, her impulsiveness, her messy nature.
“No, you look nice,” Mom said. “But…” She didn’t finish. She was obviously talking about my face, not my clothes.
“I’m fine. Just tired.” I turned my attention to the field and searched for my nephews. “Have they been up to bat yet?”
“No.” She pointed to the outfield, where I could see Jack and Samuel standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at something in Jack’s hand.
A dandelion, maybe? Some sort of flower or weed.
In the midst of their inspection, a ball came rolling between them and Jack dropped the weed and chased after it, Samuel close behind.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Go, Jack and Sammy!”
Chase let out a holler as well.
Audrey sat on the edge of her seat as if there were scouts in the crowd ready to promise her kids futures in the majors. Or maybe she was just worried they weren’t going to be able to retrieve the ball. I’d noticed over the years that the boys weren’t exactly athletic.
“They’re doing so good,” Mom said, patting my sister’s leg after Sammy picked up the ball, only to have Jack reach into his mitt, snatch it up, and begin running toward the infield as their coach shouted, “Throw it! Throw it!”
I sucked in my lips to keep from laughing.
Chase stood up and cheered along with my dad as the ball was finally thrown and chased around by a couple other kids. I stood as well and clapped.
When I sat back down, I leaned forward to get my sister’s attention. “Look this way. I want a pic.” She tapped her husband and my dad and everyone turned toward me so I could take a selfie of the group.
“Don’t post that online,” Audrey said.
“Of course not,” I teased. Any picture I’d ever posted online with my sister in it had to go through ten steps of approval. Not really, but it felt that way. The downside of a curated life, apparently.
My phone chimed in my hand. All the dating apps had notifications waiting. I had been trying to ignore them, but they had been blowing up all week from my post-makeout self-hate matching session. And now that it was Saturday people were trying to fill their social calendar.
The first message read: I see you have a job. Are you willing to give that up when we start a family? I’m an alpha looking for my beta.
I couldn’t hit unmatch fast enough.
I looked around the bleachers. Maybe there was a cute single dad here ready to save me from an errant ball, who I would then need to repay with lunch.
“Are you swiping?” Mom whispered from beside me, leaning close.
“No, I’m not. Just putting my phone on silent.”
“Show me some choices,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll tell you who to swipe into the trash. I’m a good judge of character.”
I nudged her leg with mine playfully. “You’re a bad influence. And nobody is getting trashed.”
“There’s not a trash icon? I think that would be a good idea.”
She might’ve been onto something. “No, I swipe left if I’m not interested and right if I am.”
“And then?”
“And then if they swiped right too, we match.”
“Huh,” she said.
“What?” I asked, curious what she thought about all this.
Mom and Dad had been married for thirty-five years.
Met at a B-52s concert. Mom couldn’t see the stage very well from her spot in the middle of the general admission pit.
She asked a complete stranger if she could sit on his shoulders.
He said yes. That stranger was my dad, who always added “I couldn’t believe my luck” to the story.
I smiled every time I thought of what an epic meet-cute my parents had.
“It’s so…” Mom paused, her eyes still glued to my phone screen.
“Cold?” I finished for her. “Boring? Unromantic?”
“I was going to say ‘interesting.’”
“I want to see possible matches too,” my sister said from the other side of Mom.
“I don’t know what you two are doing,” I said. “But I’m watching my nephews play T-ball.”
Audrey smiled, her eyes still on the field.
Mom leaned closer to my phone. “Ooh, who’s that?”
A new message had buzzed through with Oliver’s face next to it.
“Nobody,” I said, scanning the message.
Is complimenting someone’s looks before having been on a first date a red flag?
“Well, Nobody is cute,” Mom said, even though the thumbnail picture was too small for her to see much of anything.
I turned my phone over in my lap so she would turn her attention back to the game. Then, covertly, several minutes later, when she was distracted talking to my sister, I responded to Oliver, Someone complimenting your looks or you complimenting someone?
Me complimenting someone.
A feeling started in my chest, like a rubber band being twisted tighter and tighter.
I rubbed at it until it released. My coffee, the only thing I’d had that morning, must’ve been giving me heartburn.
I responded: I guess it depends on the compliment.
Generic, blanket compliments are only meh for me.
They don’t feel sincere. But not necessarily a red flag.
Use at your own discretion and try to be creative.
Thank you for your service.
Curious, I asked, What about you? Do you like compliments early on?
Call me a sucker, but yes. And they can be any old generic, overused compliment. A copy and paste job.
I smirked, then sent, You’re so tall, dark, and handsome. Oh, wait, that was on my clipboard. Hold on. You’re so average sized (are you? I don’t remember your height), sandy haired, and friendly-faced.
Friendly-faced?!
You’re right, that wasn’t generic. That was very specific. Sorry, I’ll do better next time.
I feel my ego crumbling.
I smiled. I’m positive you get more than enough compliments to keep that intact.
Apparently, I’ve only been getting generic ones. I request those from now on.
I stared at his thumbnail picture, and even though it really was too small to make out many details, I remembered his face perfectly.
His big brown eyes bordered with thick lashes.
His wide contagious smile. His slightly crooked nose.
I bit my lip, but as I contemplated typing out any of those things, the rubber band in my chest was back.
So instead, I typed: I’ll keep that in mind.
“What are you smiling about over here?” Mom asked, leaning her shoulder against mine.
“Just chatting with a friend.”
“I’m glad you have good friends, sweetheart.”
“Me too.” Even if it was all I had.
Forty minutes later and two times up to bat for the boys and the game was over.
“I’m in charge of snacks this week,” Audrey said. “Will you help me pass them out?” She looked at me with the question, leaning around Mom.
“Yes, of course. Let’s do it.” I stood and brushed off the back of my jeans before following my sister toward the parking lot and her car.
“How are you?” she asked. “Mom’s worried.”
“Mom’s always worried,” I said.
“Should she be?” She opened her trunk to reveal a medium-sized ice chest.
How could I tell my super successful sister that my execution of all her stellar advice over the years was very poor and I was stalled in both my career and my dating life?
How could I ask for her advice about self-sabotage and things with Rob when I knew how much she would judge me? Rightfully so. “No, I’m fine.”
We lifted the ice chest out of the trunk and headed back to the picnic area next to the field, me holding one handle, her the other.
After a dozen steps, I adjusted the handle in my grip, the weight of the ice chest causing it to slip. “Are you feeding these kids a nine-course meal or something?”
She laughed. “They’re growing kids and they’re always hungry after playing.”
“So yes? Your answer is yes?”
“It’s not a nine-course meal.”
“I’m sure whatever it is, it’s the best.”
“Is that an insult?”
My brows shot down. “Did it sound like one? It wasn’t supposed to be.” A group of kids shrieked as they ran by us.
“Speaking of meals,” Audrey said. “I want to take you to brunch after this.”
“What?” I asked.
“Brunch,” she said. “I know you missed the one with your friends for this. Chase offered to take the boys home and I could really use some time away.”
“Yes, sounds good.”
Kids gathered around us before we even had time to set the ice chest on the newly stained picnic table beside the bleachers.
“You played good, guys,” I said, rubbing my nephews’ sweaty hair.
My dad joined us and gave me a hug. “Hey, honey. Haven’t seen you in a couple weeks. Glad you were able to come.”
“It was fun. You should come to my side of LA for dinner sometime.”
“That would be nice,” he said.
Audrey was pulling string cheese, carrot sticks, apple sauce pouches, and a bag of what looked like rolled salami with toothpicks out of the ice chest. “One of each until everyone has had some,” she said, then gave me a pointed look, which made me realize I wasn’t helping at all.
“Yes, one each, everyone,” I said, then set up shop by the string cheese and handed them out as the kids went by.
A little girl stopped in front of me, snatching the string cheese I held. She looked me up and down, then said, “Your shirt is ugly and wrinkly.”
“You know what else is ugly?” I asked.
My sister, obviously hearing me, elbowed me in the side.
“My shoes,” I said, raising my dirty sneaker in the air.
“You’re right, they really are ugly,” she said.
A person who I assumed was her mom had just come up behind her, and she gasped. “Jasmine, say you’re sorry. That wasn’t very nice.”
“Sorry,” she sang in a not sorry at all voice, and skipped away.
“I’m so sorry,” Jasmine’s mom said in a very very sorry voice.
I shrugged. “In her defense, my shirt is ugly.”
The woman looked at my shirt, and I could tell she was trying to think of something nice to say, but when she couldn’t, she rushed after her daughter.
Once the only kids left around the table were Jack and Samuel, I turned to my sister and said, “You thought I was going to insult that little girl, didn’t you?”
My mom and dad were helping my nephews pry open cheese and peel oranges.
“I could tell you wanted to,” she said.
“I was just going to tell her baseball uniforms are ugly.” She was right; had she not elbowed me, I would’ve.
“Glad you held your tongue.”
“Unlike her,” I said under my breath.
“Kids are honest.”
I smiled. “So you’re not a fan of my outfit either?”
She let out a trilling laugh. It was one I heard on her YouTube channel often. I wondered if she rehearsed it along with the rest of her script.
“Who was that little girl, anyway?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. She must’ve been on the other team. Sometimes they wander over and we share snacks and vice versa.”
“She was on the other team?” I asked. “Then I’m glad we beat them.”
Jack and Sammy looked up. “We beat them?” Samuel asked.
“No,” Audrey said. “You know we don’t keep score.”
“You don’t keep score?” I asked. “What kind of madness is that?” Then, quietly so only my sister could hear, I added, “I was keeping score in my head and we won.”
She laughed again. Ditching friend brunch to be here with my family was the right choice. I needed this family time.