39. Jaymie
Jaymie
Sunlight dapples through the budding trees overhead, scattering gold across the path in shifting patterns.
The concrete is still damp from last night’s rain, and every few steps I catch the faint scent of wet earth, lilacs from the overgrown bushes that edge the playground, and fresh coffee from the cart parked near the park’s entrance.
Lola is asleep in the stroller, her little face turned toward the warmth of the sun, one fist tucked up by her cheek like she’ s deep in dream negotiations.
Mallory walking beside me, slow but steady, her hand brushing mine, her gaze scanning the horizon like she’s still calibrating to being upright and outside.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but her voice is soft. “It feels like I’ve been inside for weeks. This… this helps.”
I squeeze her hand. “It’s good to see you in real clothes.”
“I’m still wearing your sweatpants.”
“They count.”
A breeze stirs the new leaves overhead, and a few petals drift past us from a flowering tree like pink confetti.
The park isn’t crowded—just a few parents pushing strollers, a runner looping past with earbuds in, a kid in a red hoodie flinging bread crumbs at a cluster of ducks like he’s their king.
We stop near a low railing that overlooks the duck pond, the water glinting greenish-blue in the sun. I park the stroller in the shade and lean into Mallory’s side. The air feels charged in a quiet, perfect way. Like the pause between songs on a record.
“Hey, champions!”
Ava’s voice cuts through the birdsong and the distant hum of traffic.
She and Logan stroll toward us from the other end of the path, both of them carrying iced coffees and looking disgustingly well-rested.
Ava’s in a soft denim jacket over a crop top, hair braided back and sunglasses perche d on her head.
Logan’s got his backwards cap on, HellBlades hoodie zipped halfway, and a pastry bag swinging from one hand.
“We brought sustenance,” Ava calls, lifting the bag like an offering. “Also, I demand baby time.”
Mallory laughs, already reaching for the stroller’s brake. “She’s all yours, but I warn you—she’s recently pooped and might be storing another surprise.”
“I live dangerously,” Ava says, scooping Lola up like a pro and nuzzling her cheek. “Oh my god. She smells like baby shampoo and powder.”
Logan gives me a look. “She’s already got Ava wrapped around her tiny fingers.”
“I’m not even mad about it,” I admit. “It’s nice seeing her win someone else over for once.”
We settle on a long, weathered bench overlooking the water. Ava sits cross-legged, Lola resting in her arms, while Mallory leans back beside me, her hand brushing mine again. Logan and I hover near the railing, watching a duck chase its reflection in circles.
“You ready for Vegas?” he asks, casually biting into a croissant.
“Oh yeah. They’re fast. But we’ve got the edge in grit.”
Logan nods. “Darren’s been a wall back there. That stick lift in Game Four? Chef’s kiss.”
“He’s been lights out. And Connor’s finally stopped overthinking. You saw that move in the third last game?”
“ The wraparound? Thought I was gonna black out.”
We both laugh.
Behind us, Ava’s whispering to Lola in her baby-voiced. “You’re a sweet, sticky little alien, yes you are. And we love you, even if you’re terrifying. One day you’ll rule us all.”
Mallory groans. “Please don’t tell her that.”
“She already knows,” Ava replies. “She’s just being polite about it for now.”
Logan leans on the railing, his voice quieter now. “You seem good, man. Like… settled.”
I glance at Mallory again. She’s watching the pond now, eyes half-lidded, soaking in the moment like sunlight. I swallow around the lump that rises in my throat.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am. It’s not easy, but it’s ours. And it’s worth every second.”
“Hell yeah,” Logan says. “That’s what it’s about.”
Ava turns toward us, raising an eyebrow. “Are you two having a dad-off?”
“We’re having a feelings-off,” I tell her. “Get with the program.”
“I’m just here to coo over your child and go home to a silent apartment with central air and zero bodily fluids.”
“Logan’s bodily fluids don’t count?” I tease.
She pretends to gag. “Absolutely not.”
Mallory laughs, deep and real. It makes me look at her again—really look. The soft under-eye circles, the faint crease between her brows that’s been there since the birth, the flush in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun.
“You good?” I ask her quietly.
She nods, but her lip wobbles. “I’m just… really happy you’re here. That everyone’s here.” Tears slip down her cheeks before she can stop them, and Ava just grins.
“See? Hormones. Crying at ducks and friends. Classic.”
“I hate you,” Mallory mumbles, wiping her eyes. She gets up to come lean into my side burying her face into my shoulder.
“Love you too,” Ava says, bouncing Lola gently. “But seriously, your baby is absurdly cute. Logan, tell them.”
Logan looks at Lola, then at us. “She’s cool. Like, she’d definitely make varsity one day.”
Mallory chuckles. “That’s high praise.”
I lean over and kiss the top of her head. The sun is high, and the air smells like new leaves and sugar and the beginning of something real.
For a second, I let myself believe we can keep this peace, that the game and the grind and the future can wait—at least for a little while.