Chapter 37 Isla
ISLA
I trail behind Luca and Charlie as they talk nonstop about who knows what.
We’re on the boardwalk, down at Cedar Creek’s pier for the annual Maritime Fair.
The market that’s set up is busy, with music from buskers filling the air, along with the delicious aromas of fried food and treats.
It’s crowded, but not too much, the weather surprisingly mild for early March, with clear skies and sunshine instead of cold, dreary rain.
Charlie says something that makes the two of them laugh, and I smile fondly at the sight.
Luca’s dark-haired head is tipped down to be closer to Charlie’s lighter-coloured one.
Charlie’s wearing his prosthesis today with a regular hand attachment he’s not bothering to hide.
And I know that’s in part because of Luca.
When he was over for dinner the other night, they talked for a long while after Charlie showed off his new batting attachment.
And since then, I know they’ve exchanged several text messages.
I love that Charlie has Luca in his life.
Someone to connect with, someone to look up to, someone to help normalize his experience having a limb difference.
I’m used to facing judgment: as a pregnant teenager, as a single young mom, and as the mom of a child with a physical disability.
I tried to shield Charlie from that judgment, but it was inevitable that he’d face it, too.
And while he’s mostly taken it in stride, I know firsthand how much it hurts to be looked down on for something you can’t control.
It’s why I’m protective of him. Life has thrown curveballs at my son since day one, and I couldn’t stop all of them from hitting and hurting him.
This relationship with Luca doesn’t seem to be another one of those curveballs. It’s obvious that Luca fits in our life a way I never expected anyone to. He’s not just playing a role, he seems to truly love being with us and the life we live as a family.
How did my life become so freaking amazing?
“Because you are so freaking amazing.”
Luca’s murmur catches me off guard. I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud, and I definitely wasn’t aware he had come back to stand near me.
“Charlie needed the restroom,” he continues, dipping his head down to kiss me. “And I hope you know you deserve all the happiness anyone could have.”
Charlie bounds back up to us before I can respond. “C’mon Luca, let’s go check out the trading card stall.”
He drags Luca away, and I move to catch up. Listening to the two of them, I definitely do not fully understand all the numbers and names they’re rapid-fire talking about with the man behind the tables, only catching about fifty percent. Then Charlie turns to Luca.
“Someday the Thunder’s cards could be something people collect.”
Luca whirls around to face me, almost stumbling in his haste. “We don’t have trading cards!”
I can’t avoid bursting out in a laugh at the horror on his face. “No, we don’t.”
“Seriously, Mom?” Now Charlie is looking at me with pure disappointment. “What kind of marketing plan for a baseball team doesn’t include trading cards?” He shakes his head. “Epic fail, Mom. Epic.”
“Can we get some designed before the season starts? Shit. How did we miss this?” Luca’s spiraling, right in front of us, and so I step forward and kiss him gently on the lips.
“Relax, Luca. If you really want them, then first thing Monday morning, we can get in touch with the company that did the graphic design work for the logo and signage. I’m sure they can help. But you have to talk to Dom.”
Luca blows out a breath. “Right. Okay. Damn, I can’t believe we didn’t think about trading cards.”
Biting my lower lip, I debate whether or not I should remind him that player cards were in my original marketing plan, but we chose to move ahead with other items instead. Of course, knowing Luca, he won’t let something silly like a budget hold him back.
Just like he didn’t with the equipment he put in the recovery room for the players. Who ever heard of an independent league team having state-of-the-art cryotherapy systems, anyway?
I stayed out of that argument between him and Dom. It doesn’t have anything to do with marketing, so I had nothing to say. But the trading cards, I suppose I could’ve pushed for, but it was early on and I didn’t want to ruffle feathers.
“C’mon, let’s go and get some food.” I urge the two of them away with a wave of thanks to the trading card vendor.
Over fresh fish tacos, to no surprise, the conversation between my boyfriend and my son turns back to baseball. This time, they’re discussing the major league teams, specifically, the Vancouver Tridents.
“Coach Rhett thinks they can go all the way again this year. He says the rookies they’ve signed are solid, but he wouldn’t tell us who they are.”
Luca chuckles. “Yeah, because he’s probably not meant to know, seeing as he’s not on the team anymore.”
Charlie nods. “But his best friend is married to the coach’s daughter or something.”
Luca shoots me a glance and a smirk. “True. There’s lots of relationships on the team, from what I’ve heard.
” Turning back to Charlie as I fight a blush, he masterfully redirects the conversation.
“Hey, how’s it going with your batting at practice these days?
” I watch my son closely to see his response.
When I’ve asked how his practices has gone now that he has his prosthesis, I haven’t gotten much more of an answer than “fine.”
His head ducks down, and he picks at a fry on his plate.
“It’s okay, I guess. It’s getting easier to catch and throw, for sure.
But batting is still hard, one-handed or with my prosthesis.
Coach Rhett is trying to figure out how to help, but I’m the first kid with one arm to join the league, so they don’t really know what to do.
I guess I can always just be a designated runner instead of a batter. ”
“Hey, the league had to deal with me and my missing leg. This is fixable. We’ll get you hitting more accurately,” Luca says with so much confidence, Charlie lifts his head with a hopeful expression.
“Do you really think so? I mean, I can, you saw me the other night. But it’s hard. And I’m inconsistent. I can’t figure out what I need to fix because it seems to change each time.”
“You will. We will. Maybe Doc can come out to some practices, or Rhett and Doc can talk. There’s gotta be a way to get everyone on the same page about what you need to be successful.”
Part of me wants to caution Luca against putting unrealistic ideas in Charlie’s head.
Asking a prosthetist to speak with a Little League coach just so my son can be more successful at a recreational sport feels a little over-the-top.
But then I see the hope shining on Charlie’s face.
And I keep quiet, not wanting to make that go away.
The rest of our time at the festival feels like a dream. A happy dream where I have a partner in this life, someone to help with Charlie, to love him and me the way we both deserve.
Later, back at our house over pizza for me and Charlie, and a salad for Luca that we teased him about endlessly, we played a cutthroat game of Monopoly. Luca and Charlie laughed together as they both took me for all my money.
Things can’t possibly get any better than this. When we’re cleaning up after Luca sweeps the board, taking me and Charlie for every penny, I feel arms snake around my waist as I put the leftovers in the fridge.
“Thank you for a perfect day.” Lips press against my neck, and I smile, my eyes drifting shut.
“You’re only saying that because you won Monopoly,” I tease, turning in Luca’s arms and wrapping mine around his neck.
He starts to gently sway back and forth, as if we’re dancing to silent music. “No. I’m saying it because I haven’t felt like this before. Like every moment keeps getting better.”
I press my lips to his in response.
“Ew. Gross, guys, not in the kitchen,” Charlie gripes, moving to the freezer as we break apart, grinning like idiots at each other. “You like ice cream, Luca? Or is that another thing you don’t eat ’cuz you’re a weirdo health nut.”
“Charlie,” I chide, stepping out of Luca’s arms. “Don’t be rude.”
But Luca just laughs. “Sorry to disappoint, but no, I don’t eat ice cream. I take my weirdo health nut status seriously.”
“Not even if it was Nutella flavoured?” I can’t help but tease.
Luca’s mouth falls open. But there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “Wait. There’s Nutella ice cream?”
I lift my hand and pat his cheek. “Oh yes. There’s Nutella ice cream. And Nutella cookies, Nutella frosting…”
Luca sweeps me into his arms with a groan. “Stop. Just stop. This is torture.”
“And that’s my cue to get outta here. Night Mom, night Luca.”
Luca turns us so I can grin at my son. “Goodnight kid. Love you.”
Charlie has already left the kitchen when Luca’s head dips down and kisses the side of my neck. “And I love you, Isla Forrester.”