Chapter Thirty
CHAPTER THIRTY
COOPER
I win.
It’s not even close, although Liesel and Logan both did okay on their gingerbread houses. Lucas’s was an embarrassment, and Bruce couldn’t even get his to stay up. He kept blaming his “big meat hook hands.”
“How are you so good at making a gingerbread house?” Logan asks. We’ve moved on to putting together a puzzle on the coffee table while Elf plays in the background. Puzzles are a Christmas tradition both our families share.
“My mom’s a pro. Not technically, but she could be. She’s an incredible baker.”
“You should see the cakes she made Coop when he was growing up,” Liesel says, smiling at me over the puzzle. It’s a sad smile, though. It’s late afternoon on Christmas Day, and while they’ve sent plenty of texts, I haven’t received a single phone call, FaceTime, or video message.
As much as I try to keep the pain at bay, I haven’t hurt this much since elementary, not that I’ll ever let her know that. I thought maybe Liesel was right, that telling her would be cathartic, but it wasn’t. It didn’t backfire. It did nothing .
But my mom loves me, and she’s always done the best she could.
It’s enough. It has to be.
“What about the cakes?” Logan is asking Liesel.
Liesel pulls up her Instagram, giving me a questioning look, like she’s asking permission to show him. I shrug. It’s sweet of her to want to be my mom’s hype woman. It feels like she’s defending my mom even to me , not that she needs defending.
“Whoa, your mom made that? How?”
“Which one is it?” I ask. Liese shows me a picture of a three-tiered cake with pin stripes and buttons on the bottom tier, baseball glove stitching on the middle tier, and a baseball cap as the top tier.
“That’s nothing,” Liesel says. “You should see the stadium cake!”
I watch how sweet Liesel’s being, how cool her brothers are acting, and it pinches my heart. I don’t know how I could possibly feel so comfortable here after only a day and a half, but I do. It’s mostly because of Liesel, but I feel a camaraderie with her brothers and Dad, too. It makes me excited to think that I’ll be playing with them this year, because with a little coaching, I’m positive they’ll get called up.
Oh, and I hope Doug won’t kill me for going behind his back and dating the heck out of Liesel anyway.
Speaking of which …
“Bruce,” I say as he connects an edge piece to the winter wonderland scene. “What’s gonna happen the season after next? When I’m playing again and dating Liesel and you’re officiating?”
Bruce raises his eyebrows like he’s understanding the significance of what I’m asking. That’s almost a year and a half away. “I’ll be put on a different rotation. If you have a personal connection to a player, the Umpires Association keeps you from officiating games for those teams. It’ll be the same thing whenever the boys get called up.”
“Does Doug know this?”
Bruce chuckles. “Yes, but I’ll reassure him he doesn’t need to worry.”
I almost slump in relief. “Maybe we could do a conference call and make sure he knows that we’re all on the same page and that I didn’t seduce Liesel with my masculine wiles.”
Fists punch my shoulders before I can even say I’m joking.
When the tweebs sit back down, we all look around the table.
Everyone is smiling.
And that causes a bittersweet pang in my heart. I like Liesel’s family. Heck, I love them. I never would have imagined being so happy on Christmas Day without my parents.
But no matter how much I’m enjoying being here, the more the day goes on, the more it hurts that my parents aren’t even trying to talk to me.
Anyone can text, “I miss you.”
It’s different to see it on their faces or hear it in their voices. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and I close the toilet lid and sit on it. I try to FaceTime my parents again.
It rings.
They don’t answer.
A moment later, I get a text.
Mom
Can’t talk right now, but we love you! How are you?
My anger and hurt bubble up to the surface, and I do something I’ve never in my life done.
I get mad at my mom.
Coop
What the heck, Mom? What is so important that you can’t take my call on Christmas Day?
This hurts.
I’m immediately racked with guilt. She’s coping the best she can. She’s not some negligent parent who doesn’t care about me. I try to unsend the messages, but it’s too late. They’ve been delivered. Read.
I pinch my temples, feeling sick and sad and … forgotten.
And when she doesn’t immediately reply, I dash angry tears from my cheeks.
I’m done. Not forever, but for now. The pain of this disappointment and hurt have cut through layers I thought had healed years ago, and I’m left with a seeping wound that I have to stop poking at.
I flip my phone to do not disturb. I’ve never held a grudge against her, and I don’t know that I even do now.
But I can’t pretend this doesn’t affect me. It’s one thing that we can’t see each other today. That’s no one’s fault. It’s another that she’s shutting me out, refusing to talk to me, choosing something over me.
The axe has cut deeply into my trunk, and it’s going to take time to heal.
I splash cold water on my face and leave the bathroom. The Fischers are all getting on their winter coats, boots, and hats.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Another Fischer family tradition,” Liesel says, smiling. “Come on.”
It’s freezing cold, the snow is up to our knees, and the tweebs have made hundreds of snowballs. The yard is probably half an acre—plenty of space to throw a ball around—but we’re not hurling more snowballs at each other.
We’re hitting them with baseball bats.
Logan and Lucas have cleared a space big enough for them to stand in, and Liesel, Bruce, and I have all done the same. And Bruce tromps a path large enough to look like a crude baseball diamond for the fun of it.
The three of us—Bruce, Liesel, and me—are holding bats, standing at imaginary plates, as Logan and Lucas throw them past us.
I’m hitting left-handed, for the record. And they are not going easy on me.
“Who throws a brushback pitch to a dude who had Tommy John’s surgery?” I say to Lucas, kicking the snow and trying to square up. I’m careful not to use my right arm at all, which means Lucas is smoking me.
“Winners, that’s who.”
“It was a strike,” Bruce says, even as he pulverizes a snowball Logan threw to him.
“You’re not even behind the plate!” I cry. “Nepotism.” Lucas pegs me with a snowball, and I laugh. “You suck.”
“No, you suck,” Lucas says, throwing another pitch, this time to Liesel. She smacks it and then another, laughing all the way.
When it’s my turn to hit again, I square up and crush it. The ball explodes in a cloud of white powder that makes me laugh. “That’s how it’s done, boys,” I say, dropping my bat and trudging around the makeshift diamond. The tweebs boo me while Liesel cheers, and when I make it back around to Liesel—my home base—she jumps into my arms and kisses me.
Her brothers and Dad all throw snowballs at us, and I spin and shield her from the worst of it while she laughs.
But someone else claps.
Liesel senses it the same moment I do. I whip around, still holding her, to find the source of the clap.
A couple has come into the backyard from the plowed driveway. The man is about my height, with a handsome, weathered face from years of hard work. The dark eyed woman has beautiful ivory skin that hasn’t seen the sun in decades and that makes her look younger than she is. Her smile is warmer than a fireplace.
“Mom?” I whisper. “Dad?”
Mom starts laughing, holding her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Dad’s hands are on her shoulders, but he’s crying, too.
“I’ve never seen you hit a ball before,” Mom says. “You’re so talented!”
I run at full speed to them, almost tackling my mom when I dive into her arms. I sob in a way I haven’t in years, breaking down uncontrollably. The three of us hold each other tightly, and I don’t care that Liesel’s family is seeing this. I don’t care about anything else in the world.
“You’re here! How are you here?” I ask through my tears.
“We drove,” Dad says, sniffing back tears of his own. “I told you I was getting a Winnebago. Your mom’s gotten really comfortable in it over the last few months.”
“I’ve been practicing,” Mom says in my ear. The three of us are all still hugging, and I can’t let Mom go. She’s shaking like a leaf, and while I’m sure some of that is happiness at seeing me, I know there has to be real fear and anxiety to it, too. “I found a new therapist last year. I’ve been doing exposure therapy. I’d hoped I could make the playoffs, but I wasn’t ready.” She frowns, and tears gush out. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t ready.”
“I don’t care!” I cry. “You’re here now!”
“I’m here,” she says, trembling and squeezing me. “I love you and I’m finally here.”
“This is why we couldn’t take your calls,” Dad explains with an apologetic, watery smile. “We knew you’d hear the Winnebago in the background.”
“I’m so sorry you were hurting, sweetie,” Mom says. “I had to do this. When my therapist recommended that silly VR headset, it opened the world to me. It was terrifying at first, but also … life changing. It showed me that there’s so much beauty in the world that I’ve missed. But it was when I started watching your games that I realized I couldn’t go on like this anymore. I couldn’t stand to live another moment missing you live yours .” Her tears are freezing against my face, and I couldn’t care less.
“How did you know where I was?” I sniff when Mom and I finally break apart.
“Find A Friend,” Dad says with a chuckle. He looks past me to talk to Liesel’s family. “I hope you don’t mind us crashing.”
“Not at all!” Liesel says.
“It’s our pleasure,” Bruce says.
I wave Liesel over and tuck her underneath my arm as I introduce her to my parents. “You guys saw my message, didn’t you?” They nod. “This is Liesel.”
“We’re so happy to meet you,” Mom says, hugging Liesel.
Dad hugs her next. “I never thought I’d see the day when Coop introduced us to a girl. He’s never cared about anyone enough to even tell us about a date.”
Mom gives Liesel a full smile. I get my smile from my mom, and while mine is a little too cocksure, Mom’s makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room. In the world, maybe. “He clearly cares a lot about you,” Mom says.
I take Liesel’s hand. She looks up at me with so much joy on her face, I can’t believe I told her dad we weren’t in love yet.
Of course I’m in love with her.
“Yes, he does,” I say of myself. “He cares a lot about her.”
One of Liesel’s brothers groans. “Talking about yourself in the third person, are you, Coop?”
I chuckle and wave the rest of Liesel’s family over to make introductions. My mom has to be overwhelmed—she doesn’t meet new people often, and never outside of her environment. But she smiles and shakes hands and jokes with Liesel’s dad and brothers like they’re old friends.
And all I can do is watch in awe and … gratitude. Humility, maybe. I don’t know what the right word is, but the feeling is all encompassing and makes my soul hum with a contentment I’ve never known.
I have spent so many years doing everything I could to bring happiness to my family. Always making accommodations and meeting my mom where she was.
Today is unlike any day I’ve ever had.
My mom came for me.
She came for me.