by M. E. Carter
I turn to open the drawer and grab my toothbrush when another one catches my eye. This one is over the towel holder and says: throw dirty hand towel in hamper. Did he leave little reminders for himself all over?
Looking around the room, I find two more. One is over the toilet and says: Put the seat down, which makes me smile. The other is next to the shower and says: Close the curtain.
I’m stunned. When Jack said he was trying to be better because he knows I need my space to be organized and clean, he wasn’t just tossing words out there. He really meant it.
Anxious to let Jack know I found his notes, I wash my face and brush my teeth as quickly as my hangover will let me. I forgo the hair for now and throw it up in a ponytail. A very long, very hot shower is in order for the near future anyway. There’s no reason to put in that much effort. I’m still a little wobbly, so I slowly pad down the hallway, coming across another note.
Put your shoes away. It’s right where Jack normally leaves his shoes when he kicks them off. And there are no shoes in sight.
Rounding the corner to the kitchen, Jack looks over and smiles. I realize, he’s put his money where his mouth is. It’s time to return the favor.
“I want you to put your chair in the living room,” I blurt out before I can change my mind.
He looks at me quizzically as he stirs the eggs and flips some bacon. “What? Why?”
“Because that’s not a man cave. It’s an office. And this is your house, too.”
He smiles again, and I know in his mind, this is his version of finding sticky notes. It’s a way of recognizing living together is hard. We’re individuals with different priorities and comfort levels. But ultimately, our goal is to make the other one happy. And that’s what’s going to make this work.
“I appreciate that, babe. Are you sure you’re okay with it?”
I nod. “I’m sure. As long as I get to recover it with new material first.”
He laughs a hearty, belly laugh. “You have a deal.”
I smile as I watch him cook, ideas for a color palate binder racing through my brain. All of the sudden, I have a random memory of the night before.
“Did I . . .?” I ask as the memory takes on my clarity. “Did I ask you to eat my butt?”
Jack laughs so hard at my sudden realization that he has to drop his hands to his knees. I narrow my eyes as he keeps laughing at my humiliation. I may have to reconsider moving his chair, after all.
Football doesn’t end just because the season is over. Practices aren’t as intense, sure, but every player still has a grade point average to maintain and a physique to continue to work on. As a staff, we meet with the academic advisors daily to get updates on grades and what kind of tutoring needs to be in place. This close to finals, it’s intense. A different kind of intense than the rest of the year, but intense nonetheless.
I can hear rustling in the locker room, a sure indicator that morning workouts are over. I’m not paying much attention, though. I’m up to my ears in grade point averages and tutoring schedules. Not to mention double checking to make sure everyone has a place to live over the summer. Yes, we have people who do all this, but I don’t like things slipping through the cracks, so I prefer to monitor it all myself.
My phone rings, and I’m both relieved and pissed off for the distraction.
“Pride,” I growl into the receiver, only halfway paying attention, more focused on the housing forms sitting in front of me.
“Hey, Jack Pride!” the male voice practically yells through the phone. “I didn’t expect to actually be transferred straight to the top! How cool is this?”
Immediately I know something’s up, and my focus is solely on this conversation. “They don’t normally. Must be an important situation. What can I do for you?”
“Sure is important. You’re coaching my son, and I can’t reach him.”
My hackles rise, knowing something is wrong. If a parent can’t get ahold of his kid, it’s usually because the kid is avoiding him. And I have a sick feeling he’s talking about the only kid I know who might be avoiding his so-called parent right now.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Who am I speaking to?”
“Charlie Stevens.”
Bingo. The exact person I don’t want to talk to is, of course, the one person who our receptionist put through. That tells me he’s been hounding her for a while, and she finally had enough of his shit.
“I’ve been trying to reach my son, Isaac, but he’s not calling me back.”
“Sure, sure.” I’m sounding calmer than I feel, but I know this is about to get ugly before it ends once and for all. “I know everyone is really busy right now with finals just around the corner. Are you just checking up on him? I can have him call you if need be.”
“Nah,” he says, and I have a bad feeling I know what’s coming. “We had talked about getting me season passes for next year, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I know those seats go fast, so I need to make sure we’re all good to go. But now that I have you on the line, this is even better. Parents get the good tickets, right?”
I’m practically shaking with fury. Situations like this always piss me off, but this one is so much more personal. Everything Joie was worried about is coming to fruition right here, right now. Everything I warned Isaac about was dead-on. I hoped we were all wrong because no one wants to be right about stuff like this.
“I’ll have to see what I can do. But hey, Charlie, can I put you on hold for a second? I’m right in the middle of something, and I want to make sure I do this the right way.”
“Yeah, absolutely!” he says with excitement. “This is great!”
I press the hold button and do my best not to slam the receiver down on the cradle. Taking a few deep breaths, I ready myself for what has to be done. Pushing back my chair and standing up, I take a few more deep breaths. This is it. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. This is where Isaac’s decision will be made and the ramifications of it will begin.
“Stevens,” I yell when my office door is open.
He looks up, a quizzical expression on his face. He hears it in my tone. From the look on everyone else’s face, they all do. “Coach?”
“In my office. Now.”
“Okay, Coach.” He fist-bumps Anderson and makes his way around the benches to my door. I know he’s confused, but I’m not doing this emotional shit in front of everyone else. He’ll thank me for that later.
“Is something wrong?” he asks as soon as the door latches behind us.
“Isaac.”
His face pales when I call him by his first name. He knows this is personal. “Is it my mom? Did something happen?”
“No! No. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” Except now I feel like a dick for making him panic.
He takes a deep breath. “Oh good. Sorry. You just called me by my name and . . .” He breathes again.
“I know. I’m sorry. You just need to know which hat I’m wearing right now.”
He nods and sinks down into the chair in front of my desk. “Gotcha. What’s going on?”
“Your dad is on the phone.”
This time his face doesn’t get pale. No, this time it’s bright red from anger. His jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck does he want?”
From his reaction, I think it’s clear he already knows. “Season passes.”
“Son of a bitch.” He jumps out of the chair and begins pacing, which is hard to do considering what a small room it is.
“I take it he already hit you up for them?”
“I figured he’d get the hint that the answer was no when I didn’t call him back. I guess not.”
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms and legs, and glance at the phone to make sure the hold button is still blinking. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen one of these kids realize the depth of a deadbeat parent’s betrayal. Somehow, though, I feel it much more deeply myself. It’s different watching your girlfriend’s son
go through it. No, we’re not married, but Isaac is family. That makes it so much worse.
He finally quits pacing and turns to me, putting his hands on his hips. “So what do I do?”
“That depends. The big question here is, do you want me to give him the passes?”
“Fuck, no,” Isaac spits out. “I’d rather give them to the devil himself.”
I nod in agreement. “Understood. Second question, do you want a relationship with your dad?”
His eyes soften. This is the question they all have to decide. They know that not caving to their parents’ demands means the opportunity will likely never come around again. Regardless of how bad a parent has been, never seeing or talking to them again is still the toughest pill anyone could swallow.
“He doesn’t want me,” he says quietly and licks his lips. “He never did.”
His eyes glisten as he admits the truth to himself, probably for the very first time. I grab him by the back of the neck and bring our foreheads together.
“You listen to me.” He nods. “I will never be your daddy. That ship has sailed. But you are family now. And that may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me. You aren’t alone in any of this. Not in this situation. Not prepping for the draft. Not figuring out what to get your mother for Christmas. So don’t you think for one second you’re losing out on anything special by cutting him out. Okay? I’ve got your back from here on out, Isaac. I’m not leaving your mother, and that means I’m not leaving you. Got it?”
He nods again, and I pull away. We may never discuss our relationship like this again, but now that it’s out there, we’re on the same page.
“So,” I continue, “here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna put him on speaker, and we’re going to tell him together, in a very professional way, to go fuck himself. Sound good?”
Isaac straightens his back and takes another breath. “I’m sure you’ve done this before, so I’ll follow your lead.”
“Right. Let’s do this.”
Isaac makes himself comfortable in the chair, or at least as comfortable as he can be, considering. I don’t bother sitting. I have too much pent-up energy. Pressing the speaker button, the showdown begins.
“Mr. Stevens, sorry to keep you on hold,” I start. “Before we authorize any tickets, we have to verify with the player in question. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh totally,” he responds, sounding as cocky and arrogant as they always do. It always makes me wonder why so many men think being a sperm donor gives them rights to all the benefits of a kid, but doesn’t make a dent in their understanding of taking on the responsibility. “I guess you tracked him down and got his blessing?”
Isaac glances up at me. The fury in his eyes gives me encouragement. He’ll be all right. He’ll say his piece. He’ll have a good cry when he’s alone. And he’ll move on.
“Well, we seem to have a little misunderstanding here.”
“Misunderstanding?” Charlie doesn’t seem so confident now. It almost makes me want to laugh. Almost. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
“Mr. Stevens, I have Isaac sitting in my office right now, and he says he never talked to you about any season passes.”
“What the fuck?” Just like I anticipated, the nice-guy mask comes off quickly. “We talked about it last week.”
“No, Dad,” Isaac jumps in, surprising me. But this is his show, and I’m not going to stop him. “You brought it up. I never answered you.”
“That’s because I haven’t been able to reach you. I’ve been calling every day.”
“And leaving messages asking about the fucking tickets.” Isaac’s voice rises as he gets it all out. “You haven’t asked about my grades or if I have a girlfriend or how my mom is. The only thing you ask me about is football and getting tickets. How do you think that feels, huh? I haven’t seen you since middle school. And the minute I get a full ride, now I’m good enough for you?”
“That’s not how it is, boy,” Charlie argues. “You know your mama wouldn’t let me see you.”
I feel myself stiffen, but bite my tongue from defending Joie. It’ll only make it worse if he knows we’re living together. Plus, I don’t need to take away from Isaac’s moment.
“No, she wouldn’t let you use me,” Isaac spouts. “You could have come to any one of my games in high school, but you chose not to. You’re welcome to come to all of my games next year. I’d actually love that. But you’ll have to pay your own way like everyone else.”
“Why you ungrateful little . . . I’m your father—” Charlie starts, but I cut him off.
“Mr. Stevens, I’m sure you understand that I can’t authorize those tickets now. But we’re grateful for your support, so I’m gonna send you a coupon for a discount on your next ticket purchase. Consider it a personal thank you from me to you.”
I smirk at Isaac who is stifling a laugh. He knows I’m not really feeling generous and am getting a kick out of digging the knife in a little more, but you can’t have a position like mine without playing a little politics sometimes.
“Yeah,” Charlie responds, sounding like someone just kicked his dog. “Yeah, thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll have that over to you today. Have a great afternoon.” And I click the speaker button and cut off the phone call. Isaac’s head is hanging down, elbows on his knees. “You okay?”
It takes him a minute to figure out how to respond. It’s clear when he looks up that he’s not, but that he knows he will be. It’s a look I’ve seen before, and it never gets any easier to witness.
“I think . . .” He stands up and thinks again. “I think I need to go for a run.”
“Don’t you have class?”
He shakes his head. “Not until one.”
As he moves toward the door, I realize how tense I am as well. I’ve been waiting for this situation to come to a head, but I didn’t realize how badly I would feel. How hurt I would feel for Isaac and how upset I would feel for Joie. I’ve felt hatred in situations like these, but this one is on a whole different level. As much as I need to stay and double check these housing reports, Isaac has the right idea.
“Hey wait up. If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.” I’m grabbing my gym bag from under my desk when he drops another bomb on me. “You know you get to tell Mom about all this, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Because I do. I knew it the minute I answered that phone.
“I’d make sure to get the purple flowers on the way home,” he jokes as we walk through the locker room.
“I was thinking more like vacuuming and offering a foot rub.”
Isaac laughs. “You’ve learned quickly.”
He claps me on the back and goes to put his running shoes on before we head out into the Flinton heat and humidity.
Two years later
The house is packed with people and laughter, but for me, the tension has never been higher. Isaac was supposed to be snatched up in the fourth round. It’s the now the sixth round and so far, nothing.
He’s gotten several phone calls saying he’s up next, but none of it has panned out. Jack and Hank both say that’s pretty normal. Deals are being made behind the scenes the whole time, and any of those deals can change things in an instant. That doesn’t make it any easier though. And for all their calming words, the tension radiating off the two coaches, Jack in particular, is obvious.
This is what we’ve all been working for. What we’ve all sacrificed for. All that gear my former co-workers gave us because I couldn’t afford it when he was in high school, the hours upon hours of travel Amanda and I did in support, the scholarship Jack gave him long before we’d met—it all led up to this moment.
The NFL Draft.
We expected a long two days. We just didn’t expect for it to be this long. And the more names that are knocked off the board, the more Jack’s shoulders rise. He’s nervous. Really nervous. And there’s nothing any of
us can do to eliminate those nerves.
Jack and Isaac have become relatively close over the last two years. It’s not like a father/son relationship. More like a mentoring friendship. They’ve moved past only talking football. They talk relationships and future options. They talk about when Jack played in college, and the lessons he learned there. Nothing is off limits.
And Jack has been vital in helping us through this draft thing. He already knew of a good agent, highly recommended by some former players of his who had gone pro, as well as a financial planner to help Isaac through contract issues. I never would have known where to go with all that, so I’m beyond grateful. I know he would have done it for any of his players, but knowing Jack, he went above and beyond for our family.
As anticipated, the minute Isaac’s name and “the draft” started being spoken in the same sentence, Charlie showed up again. This time it was short-lived. Isaac answered his call one time and told Charlie he looked forward to seeing him in the stands if he ever went to a game. It shut Charlie down quickly. But I’m proud of Isaac. He didn’t shut the door on a relationship with his father. He merely put the ball back in his dad’s court. I know he still has hope that his dad will be an upstanding guy someday. I don’t have the same hope, but maybe that’s the mom in me.
For the last two days, our friends and family have kept us relatively calm and entertained during the down times. Renee, Amanda, and my mom have been keeping the food stocked and the house clean while I kind of wander around in a daze, not really sure what to do.
Greg and Elena’s four girls have been doing talent and fashion shows for us. I’m pretty sure only Greg, Elena, and I actually find it cute. Everyone else just tolerates it. But my house, my rules, so later on we’ll all be getting our hair and nails done during beauty parlor time. I’ve already picked out the color for Hank’s fingers. He’s less than thrilled by how happy it makes me that Renee is forcing him to participate.
Greer and her family are also here. Oli has done a really good job of staying calm and focused, despite the stress level surrounding him. He started working on a ranch a couple years ago and we all agree it’s helped calm him tremendously. Like having a connection with the animals cures a part of him that was broken. It’s weird how finding that one thing that makes you happy can sometimes be the key to so many of your problems.
