24. Victory Picnic
Victory Picnic
Maren pulls up in front of Reese and Rowan’s house.
Glancing over, she sees the house that Reese grew up in.
She remembers Reese telling her that she rented the house next door to stay close to her mother.
A soft smile blooms on her face, remembering all the spaghetti dinners the Callahan’s hosted during sectionals in high school.
A faded wind chime still hangs near the porch, the same one that used to tinkle during late summer nights.
Maren reaches over and grabs the bag of French fries from her front seat.
The smell of grease and salt hangs heavily in the air.
She hasn’t stopped for post-meet French fries in years, but some traditions can fade and then come back, she guesses.
She knows that Rowan will enjoy the fries just as much as she did when her mom used to get them for her.
Maren walks up to the house, stepping onto the porch, the wood creaking under her feet. As she reaches for the doorbell, the door flies open with the force of Hurricane Rowan behind it. Rowan is vibrating, and it is radiating out of every pore.
“Hi Coach,” she yells as she opens the door all the way and starts talking before Maren can even step inside.
Rowan turns and continues her monologue as she walks through the house.
Maren catches maybe every fourth word. There is something about a dolphin kick in there somewhere, but it is impossible to keep up.
She follows the young girl through the living room and out onto the back deck.
Maren turns to slide the door closed behind her. When she spins back around, she sees Reese standing on her tiptoes, attaching the handmade VICTORY banner to the giant oak tree in the backyard. Maren walks toward the tree.
“Can I help you with that?” She asks softly.
Reese startles and spins around, not expecting to see Maren standing in front of her. The banner shifts in her hand, and she instinctively tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, steadying herself before she speaks.
“Um, hi?” Reese asks. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
Maren looks at her, echoing the same puzzlement on her face. “Well, a little bird told me there was a Victory Picnic today, and that I absolutely must be here.”
Reese lets out a loud, full-body laugh. “Well, the little bird is right. There is a big victory picnic tonight, and I told her she could invite one friend.” She smiles as she shakes her head again. “I guess you are that friend.”
“Coach to friend,” Maren asks. “Is that an upgrade?”
Reese tilts her head, considering it with a light smile. “I think it might be.”
The breeze shifts across the yard, carrying the faint sound of the old wind chime from next door.
For a moment, they simply stand there, facing each other in the soft evening light.
The banner half-tied and swaying gently between them.
It feels easy and strange at the same time, like stepping into something she used to know but finding it changed in all the subtle ways that matter.
Rowan’s voice carries from somewhere inside the house, calling for them to come look at something. Reese nods toward the grass beneath the oak tree.
“We set everything up already,” she says. “She wanted it to be perfect.”
Maren’s eyes follow where Reese points, and the sight hits her like a held breath. There, spread out beneath the low branches, is a familiar faded blanket. One she hasn’t seen in more than ten years. One she never expected to see again.
The moment lands like a shift in the water, pulling her forward before she even moves.
Maren steps closer to the blanket, the memory of it settling warm and heavy in her stomach. Before she can speak, Rowan bursts out the sliding door, charging directly towards them.
“There you are,” she says, with excitement. “You must see this thing I made for my relay. And also, I brought napkins, but they may be the wrong ones. Also, I am starving.”
Her last word comes out like a declaration to the universe as she flops down on the blanket, scattering the ‘Happy New Year’ napkins all over the blanket.
Maren laughs softly and lifts the paper bag she has been carrying since she got out of the car.
“Then you may be interested in what I have here,” she says. “Congratulations fries.”
Rowan’s eyes light up so fast they might as well ignite.
“For me?” She takes the bag with both hands like it is a priceless artifact. “These are like the best things ever.” She adjusts herself on the faded blanket, cross-legged, already pulling the bag open.
Maren crouches down and sets her backpack near the edge of the blanket, tucking it beside one of the corners like she is claiming a small space for herself without thinking too hard about it.
Rowan doesn’t even look up, already mid-monologue as she digs into the fries.
“Okay okay okay, so during my fifty I could totally feel that second dolphin kick, and it was perfect, and Coach, look, I made a sign for you, but the markers bled, so don’t judge it.
” She gestures to the victory sign with a fist full of fries.
Maren sits down on the opposite side of the blanket, knees up, arms draped loosely over them. The evening light filters through the old oak branches above them, warm and dappled.
Reese glances over at her, the smile still there, softer now. “Make yourself at home, friend,” she says.
And for the first time in a long time, Maren does.
Rowan is already halfway through the fries, barely chewing between bursts of excitement.
“So, then Coach, after the streamline, I kicked again but not too much because you said not to overdo it in the beginning, and then I swear, I felt the water like open up around me, and also, Mom, look, I saved one fry for you.” Rowan chatters as she shoves the singular last fry in her mom’s general direction, then eats it anyway.
Reese bursts out laughing, bending to open a woven picnic basket Maren hadn’t noticed before. It has stickers on the lid. Glittery ones, of course. A dinosaur. A crooked star.
“Okay,” Reese says, making a face somewhere between sheepish and amused. “Full disclosure. I packed it for a seven-year-old.”
Rowan, mouth full, raises a triumphant hand. “Nine,” she corrects, muffled.
“Sorry, nine,” Reese corrects herself with a smile. “Point is, I wasn’t expecting… well, you.” She glances at Maren, then lifts the basket lid. “Prepare yourself for a very kid-friendly dinner.”
Rowan leans over the basket like she is diving into a treasure. “We have the good stuff,” she says proudly, listing the items as Reese pulls them out. “Uncrustables. Carrots with ranch. The tiny yogurts. Also, the fancy cheese because mom says I need calcium or whatever.”
Reese sighs dramatically. “You do need calcium.”
Maren laughs, the sound easy in her throat. “Honestly? This looks better than half the dinners I have had this week.”
Reese hesitates for a moment, holding a pack of fruit snacks, eyes flicking up long enough to meet Maren’s. Something warm and relieved passes through her expression.
“Well,” she says softly, “you’re welcome to share.”
Rowan waves a carrot in the air like a pointer. “Coach, the fruit snacks are mine, but you can have one of the purple ones.”
Reese snorts. “Wow. A true honor.”
Maren leans back on her hands, letting the warmth of the evening settle around the three of them. The old blanket beneath her, Rowan’s unstoppable commentary, Reese’s quiet smile as she unwraps the circles of wax-wrapped cheese, it all feels absurdly gentle.
For a moment she lets herself just sit in it.
Maren and Reese sit in a comfortable silence, as they leisurely snack on all the kid-cuisine.
Rowan continues to catch them both up on every aspect of the last 24 hours, including helping her grandma chase the neighbor’s cat out of the yard this afternoon before the cat could get to the flowers.
Maren finds herself hanging on every word of the 9-year-old’s stories but does wonder if the child ever takes a breath.
The sun slowly slides down behind the tree, casting the whole yard in soft golden beams of God Light. Reese glances down at her watch and over at Rowan, then back at her watch and tapping the face to get Rowan’s attention. Rowan sits up straight, looking directly at her mom.
“You know what this victory picnic needs, Mom?” she says excitedly. “Ducky pjs and popsicles!”
She shoots up off the blanket and sprints toward the house, bursting through the sliding door and disappearing inside without bothering to close it behind her.
The sudden quiet settles around them the second the sliding door clicks against the frame. The absence of Rowan’s voice feels almost startling, like the yard exhales all at once.
Reese leans back on her hands, the same way Maren is sitting, their elbows almost but not quite touching. The breeze lifts the leaves above them, sending shifting patterns of gold across the blanket.
“She could talk for hours,” Reese says, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Sometimes I think she might actually run out of oxygen.”
Maren laughs softly. “It is impressive. I feel like I need to stretch before trying to keep up.”
Reese turns her head slowly, studying for a moment that lasts longer than it should. The light catches her cheekbone, softens it, and warms it. There is something thoughtful in her expression, something a little unguarded.
“Wanna know a secret?” Reese asks softly, as if someone else might be listening.
Leaning in close, Maren replies, “I always do.”
“I used to tell Rowan that we only had a limited number of words we could say in our life, and we didn’t know how many it was. But when we ran out, we would lose our voice.” Reese smiles at the memory. “Just to get five minutes of quiet.”
Maren shakes her head and laughs. “Callahan,” she exclaims.
“What? Sometimes a mom needs a break.” She looks over at Maren and smiles as the quiet settles over both of them. “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to her,” Reese says softly. “It means a lot to me, too.”
Maren looks down at the blanket, her fingers brushing over the faded edge before she answers. “I am happy to be here.”
Reese’s breath catches in a way Maren almost hears. Not a gasp. More like a shift. A small recalibration inside her chest.
The old wind chimes next door move again with a gentle sound, and for a moment the world feels very still. Only the two of them on the blanket, close enough that if Maren shifted just a little, her shoulder would touch Reese’s.
Reese looks back toward the house, then at Maren again. “She really likes you,” she says softly.
Maren lifts her eyes to hers. “She is easy to like.”
Something in Reese falters, a quiet beat where her smile grows and fades all in the same instant. She looks away, then back again, almost like she is trying to steady herself.
The silence between them feels warm now, not empty. A shape they both know and recognize.