by Lori L. Otto
“Jacks likes you,” Mom says.
“I don’t know,” he hedges. “I haven’t seen him since the morning after we, uh...” Jon looks at my brother, but continues. “We fell asleep in your room,” he says a little bit more softly to me.
“And he let you stay and have breakfast with us,” my mother reminds him.
“Yes, but he didn’t say a word,” Jon laughs.
“What could he say?”
“Oh, lots,” Jon mumbles. “He’s said a lot before.”
“You both have a good, open, honest line of communication. He may not like what you have to say all the time, Jon, but trust me. He appreciates that you say it. He likes people to be direct. You don’t beat around the bush.”
“Dad thought you were the reason I wasn’t painting,” I add. “I hadn’t talked to him about it... because I didn’t want him to know the real reason. But I told him what was going on. He knows it wasn’t you.”
“What made it okay to start today?” he asks.
“He did,” I tell him. “He just knew what to say.” I shrug my shoulders, hoping that doesn’t make Jon feel inadequate. It’s certainly not meant to, and by the smile on his face, I don’t think he takes it that way.
He takes my hand in his under the table and squeezes it, leaning into me and kissing me quickly. “He does that a lot.”
Mom smiles at both of us, passing out slices of pizza onto our plates.
After dinner, we head down to the park, and within just a few minutes, my dad shows up with both of his brothers, Chris, my three cousins, and a bat. Even Eli is here, although his normal inclination is to stay shut in his room. Finn walks up a short time later, but stays away from me after I shoot him a warning glare.
Mom and I sit in the grass, watching them set up their makeshift baseball game. Jackets are tossed down to be used as bases, and Jon even takes off his dress shirt, tossing it to me and letting his tattoo peek out from beneath his undershirt. When I see him like that, it makes me wish that I hadn’t sacrificed our alone time tonight.
My dad takes the helm of the ‘adult’ team, and recruits Finn to play with them. Jon corrals all of the younger kids, and takes his spot in the middle of the ‘diamond,’ ready to pitch after he assigns Danny to the catcher’s post, Stevie to first base, Trey to third, and Eli–the oldest, next to Jon–to second base and the outfield.
Even though Dad’s on the other side, Mom’s cheering for Jon’s team since Trey is playing for him.
“I guess Grandma and Grandpa needed a break,” Mom comments. “I’m sure this has been a long day for them.”
Chris and Matty bat first and second, both of them getting on bases. My dad is the third at bat, and by the time he gets up to home plate, a small crowd has gathered around us, watching our game. A few women start to call his name, which prompts my mom to stand up and move a little closer to the field. It makes me smile, Mom, making her presence known. If she’d been half a world away, there would still be no chance for any other woman to get my dad’s attention.
I get up and stand next to her, realizing the showdown that’s about to happen.
“Who’re you rooting for, Tessa?” Dad asks me, swinging the bat by his side.
“No consorting with the other team, Olivia!” Jon calls out, a huge grin on his face.
“Play, already!” I yell to them both. My dad shakes his head, teasing me with his disapproval. Jon stretches his arm and back muscles as he waits for my dad to be ready. When he’s poised with the bat, Jon launches the ball toward him. Dad strikes on the first pitch, resulting in a few giggles from our audience. His cheeks turn red.
“You’re gonna let that kid get the best of you?” my uncle Chris says to him. “Where’s that state champ?”
“He’s out of practice,” Dad comments, getting set once again. He hits the second ball, but it flies backwards, and Steven calls the foul. “Whose side are you on?” he asks his brother.
“A foul’s a foul, Jacks.”
“All right,” Dad calls to Jon. “I was just testing you. Show me what you got.”
Jon looks at me, lifting his eyebrows. I shrug my shoulders, giving him the go ahead to play as hard as he can. He winds up and hurls the ball quickly. Again, we hear the ball against the bat, but it pops up high in the air. Jon’s eyes are trained on it as Dad runs to first base. He catches it easily, getting Dad out, and throws it quickly to Danny, who tags my uncle Chris before he can cross home plate.
“Throw it back here!” Jon yells to my cousin, his eyes shifting quickly from Danny to Matty, who’s trying to steal third base. Danny’s aim is spot on, and as Jon moves toward the base, he catches it and tosses it underhanded to Trey, who has no trouble catching it. Matty slows slightly, pretending to run from my brother, but he allows him to tag him out anyway. Jon and his team cheer, getting all three outs on that one play.
“Good play, Jackson,” Dad tells Trey, patting him on the back. He passes Jon on the way to the pitching mound. “I’m not going easy on you, son,” I hear him say to my boyfriend, smiles spreading across both their faces. Mom puts her arm around me.
Dad was the star pitcher in high school. I have no doubt he’s out of practice, but he’s probably still better than most people Jon’s played against. Jon claims the fourth position in the batting line up. My brother’s first, and my dad knows the exact level and speed of pitch Trey can hit.
“Run, baby!” Mom yells once Trey connects with the ball. It’s a grounder that bypasses my dad and makes it to Finn on second base. By the time he has it in his mitt, my brother is safe on first, giving a high-five to Matty. Jon walks over to the base to coach him on running to second. Trey takes a few steps away from the jacket on the ground, just as Jon instructs him to do.
Eli catches us all off guard when he gets up to bat, propelling the ball far beyond his father in between second and third bases. Chris runs to get it as Jon and Trey run together to second base. “Great hit, Eli!” Jon calls to him, clapping. My cousin actually smiles at him.
Stevie is up next, and his dad insists on pitching to him, so Dad moves behind the plate to be the catcher for this round. “Hold the bat up more,” Steven instructs his son, even though they’re on opposite teams. “Angle your body that way,” he adds, watching him get into position. “Perfect.”
My cousin misses the first pitch, but bunts the second one, making his dad run for the ball. With Jon’s guidance, Trey makes it to third base. Dad assumes his position once more in the middle of the field and throws the ball a few times to his brother to warm up. Jon picks up the bat and practices a few swings. He meets my eyes and nods for me to come over to him.
“I could easily rattle him,” Jon says. “I could drop this bat right now, take you in my arms and kiss you.”
“As much as I’d like that,” I tell him, touching his bicep, “I think that would be unfair.”
He nods his head in agreement, pointing to his cheek. I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck for good luck. “I won’t think any less of you when you strike out,” I tell him as I walk away.
“What?!” he asks, laughing on his way to the plate. “You don’t think I can do this?”
I stop and turn around to look at him, a little unsure. I know my dad won’t hold back. I also know my dad is very good. I walk back over to Jon.
“We don’t have all night, kids!” Dad calls to us.
“Yeah, yeah!” I yell back, shooing his nagging comments away. “I’ll tell you what,” I tell Jon. “If you get a home run... a grand slam, by the way,” I add, eyeing the loaded bases, “then you can drop your bat and kiss me like you want to. I’ll be waiting at home plate.”
“Now that’s some motivation,” he says with a glint in his eye, taking his place behind home plate. I go back to the side where my mom stands, taking her hand in mine and bracing myself.
“What if he hits him?” I whisper to her.
“He’s not going to hit him,” she laughs. “Plus, Trey’s on third base, so
Jon’s got that working in his favor. You know your dad wants him to score.”
“You think he’s going to go easy on Jon, then?”
“Absolutely not,” Mom says. “He’ll make him sweat.”
“Ready?” Dad asks my boyfriend.
“Go for it.”
The pitch Dad throws is insanely fast, and Jon swings about a half-a-second too late. Dad calls the strike, and Jon looks over at me in disbelief. Chris and Steven are both laughing at Jon’s reaction from their bases, and the group that has gathered is applauding.
“That had to be at least eighty miles per hour,” Jon says. “That’s impossible.”
“He averaged in the high-eighties in high school,” my uncle Matty tells Jon as Steven tosses the ball back to Dad. Jon looks back at my dad, who’s got a smug smile on his face.
“Now are you ready?” he taunts Jon.
“Sure,” Jon says, much less confident than he was before. He strikes on the second pitch, too.
“Take some practice swings,” Dad says to Jon before the third pitch. “You took your eyes off the ball that time, by the way.”
“I know,” Jon says, stretching out his arms and shoulders. After swinging the bat a few times, he walks back up to home plate. Eli starts to chant Jon’s name, and the rest of their team joins in. Jon looks over at me, and I can see the determination in his eyes. I bite my lip, hoping to draw his attention there to remind him of the prize. He nods, letting me know that he remembers. “All right, I’m ready,” he tells Dad, getting into a batting stance.
“C’mon, Jack!” a woman yells from the crowd.
“You can do it, Jon!” I holler louder, clapping my hands.
“Thanks, baby!” he calls back to me, keeping his attention on my father. He throws the ball seconds later, and this time, Jon not only hits the ball, but hits it far over the heads of everyone on the field and our audience, eventually dropping into a nearby pond. He releases the bat, coaching my brother into home base before he takes off to first base. “Come on, Trey! You got it!” He high-fives him, then takes off in a slow jog. I’m cheering while Mom goes and gives Trey a hug for scoring. Eli and Stevie cross home in quick succession, but Jon takes his time running the bases as the crowd cheers for him. Dad meets him at third and pats him on the shoulder once as he makes his way to the final base.
As the audience yells when his foot hits home, my cousins and brother gather around him to congratulate him. Jon revels with them briefly, but then catches my eye and stalks toward me. I glance at my dad, who’s eyes are trained on both of us.
“He’s watching you,” I warn him softly without being able to hide my smile. Jon puts his hands on my cheeks and pulls my lips to his. His kiss is salty with sweat, and isn’t out of control, like I expected it. It’s passionate, but he’s clearly trying to be somewhat of a gentleman. “I expect a real one later,” I tell him when he pulls away.
“Of course,” he says. “He called me ‘son.’ I can’t very well disrespect him now,” he laughs. “Especially not in front of all of these people.”
“I heard. And once again, he knows what to say to make sure he gets his way,” I tease him.
“This one didn’t feel like manipulation,” Jon says seriously, looking at me questioningly.
“No, I don’t think it was. He does like you.”
“I guess the game’s over,” Chris announces. “We have no ball.”
“All right,” Dad calls out to our family. “Cupcakes, anyone? Kelly didn’t want to be left out. She should be at the house by now.”
The kids cheer as the crowd starts to separate, some lingering while others continue on the sidewalk trails. Jon takes my hand in his, holding it sweetly as we watch most of my family take off toward my house.
“Mom, we need to get our stuff,” I tell her, nodding in the direction of the loft.
She glances down at her watch. “I expect you at home in a half hour,” she says as she hands me her keys. “Take Finn with you.”
“Mom, no,” I argue. “I don’t want to talk to him after what he did to Camille. Plus, you think he makes a good chaperone?”
“Good point. Thirty minutes,” she repeats to me and Jon sternly. “And get my bag, too?”
“That’ll take at least another five minutes, Mom,” I joke with her.
“Twenty-nine minutes,” she says. “You two better go.”
Once we get to the loft, there’s just enough time for us to kiss the way I’d really wanted to in the park. He doesn’t even try anything more, even though I’m sure he must want more, like I do. He helps me gather our things and we lock up the loft, saying good night to Francisco on our way out.
CHAPTER 20
“You’re not cutting them small enough,” he tells me, barely looking over his shoulder from the stove. “Quarter-inch squares,” he reiterates.
“I don’t think they’ll taste any different, Dad.”
“You asked me to show you how to make this,” he laughs. “Do you want me to, or not?”
“To.”
“Good. Quarter-inch.”
“Okay. Well, what do you have going on over there?”
“I’m just heating up a pan, that’s all. I won’t do anything important without telling you. I’m writing it all down as we go, anyway.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“We can’t send our daughter away to college with no life skills,” he says. “I feel like we’ve got to cram a lot into a few months. And here I thought we had done a fairly good job.”
“You have. I can do my own laundry. Most of my friends can’t do that. And you did show me how to check the oil levels in my car.”
“As if you’ll do that,” he laughs. “You made it very clear that you believe that to be a man’s job.”
“I do,” I confirm. “But at least I know how.”
“Yes, I do appreciate the time you spent listening, anyway. For you, Tessa, I’ll check the levels every weekend you come home.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“How often do you think you’ll be home? Oh, careful, Liv, don’t hold the knife like that.” He comes over and picks up another knife, demonstrating a better way to cut the tomatoes.
“It’s fine, Dad. I’m watching.”
“All right.” He goes back to the stove and holds his hand over the pan. I haven’t forgotten his question, but a part of me hopes he has. I decide to change the subject.
“You don’t mind going to the airport early tomorrow?”
“Not at all. Jon’s flight is at eleven?”
“Yeah. I told him we’d pick him up at eight.”
“Is he excited?”
“Of course. I think Max has the whole week mapped out. He says Will hasn’t been very talkative lately, so he’s anxious to get some time with him to see what’s going on.”
“And his mother’s still doing well?”
“That’s the report from his aunt. But he needs to see it for himself.”
“Of course. Are you excited about Wyoming?”
“Actually, yeah. I can’t believe it’s been five years since I’ve been there. But what are we gonna do there for a week? In the middle of nowhere?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t like going into spring break vacations without a game plan. You know me.”
“I know.”
“But I couldn’t say no to your grandma and grandpa. They have a way with guilt trips.”
“You had to get it from someone,” I tease him.
“I do not give guilt trips,” he argues, turning around and smiling. “Ready for the onions?”
“Bring ‘em on.” He sets down two medium-sized yellow onions on my cutting board. “Same size. You know how to do this?”
I roll my eyes and nod my head, picking up one onion, setting it on its side, and slicing through the middle of it. Looking at half of the onion, I try to figure out the most efficient way to slice it. I decide to balance it with my right hand–
“Shit!” I excla
im, feeling searing pain in my right hand. I look away as soon as I see the deep cut in the muscle beneath my thumb. Blood seems to gush out of it.
“What’d you–” Dad takes one look from across the island and immediately brings over a dishrag and wraps it around my hand. “Stitches,” he mumbles. “God, Livvy, I told you to be careful,” he says.
“I was,” I say through the lump in my throat. “It hurts, Dad,” I whine, seeing the red seep through the cotton. I watch him turn off all of the burners and grab his keys.
“I’m sure it does. Hold that towel tight,” he says as he pulls it tighter. I do as he says, hurriedly following him to his car. I half-whine, half-cry all the way to the emergency room as he tries to say comforting things to keep my mind off the pain.
He gets me settled in a seat and gauges how much blood is on the towel. It looks like a lot to me. “How do you feel? Lightheaded at all?”
“A little.”
“Okay, just stay still. I’m going to get us checked in.” I look around the waiting area at the other people seated in small clusters. In each group is a person who appears to be in just as much pain as I’m in. I catch the eyes of a few of them, smiling sympathetically. Curious, I unwrap my hand and check out the deep gash and...
I’m being pushed through a hallway in a wheelchair, closely behind a nurse in pink scrubs. Disoriented, I look around until I see my dad behind me, steering me through the hospital.
“There she is,” he says, keeping up with the nurse.
“What happened?”
“You fainted,” he explains. “Twice. Don’t unwrap that bandage,” he says. “Your pretty little head can’t handle the gruesomeness,” he says with a smile. I glance at my hand and notice the dressings have changed.
“Did they sew it up already?”
“No, that’s where we’re going now.”
I cringe. “What did the doctors say?”
“We haven’t seen one yet. That’s where we’re going now. The nurse just bandaged you up so you wouldn’t try to peek again. Plus, she knows how to control the bleeding a little better than I do.”