by Aven Ellis
I can’t help but smile. “Mom, I wasn’t going to start dating an eighty-year-old man if that’s what you were worried about.”
“No, no, I know,” Mom says, shaking her head, “but I’m surprised. You always put focus on establishing your career before getting involved with a man, and you made a point to emphasize that your ideal man was older and more mature. So, while yes, this is a surprise, it’s not an unwelcome one. What made you change your mind?”
I feel myself blush as my mom stares at me. I turn to face her, seeing an expression of amazement on her delicate facial features, ones that are identical to mine. “Mom, Brody is different. He’s smart, funny, sweet, thoughtful, and quick. So, so quick. I’m just smitten with him!”
“Smitten,” Mom repeats, grinning. “I can tell you are, but do you know what I like about this description? You didn’t say what he looked like when you described his attributes.”
“Oh, Mom, he’s gorgeous,” I say. “Inside and out.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“This part you really won’t believe,” I say. “He’s a professional baseball player.”
“Really?” Mom asks, her eyebrows shooting up. “Minor league?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s a Washington Soaring Eagle.”
Mom’s mouth drops open. “What?”
“Brody Jensen. He’s the catcher. We met at a coffeehouse last Monday morning. I’ve seen him twice before he left for Boston, and I’ll see him on Monday night.”
I decide to omit the part about me throwing coffee on his crotch, for now.
“A baseball player.”
“Yes. Your daughter who didn’t want to date, wanted an older man, and knows nothing about sports has been seeing a professional athlete. Mom, I didn’t know he was famous when I met him. He was just Brody, and that’s who he still is to me. He lives in a nice apartment, no splashy condo, and he drives a beat-up Jeep. He’s a minimalist and—”
“A minimalist? Does minimalist Brody know about this?” Mom interrupts, waving her hand around my warehouse of appliances and gadgets.
“I’ve told him I like appliances,” I say, but I secretly wonder if this kind of thing would eventually get on Brody’s nerves.
Mom laughs. “Poor boy won’t know what’s hit him when he walks in here.”
I cringe at the thought.
“Personally, I love the idea that you are dating. Now a baseball player has a drastically different life than a mature DC professional, and if you get serious, you’ll need to think about what that means for a relationship. You’ve always wanted maturity, which I believe some men have at twenty-four, but baseball is a career with injuries and trades and moves. And that is different than what you’ve said you wanted.”
I know Mom’s right. It is the exact opposite of the life of a DC professional and the life I envisioned for myself.
My mind flashes to my book and some of the things I’ve had to think on and ask myself about. One of them is about redefining yourself as you discover your true needs and desires, and Brody fits this part of my life.
“I know what you are saying is true,” I say slowly, “but I also know life can present people who can change us and challenge us to grow. My eyes are opening to different people and things in a way they weren’t before. Seeing Brody has made me look deeper, Mom. I’m redefining my needs as a result.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “You’re growing.”
“This is a surprise?”
Mom shakes her head and smiles. “No, but you were always so set and definite in how you wanted your life to be. It sounds like Brody has made you re-evaluate.”
He has, I think, as the image of the snow globe once again comes to mind, and I like the way he’s shaken up my carefully idealized thoughts.
And made me feel glittery and alive and beautiful as a result.
Beep!
I hear my phone, which I parked on my old nightstand. I glance down at my watch, and I realize Brody might be back at the hotel, as the game ended a little more than an hour ago. It was their first loss of the year, and I hate that Brody was the catcher for it.
“Okay, baby girl, I’m going to start dinner,” Mom says, rising from the bed. “Ethan and Jessica will be here in about an hour. After you finish up in here, join me in the kitchen and tell me more about the work week. I got sidetracked hearing about Brody, but I want to hear more about him, too.”
I smile. I’ve always loved and been close to my mom, but I have to admit, once Ethan was settled in Rhode Island for college, I was able to get her full attention, and our relationship really grew. I love that when I’m with her, I have her fully engaged now, not distracted and exhausted like the mother I had growing up.
She heads downstairs, and I retrieve my phone. My pulse races when I see the text is from Brody:
Back at the hotel. Are you in Bethesda?
I love that he likes to talk as much as I do, and that carries over to his texts as well. I reply:
I am! Sorry about the loss.
Brody is typing …
Bats were cold today. I’ll explain that later.
I grin. He already knows me so well. I type back:
Okay, good. I’m in my old room at the moment. Getting the popcorn maker. Do you want me to bring my soft pretzel maker, too? It has a warmer in the center for cheese dip. That’s a movie food, right?
Brody is typing…
I need to see this pretzel maker.
I knew he’d say that.
I get up and find the best angle to get a pic of the appliance. Then I take a moment to crop out the mess in the background before sending it to him.
See? How smart is that? Four pretzels and a cheese dip warmer, all in one!
Brody is typing . . .
But what if you want mustard with your pretzels?
Oh, my quick, quick, boy. I do adore your brain. I type back:
You kick it old-school with a bottle of squeeze mustard.
I wait while he types.
Maybe I want to DIP it in mustard. But I’m sure you have a special mustard bowl, so we’re set.
Do I admit I do? I roll with it:
I have sauce bowls from Crate&Barrel.
I hit send. Brody has mentioned how different we are, and this is definitely a prime example of that.
He replies:
Mustard is a condiment. Do you have condiment-specific bowls?
I respond by keeping it with the rolling with it theme:
Of course, I do. A three-bowl set from Pottery Barn.
Another text from Brody drops in:
I think I have three bowls total.
I smile to myself.
We need to fix this sad state of affairs.
Brody is typing . . .
One for me, one for you, one for Pissy. We’re good.
My heart flutters as I read his words. I start texting back when another message comes in from him.
I’m already thinking about our dinner and movie date on Monday. I can’t wait to see you.
Ooh! I happily text him back:
Me too.
He sends me another message:
I can’t wait that long. FaceTime late tonight? After you get home?
I grin as I reply:
Perfect. I’ll send you a message when I’m back from Bethesda. I might even show you the popcorn maker if you play your cards right.
Brody is typing . . .
LOL. Forget that. I need to see what a three-piece set of condiment bowls looks like.
I frown. Crap. I have no idea where those are. Apparently, I’ll need to dig for those in here, too. I decide to match his cleverness in my reply:
We’ll see. I might have to wait until you come over for the big reveal.
My quick boy replies as fast as I thought he would:
You know how to tease a guy. Flirt.
I’m dying. Brody will happily talk with me about kitchen appliances because it interests me. Not only that, he enjoys doi
ng it. If he didn’t have to go to dinner, and I didn’t either, I would totally lose track of time and spend an hour texting with him.
He’s the answer to today’s question.
Whenever I’m with Brody, time means nothing. I don’t care about it. All I want to do is be present in the moment with him.
I haven’t read the chapter yet to find out what this means, but I already know.
Brody means something to me.
Something special.
And I can’t wait to spend more time with him later tonight.
Chapter Twenty
“Sarah, you really should have your own cooking show,” Jessica says as Mom places an elegant china platter with artfully arranged lamb chops on it, all cooked to excellent pink perfection.
I watch as my sister-in-law’s eyes light up at the sight of the main course, which Mom has drizzled with her fresh mint dressing.
“This is just for fun,” Mom insists, but I notice her smile widens whenever someone compliments her cooking. “I couldn’t take the pressure of doing it on TV.”
Dad follows Mom with a platter of roasted red potatoes. I’ve already placed the asparagus on the table, and the baguettes are sliced and waiting in a basket.
Oh, this is going to be hard. I want that bread. With a slather of creamy butter and a sprinkle of fleur de sel flakes.
Ugh. I’m trying to avoid baguette belly.
Hmm. I wonder if baguette belly can disappear between now and Monday, when I’ll see Brody again.
Not that Brody will be seeing my belly.
Or will he?
I get a flash of us entwined on his couch, his hands skimming my waist as we kiss for hours. Being the grown-ass gentleman that he is, he didn’t try to snake his hand underneath my shirt that night. Yet as I think of us kissing again, I want to feel his hand on my skin. Exploring me as his tongue matches mine in a passionate kiss.
Heat fills me, and I pick up my glass of pinot and take a sip.
Shit. I’m at a family dinner. Focus.
Luckily, everyone is too busy talking and putting food on their plates to notice my zone-out.
I wonder what Brody would think of this.
There’s an empty chair to my right, and I can’t help but think that is where Brody belongs. Would he like being here?
I study the environment I’m in. There’s an antique mahogany table with chairs upholstered in a traditional blue and white striped fabric, Royal Copenhagen porcelain plates, silver candlesticks, and an antique pineapple chandelier overhead. A sideboard is filled with antique blue and white china and is surrounded by tall pineapple candlesticks, and the melodic strains of Mozart can be heard in the background.
I know it’s different from how Brody grew up. I take the platter of asparagus from my dad and put some on my plate. At first glance, it appears stuffy and posh, but we’re not like that at all.
“Lamb chop for my little Lamb Chop?” Dad asks, his brown-gold eyes sparkling at me as he holds out the next platter toward me.
I laugh. “I still can’t believe you call me a name after a puppet,” I say, referring to the stories Dad told me about the puppet called Lamb Chop. Luckily for him, I YouTubed her and discovered the puppet was not a piece of meat but a cute and sweet lamb.
This is the kind of stuff we talk about. Not philosophy or the values of a classical music education. I mean, those could come up, but we also talk about our lives. Day-to-day stuff.
Puppets.
Brody would fit in here, though sometimes I worry that he doesn’t think he would.
Whoa. We are having our first restaurant date on Monday. Time to slow down that thought process. He might never make it to a dinner with my family.
While my head logically understands that, my heart sees him next to me at this table.
“Brody needs to hear about the Lamb Chop nickname,” Mom says, passing the roasted potatoes to Ethan.
I feel quizzical eyes shoot my way.
“Who is Brody?” Ethan asks, furrowing his brow.
My face burns.
“Are you blushing?” Dad asks, squinting at me through his glasses.
“Um,” I say, fiddling with my fork nervously. I put it down and clear my throat. “I started dating a guy this week.”
Silence.
Apparently, my I-only-want-an-older-man-and-I-want-him-later mantra was so strong that the announcement of me seeing anyone is such a shock it renders my family speechless.
“Is he old?” Ethan finally asks.
“Ethan,” Jessica says, shooting him a warning look, “what a question to ask!”
But then Jessica’s gaze comes back to me with a but is he? look.
“Brace yourselves. He’s twenty-four.”
“What?” Dad asks, pausing as he cuts his lamb chop.
“That’s what I said,” Mom says, taking a bite of her asparagus.
“No way,” Ethan says, grinning at me. “This is hilarious. You have declared younger guys to be idiots for so long, I can’t help but be really amused by this.”
“Oh, hold on, you’re about to be really amused,” I say. “He’s a baseball player.”
Silence again. I decide to fill it this time.
“He’s Brody Jensen, catcher for the Washington Soaring Eagles.”
Dad drops his knife. Ethan’s mouth drops open. Jessica’s eyes flutter wide open.
“Brody Jensen?” Ethan repeats.
“Brody Jensen.”
“He’s going to be a superstar,” Ethan says, his voice full of amazement. “You’re dating one of the best catchers in the game.”
I know Ethan is right. Google told me the same thing.
“Does he have cleat chasers?” Jessica asks.
“What?”
“Groupies. Girls who stalk him on Instagram and share screenshots of his Instastory on Tumblr or save his pics for phone wallpaper.”
“Oh, you know he does,” Ethan says.
“Wait. They’re called cleat chasers?” I ask, circling back to this subject.
“Honey, he’s a pro athlete. Women will always be interested in him,” Dad says. “Some women are interested in any man with power and wealth, but as long as he’s interested in you, that garbage is just annoying.”
I smile. I love my dad so much.
“He is,” I say. “So far, I mean.”
“Well, tell us about him!” Jessica encourages.
That’s all I need. I tell them my edited version of how we met, what he’s like, and how he grew up, which caused everyone’s eyebrows to shoot up. But not in a way that was bad, but just because it’s so different.
“How he grew up made him who he is,” I say. “Brody is laid back and calm. He makes me calm.”
I notice Mom is practically beaming at me from across the table.
“Brody sounds like exactly what you need,” Mom says.
“I think he is,” I admit.
Mom rises. “Let me get this cleared up and start coffee service. Ethan, Jessica, will you help me clear?”
“Sure,” Ethan says, rising from his place. Jessica follows suit, and they take my plate and Dad’s from the table.
“Thank you,” I say to Ethan.
He smiles and follows Mom to the kitchen.
“You really like Brody, don’t you?” Dad says, slowly placing his napkin back into his lap.
“Dad, I do. He’s not what I expected at all, but life does that. I love how he’s different from me. And he has the qualities I want, but wrapped up in a completely different package that what I planned him to be. I know his career can cause big challenges, but if we continue to date and we get serious, I’m strong enough to meet them. More to the point, I want to.”
“My Lamb Chop is a true adult,” Dad says, his eyes shining affectionately at me. “I know I didn’t tell you this enough growing up, but I’m so proud of you. You have become such an intelligent, witty, beautiful woman. If Brody appreciates you for these things, I’m happy for you.”
“I can’t explain it,” I say. “But it was fate that I met him. I was supposed to meet him, I believe that.”
“I want you to remember something. I know you love your self-improvement books and trying to better yourself, but Brody asked you out, just the way you are. That is who he likes. You are enough, Lamb Chop.” Dad puts his hand over mine, and a lump swells in my throat.
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
Mom comes back in with a silver coffee service set and places it on the table. “We need to hear about your job, Hayley.”
I shake my head as Ethan places a lemon tart on the table and Jessica sets a stack of dessert plates next to it.
Lemon tart? I survived resisting baguettes, but now this?
“Yeah, how’s the new job?” Ethan asks, taking his seat.
“Haven’t we talked about me enough?” I ask. “I took up all of dinner with Brody.”
“Then take up dessert with the career,” Mom says, pouring coffee into a delicate cup. “It’s your turn.”
I swallow. Mom and Dad are truly trying to give me their focus now, after so many years of subconsciously making Ethan the priority.
“Well, I figured my purpose could be to help modernize them since their web presence is way outdated. But—”
“Here’s the but,” Dad says as Mom gives him a cup of coffee.
“My department is run by a woman who knows nothing about social media applications, and is stuck thinking it’s 1992. When I tried to bring up my ideas, I was told that’s not how they do things, but I persisted and gave them a plan to promote an upcoming gala across different social media channels.”
“Proactive, always something I like at the law firm,” Dad says, nodding.
“The fundraising department was ecstatic,” I say.
“Of course, they were. Fundraising must need all the help they can get at a non-profit,” Jessica adds.
“But my boss just shrugged. I can still implement my plan, but I’ll receive no feedback. None.”
“Honey, you will have to play by their rules for a while,” Mom says gently. “I know you want people to be as excited as you are, but you might have to go under the radar a bit while you’re still new. Present your ideas, but don’t expect people to be as enthusiastic about change.”
“But if the change is for the better, and I’m willing to handle it, why won’t my boss be more supportive?” I ask.
