by KL Donn
I watch him cradle a few eggs in his large palm before cracking one against the side of the pan and sliding it gently into the simmering water from its shell. He tosses the empty shell into my composting bin and repeats the process for five more eggs.
I take a seat and watch him cook. His strong arms rippling and flexing as he moves around my kitchen brings back images of him up in his window last night. I shake the image from my head, remembering Dane in the next room. “Poached eggs, huh? I think I’ve seen a pan for this at the cooking store.”
“No. That pan is for coddled eggs. There’s a difference. This is the best way to make poached eggs.” He pulls out three plates from the rack and places them next to him. He picks up the slices of bread I pulled out earlier and pops them into the toaster. “Whole grain wheat bread is a good choice. Keep buying it. White bread is a waste of calories.”
I nod in agreement.
Next, he turns the flame off under the pan and lets the eggs finish cooking on their own while he removes a small glass from the cabinet. “Milk or juice for Dane?”
“I’ll get it,” I offer and get up to go take the milk from the refrigerator. I pop an ice-cube in the glass before pouring the milk over it, causing Ian to question me with a smoldering lift of his brow. “There’s nothing better than ice-cold milk.”
Before he can say anything, the toast pops up. He lightly butters the pieces and places them on a plate side-by-side. Next he grabs a slotted spoon and carefully pulls an egg from the water, dabbing it on a paper towel first then sliding it into the center of one piece of toast. He repeats it again for the other piece. He lightly dashes salt and pepper over his masterpiece before handing me the plate and placing more bread in the toaster. “There. Eggs in a basket,” he says laughing.
“Awww. That’s cute.”
“Woman, there’s nothing cute about my cooking,” he chastises me then winks.
“Except the cook himself,” I mumble under my breath. “Well, it smells amazing, but let’s check in with the food critic. Dane, your eggs are ready.”
After a moment, there’s no movement from the den, so Ian steps toward it and leans in. “Are you coming to eat my delicious eggs, or are you going to veg in front of the TV all day? It’s a soccer day. Let’s get rolling.”
As soon as Dane hears Ian’s voice, he runs to the kitchen and hops onto a saddle bench in front of the plate that awaits him. He looks at the funny meal then up at Ian.
“Well, go on. Dig in. It’s eggs in a basket. It’s good, I promise. It’s one of my favorites.”
Dane picks up his fork and moves in closer to the eggs but doesn’t know how to ‘dig in’. He looks up at me with wide eyes. I grab his fork from his hand and twist it side-ways, cutting a few small, bite-sized pieces for him.
“You don’t know how to cut your own food?” Ian asks Dane.
He looks up at Ian and shakes his head. “I’m not allowed to use a knife.”
Just then, the next pieces of toast pop up, and Ian swipes butter across them.
“Your mom isn’t using a knife. Just plain old manual labor and her muscles. Show me your muscles.”
Ian lifts his scrawny arm and flexes it, gritting his teeth in the process—just like SpongeBob did earlier. Ian chuckles at his determination.
“Look at that. That’s quite a large muscle you’ve got there. Now, let your mom eat, and you finish cutting your pieces like a big boy.” Ian hands me my plate of food while Dane accepts his fork back from me. Before cutting a piece, he takes a bite and chews just as I take my first bite.
We both smile at each other then look at Ian.
“Yummy, right?” he asks as he pops in new toast for himself. We both nod enthusiastically.
Ian grabs a coffee mug and the carafe, topping off my mug and adding a little creamer in before pouring one for himself. He looks so comfortable in our kitchen. In our house. In our lives.
Before too long, we’re all eating at the kitchen island together.
“This is the best part about eggs in a basket,” he says leaning into Dane like it’s a secret they’re going to share. Ian takes his fork in hand and cuts right through the softened yolk, making it burst and flow all over the bread. He smears it left and right, covering the bread with creamy sunshine like he’s frosting a cake. He then cuts two large pieces and shovels them both into his mouth at once, making Dane laugh.
We finish eating while talking about camp activities. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost time to leave. “Dane, go brush your teeth and get your bag. It’s almost time to go.” He climbs down from the stool and scampers upstairs while I clear away the dishes.
Ian remains seated and finishes sipping from his coffee mug as I take his plate. “Do you mind if I ride with you?”
I turn and look at him in surprise. “Where’s your car?”
“My car is at the stadium. I came back on the executive jet last night since I have mandatory camp today. I caught a ride with Lyft since the team bus won’t return until later this morning.”
I look up at the ceiling, hearing Dane thump around upstairs. “I, uh . . . sure. Just this one time though.”
He comes and stands next to me, playing with the hem of my t-shirt. He grips my hip with one hand while his thumb grazes my skin. Goosebumps ripple across my flesh at the heat of his touch.
“What are you worried about?”
My silence speaks volumes and is more telling than I mean it to be.
“C’mon, Neenah. Talk to me,” he begs.
“I don’t want him to get used to you being around. Okay?”
“What’s that mean?”
“If you keep coming over here he’s going to get used to you being here. I suspect he already leaves the back door open for you. I don’t want him to start thinking we’re dating because that leads to him wanting you to be—"
“To be what?” He brushes a tendril of hair from my neck. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“His new dad.” I turn away from him.
“And what’s wrong with that?” He spins me back around to face him. His fingers tilt my face upward, and when my eyes find his, they only find confusion staring back.
“Ian, you don’t understand. His mind can’t understand the difference. It’s the Asperger’s. Everything is literal with him. Can you imagine your hero coming into your life and then leaving?”
“Who says I’m leaving? I’m not going anywhere, so you must be the one leaving. Then that’s your choice, not mine. You’d be the one hurting him.”
“Ian, we can’t be a couple. I have too much going on, and I’m not the kind of woman you want or need in your life.” I push away from the counter, breaking his hold on me. I gather my purse and phone, setting them next to my keys on the desk by the back door.
He turns, following my every move with his eyes. The thunderous thumps of a soccer ball bouncing off the walls echoes down the stairs. Dane will be down any minute now.
“But you’re the kind of woman who’ll let me come over and give her pleasure for a few hours and nothing more?
I gasp at his words and meaning. “I’m not a whore or a prostitute”.
“That’s not what I meant. I know you’re not that kind of woman, Neenah. There’s something else going on here. It’s deeper than you having a special needs child. You’ll share your body with me, but you won’t share your emotions. You’ve separated the two in your mind.”
Dane comes bounding down the steps, his cleats clicking on the wooden floor.
“There’s only one thing I know of that can cause that, and now isn’t the time to discuss it.”
“I’m ready,” Dane announces, walking into the kitchen and setting his ball down by the back door.
“All right then. Let’s go show them what we know and what we can do with our muscles, kiddo,” Ian says, messing Dane’s hair with his fingers. He looks at me quickly before opening the screen door for Dane. “We’ll talk later tonight.”
I swallow hard and follow
them outside.
We arrive at the Chicago Fire Soccer Complex to chaos. News vans and their crews, freelance reporters and photographers, fans, and an angry mob of parents meet us on the street just before the main gate entrance. There are signs held in the air protesting Ian and his soccer camp.
“This should be interesting,” I say aloud. A long his of air escapes from Ian’s lips.
17
Ian
“It’s times like this that I wish all cars came with tinted windows,” I say, reaching to turn the radio down in Neenah’s car. I turn towards the backseat. “Dane, don’t let them scare you. They’re just people, and they won’t harm you. I promise.” Just then, the sound of the locks closing on all of the doors reverberates throughout the vehicle. I look at Neenah with relief.
A few television reporters rush the passenger side of the car where I’m sitting with their microphones extended. Their ridiculous questions bombard me through the glass windows. One of them taps his mic on the back window next to Dane, making him squeal, “Mommy.”
“Neenah, just roll forward slowly until they back off, then you can pick up speed.”
“But what if I hit them? It’ll be my fault,” she blurts out in a panic.
“You won’t hit them, and it’d be their fault for being in the street not in a crosswalk. It’s just until we get past the sidewalk and onto Chicago Fire property. They aren’t allowed in there.”
The noise outside the car gets louder as each reporter tries to talk over the one next to them. Some continue tapping their mics annoyingly against the windows.
Neenah rolls forward slowly in the car. “You’re doing great, Neenah. We’re almost there,” I say to encourage her.
“This is nuts and should be illegal. Talk about raising a public panic. They have me worked up, and I’m just trying to get through the crowd,” she growls in frustration. “Dane, how are you doing back there, babes?” She adjusts her rearview mirror to look at him in the backseat.
I turn around too. “You all right?”
His eyes bulge in their sockets, and his face is paler than when we left the house, but he nods.
Neenah re-checks the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’re creating a backup. All of those parents who have to drop their kids off and then get to work. Ugh. I feel so bad.”
“At least they’ll have a story to tell. Sure they might be mad now, but I’m also sure that eighty percent of them didn’t want to go to their mundane jobs anyway.” I shrug my shoulders and look at her.
She eyes the car behind us in the rearview mirror and starts laughing. We roll forward, slowly gaining speed as a few of the female reporters in dress shoes step back from the car.
“Hey, look at that. We’ve broken five miles per hour. Woohoo!” she hoots with excitement, raising her fists in celebration.
We finally make it to the main driveway and turn in. Security guards are there to greet us and push the rest of the reporters back, reminding them that soccer camp is a private event.
We rush to park with breakneck speed once we pass through the gate, as do the rest of the parents—many of them in their business attire while some are moms in their morning workout wear. But all-in-all, their schedules are interrupted because of me, and I feel guilty.
“Maybe I’ll see about getting my windows tinted,” she says as we grab our bags and head for the front doors.
“Why? Are you planning on hanging around me after today?” I tease her, hoping for a confirmation after our earlier talk, but instead a wry little smile curls her lips which she quickly tries to hide.
Once inside, I turn toward the locker room, smiling and waving at some of the Fire employees and other parents who I met the first day. I glance over my shoulder to watch Neenah stroll to the field with Dane in tow. I’m so enthralled by the sway of her hips in those shorts that I end up walking backwards down the hall and into the locker room.
I quickly change into my cleats and hurry down to the field to greet the players, knowing that I’m by myself today for the most part. It’s 9:00 AM, and that’s show time.
“It looks like it went well today out there all by yourself,” Will says as we drive around and pick up soccer balls and drill equipment.
“Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t look like I scared off too many kids with the protests outside.”
“Ahh, ignore it. It’s just a bunch of self-righteous right-wingers thinking they know what’s best for everyone when they don’t know shit about anything. These kids and their parents know a great opportunity when they see it, consequences be damned.”
“I just want to complete my sentence by serving my community, play soccer, and teach these kids how to have passion for something. I don’t care about the politics of it all. If I lose every single endorsement I have, then I will. I did nothing that I wouldn’t consider doing again, and no amount of anger management psychology or community service is going to change that.”
“This is just a small battle in the war of money, fame, and sports. Someone else will screw up soon enough, and all this media attention will focus on them. Mark my words,” he says, taking a hard left without warning and almost knocking me out of the golf cart. I grab for the frame and grip it tightly, smiling back at Will as he laughs deeply at his stunt.
Will and I get everything put away, and as I look around the large, openness of the stadium I’m struck by how small and insignificant I am. One man in a sea of empty seats, holding onto a dream that lifts me up and drops me low on a daily basis. I’ve never asked myself if it’s all worth it, and I hope I never will.
I step out from the long, cold, cinder-block tunnel that takes the players to the field and find Todd waiting at the entrance of the locker room for me. I stop just short of meeting him at the entrance. “What are you doing here? Maybe I should call 9-1-1 on you for trespassing on Fire property.”
“So, she told you.” He runs his fingers through his hair and paces back and forth a few times. “Ian, I didn’t know who she was. I thought she was breaking into your house,” he admits.
I snarl at his lies and walk around him into the locker room. He knows better than to follow me inside.
I take a seat on the bench, furious with him. Somehow I don’t think counting to ten is going to work this time.
Pulling out my phone, I set the timer for ten minutes, thinking I’ll complete the visualization technique the therapist has been asking me to try. Closing my eyes, I lean back and rest against the wall, visualizing mountains with tall, majestic peaks. A thundering waterfall flows down over the rocks into a pool of water that eventually spreads out into a quiet lake. I picture myself walking through the tall grass down to the edge of the water, bending down and running my fingers over the still water. Ripples run away from my touch and fade away into the depths of the lake. Birds fly overhead, swooping down then rising again, so high I lose sight of them. They chase each other, squawking and crying out to each other.
Just then, the birds squawking in my mind turns into my teammates returning from their match and entering the locker room. They stow their game gear loudly, laughing and talking and separating out their dirty laundry to have it washed before Saturday. I reach to turn off the timer on my phone and sit in continued silence with my eyes closed as they put their things away around me.
“How was camp?” Mikael asks, bumping his knee against mine to wake me up. He drops his bag on the bench next to me with a heavy thud.
“Camp was good. And tiring. Those little monsters have the energy of a nuclear explosion. I have no idea how teachers do this daily.” I push my cleats off by the heels and wiggle my toes to stretch them out.
“Yeah, that’s because they’re mostly fueled by sugar and preservatives.” He laughs at his own words as he takes his day-old sweaty uniform out of his bag and rubs it in my face, shoving it over my head.
“Mik. What the fuck! Damn you’ve got a nasty stench to you.” I pull his shirt off my head and throw it down on the floor.
�
�Oh shit, man. I’m sorry. That’ll teach you to tag me in an IG post and hashtag me as Sleeping Beauty. Asshole.” He picks his smelly clothes off the floor and tosses them to the laundry pile collecting in the corner. “By the way, did you know Todd is outside waiting for you?”
“Let him wait,” I snarl.
“Uh oh. Is there trouble in Legend paradise?”
“You could say that, but we’ll work it out. We always do. He just hasn’t sweated enough.”
“If your family is anything like mine, don’t let it come to using your fists. You don’t need that right now. Listen, I have to go get the kids from the babysitter before Chantel gets off work. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow. Until then, don’t beat anybody up.”
“Ha. Ha. You’re a funny, smelly guy.” We fist bump before he leaves, and I head to the showers.
Within a half-hour, I push the locker room door open and find Todd still waiting. “Jesus Christ, man. don’t you have a life? A job? Why are you still here?” I start walking to my car, but he pulls on my arm.
“We need to talk. The protesters outside are hurting your image via the news media. Tia wants to meet and settle on a contract with you to put this all behind us. Plus, we need to talk about yesterday. Please, Ian? Let’s go have some lunch.”
I jerk my arm out of his grasp. “I’m not having lunch with you in this mood. I’m going to go home and make sure Dane and Neenah are all right after finding out the police had fully-loaded guns pointed at them BECAUSE OF YOU!”
I walk away.
I’ve never walked away from my brother before. No matter what he’s done.
But this, I will not excuse.
18
Neenah
“How was camp?” I hold Dane’s water bottle while he climbs up into the backseat of the Jeep. I brush his matted, sweaty hair from his eyes, only to find his face red from exertion.
