by Mariah Dietz
“Want to stay for breakfast? Mom’s making blueberry pancakes with whipped cream.”
Please say no.
Please say yes.
No! Say no.
Or … maybe say yes...
Coen looks at me, eyes narrowed with skepticism as though hearing my internal debate. Forcing a smile to feign comfort with the idea of him staying brings forth the dating vibe. This is in no way a date. Not even remotely.
“I should probably go.” He bends to pat Shakespeare on the flank. “We should check out the rest of your smoke alarms though. It’s always a good idea to ensure they’re all working.”
“You can’t say no to my mom’s pancakes. She makes blueberry syrup to go on top of them. They’re amazing. Don’t ask her to make any kind of meat, though, because it’s always burnt. But everything else she makes is amazing!”
“I don’t burn all the meat!”
“The bacon.” Hayden raises an eyebrow, looking from the scorched bits dumped on a separate plate to cool before throwing away to me and then to Coen, his grin growing with each pass. If his attempt at an inside joke wasn’t at my expense, this would be absolutely adorable, worthy of warming my heart and preventing me from nagging him to do the homework assignments he likely wasn’t able to do yesterday.
“I’m pretty sure I deserve the blame for that one,” Coen says with a smirk that almost makes me believe he knows what I’m thinking.
“She would’ve burnt it anyways.” Hayden shrugs. “The last of the pancakes and bacon both,” he adds.
“Hey!” I object.
Hayden glances at me, a smirk spread wide across his face. I like it too much to give him a lesson on being respectful or polite, especially since he’s right. His grin grows into an even wider smile, and he turns to Coen. “Can I help you check them?”
“Absolutely.” Coen’s confirmation has Hayden beaming.
Hayden leads Coen through the house, showing him where each smoke detector is located.
“Great news, they all work!” Hayden announces as they return to the kitchen.
“I heard.” I’m sure the entire neighborhood did. I’m a little surprised no one called or sent the fire department over.
“I talked Coen into staying too!”
A wave rolls in my belly at the thought of eating while sitting across from him. It’s ridiculous, really. I have never been shy when it comes to eating, and I already know he has no interest in me. And just as importantly, I have no interest in him. Therefore, my sloppy ponytail and Disney Princess shirt should not be awkward, but for some reason, there’s an itch that feels far too similar to embarrassment currently taking place in every nerve ending in my body.
It doesn’t improve when his dark brown eyes meet mine, a patience and kindness present that makes time slow to a stop, allowing me to memorize more than just the warm color and wide almond shape, but also the way my heart seems to both leap and flutter when his focus is solely on me.
It also doesn’t improve between bites of breakfast while he makes promises to Hayden about playing baseball with him or when he looks at me, delivering smiles that are each more impressive than the last. Or when he laughs at Hayden’s jokes, and listens to him tell us about his morning cartoon.
But it does get worse as we remain seated around the table though we finished eating nearly thirty minutes ago. “Why don’t you guys come over today? We can play some baseball, and get you feeling ready for your game this week.”
Hayden’s eyes are wide as saucers as he turns to me. “Can we, Mom?”
Coen stands, easing the obligation as he reaches for my cleared dishes.
“You don’t need to worry about those,” I say, also standing.
His gaze settles on me. “You fed me breakfast. This is the least I can do.”
Except he’s already done so much more. He saved my son.
“Do you think we can go over later and play baseball like he said, Mom?” Hayden asks after Coen has helped clear the table and left. My son’s face is bright with a smile that stretches from ear to ear. It’s contagious and hopeful and at the same time horrifying because I know how easy it is for people to overpromise and underdeliver, and sadly, so does my son.
“We’ll see.” I don’t add that he probably only said it to be nice and out of obligation.
“Come on, Mom. You can visit with Aunt Rachel while I go over.”
“Aunt Rachel is at work,” I tell him, reaching for my laptop.
“I’ll do all my homework.”
I look up from my background of Hayden from three years ago. His blue eyes are impossibly wide as they unfairly plead with me. Sighing, I look back to my computer and open the documents I need to gain some perspective and reason.
“He said he can teach me how to throw a curveball.” Hayden’s voice is quieter, softer, but the hope is louder than it had been.
I glance at the sticky note sitting on our fridge with Coen’s cell phone number scribbled across it. “Start working on your homework, and I’ll text him and see what his schedule looks like.”
Hayden practically leaps from the couch, radiating excitement and a new found level of energy as he races up to his bedroom to collect his backpack.
“If you hurt my son, I will hurt your pretty, curveball-throwing, lifesaving, pancake-eating ass, Coen DeLuca,” I grumble, walking into the kitchen and entering his number into my phone. I can’t message him yet, because I doubt he’s even made it home, but vow to once I go through the new emails I’ve received.
“Do you have everything?” I ask for the third time. The previous times I asked were both followed by Hayden dropping his bag and racing up the stairs to get something else.
He nods.
“You’re sure?” I ask. “You have your mitt, your bat, some balls, your helmet?”
“I don’t need my helmet, Mom. We’re just throwing the ball around his yard.”
“If you miss, it could hit you.”
“I’m not wearing my helmet.”
“Will you at least bring it?”
“No.” Hayden shakes his head. “If I do, you’ll make me wear it.”
He’s so right.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Can we drive so we can get there faster?”
I was really hoping to walk so I could clear my head from work, but with Hayden’s duffel and my laptop bag in tow, I decide he’s right and grab my keys from the small table that sits by our front door.
The drive is too fast. My emotions are still too heightened by the stresses of work and the lasting ones from Hayden’s allergic reaction. I attempt to pocket all the loose ends of my fears and thoughts that have been swirling around in my head and paste a smile on my face as I turn to Hayden. “Ready?”
“Think he might let me come over again?” he asks, adding another fear to my web of thoughts. I pray Coen doesn’t disappoint my son or act like a raging lunatic if he does something wrong.
Reaching forward, I run my hand from his forehead to his chin, cupping his small face, appreciating each special and unique detail that make up my perfectly imperfect son. “We’ll see, baby. For now, let’s go have some fun.”
Hayden grins, then leans forward and kisses my cheek, leaving a wet outline of his lips on my skin. “Love you, Mom.”
“I love you more,” I assure him.
“I love you most.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Well, I love you the mostest.”
“’Mostest’ isn’t a word,” he reminds me.
“In any other context, you’re right. But for this one, it definitely is.”
Hayden smiles as he shakes his head at me, his increasingly literal mind not willing to accept my excuse but his heart not wanting to break tradition keeping him from arguing further.
The front door of Coen’s house opens. His tall frame fills the space, cueing us both to opening our car doors. Getting out, I look to Rachel’s house, and a small pang of guilt dances with the creeping sensation of anger. It
feels so weird to be parked in the driveway beside my best friend’s. It feels even stranger to feel so hurt by her.
“Hey, guys!” Coen calls, bringing my attention back to him as he dismounts the porch and begins walking toward us. “Glad you found the place okay,” he says, winking.
“You live right next to Aunt Rachel,” Hayden informs him with a smile.
“How convenient!” Coen’s smile isn’t one that displays sarcasm or mock shock. It’s genuine and kind and so warm that I find myself smiling back at him with matching enthusiasm.
“Well, are you ready to play some ball?” Coen asks Hayden, though his attention is once more on me.
6
Coen
Ella isn’t just smirking.
Ella isn’t just smiling.
Ella is beaming.
Ella is beaming at me.
My chest feels tight and enlarged at the same time. I want to tell her to keep smiling and never stop because it’s so beautiful but fear if I dare make her aware that she’s showing such pure and undiluted happiness, it may cause me to never see it again, and that would be a travesty. One I’m not willing to risk.
I turn to Hayden and find him with a nearly matching expression and lift my hand for a high five which he delivers with a shout.
“Let’s do this!” I call, taking Hayden’s bag from him. “There are still some boxes lying around, so you guys have to kind of watch your step, but let’s go through the house.” I hold a hand up to signal for them to climb the steps.
“How are things going with the new house?” Ella asks as she places a hand on Hayden’s back and follows him up the stairs.
“I’ve decided I’m never moving again,” I tell her, opening the front door for them. “Unless I hit the lottery and can pay other people to pack, move, and then unpack everything I own.”
She laughs, and I crane my neck, needing to see her expression as the beautiful sound flows from her lips. She’s looking to Hayden as he laughs along, though his was delayed, confirming he’s only laughing because his mom is. I want to give him another high five for being a good kid.
“Your TV is huge!” Hayden cries.
I’m already regretting having invited them inside. Ella is likely comparing my house to a college dorm room as they step into my living room which gives them a clear view of the kegerator and pool table that serve as my dining room furniture, and the oversized brown leather couches that have never seen a pillow or whatever in the hell those fancy blankets are called that people work tirelessly at making messy and unchoreographed. If I want a blanket while watching TV, I pull one off my bed and use it. I’m sure she also wouldn’t be impressed to know that I’ve never hung a curtain or owned a bedroom set. My bed sits on the metal rails it was sold on, and my mother bought my bedding, but I definitely shouldn’t tell her that.
I shake my head to dispel thoughts of my mother, my bedroom, and Ella co-mingling, and hear Hayden excitedly point out all of my gaming equipment, and feel the blood drain from my face. Ella may not be impressed about multiple aspects of my house, but she is going to think I’m a complete child now that she sees that one of the few things I’ve actually unpacked is all of my gaming shit and surround sound equipment.
“This place is awesome!” Hayden continues. “You have all the best games! Mom, do you see how many games he has?” If she hadn’t, she has now.
“It’s too nice outside to be in here. Let’s go get warmed up!” I open the French doors that lead to my backyard to prompt them to stop staring at the stuff that is likely having Ella comparing me to her own child and go back outside where I can hopefully prove some of my manhood back.
Ella goes to the sideline of the yard and sits on the grass with her back against the wooden fence. My yard is comprised of fifty percent weeds and fifty percent grass at this point, and there isn’t a deck or chairs or anything else to help prove that I’m an adult ready to live on my own yet. However, she doesn’t hesitate to pull out her computer and prop it on her legs.
“Sorry about the rough conditions,” I tell her. “I’m really hoping to get a lot of work done to the yard so it’s ready for summer.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “It’s a nice, big space. And you got lucky, you have a level yard. Few houses in this development have flat yards.” Ella leans her head back to look up at me. “What are you thinking of doing back here? Maybe I can steal some of your ideas. I’ve lived in my house for five years and have only managed to get it fenced.”
I was expecting her to laugh or call me on a bluff after witnessing my house, but her blue eyes are wide as she patiently stares at me. “I want to put a big deck all the way across so I can access it from the back door or the master bedroom.” I nod in the direction of the door off my bedroom. “And create a railing that has bench seats all the way around and then stairs down the middle. Over here,” I point toward the far end of my yard, “I’m going to put some pavers down and have a patio set up for grilling, and build a big in-ground fire pit and seating over there.” I turn, facing the far end of the yard, farthest from my room. “And then get some landscaping done and lay new grass.”
“Your backyard is definitely going to beat mine now until forever.” Ella chuckles, then looks across the expanse of my yard and back to me. “But I think that sounds really awesome.”
“Will you be able to teach me to pitch like Roger Clemens?” Hayden asks, causing me to tear my attention from memorizing his mother’s carefree expression.
“Depends,” I say. “Can you teach me to hit like Babe Ruth?”
“I thought you were going to teach me?” he asks.
“What?” I drag out the syllables, feigning shock.
“I had to do all my homework to come over here. You really do know what you’re doing, right?” Hayden’s eyes grow round with caution, looking me over like my knowledge of the sport will be apparent.
“Depends,” I tell him.
“On what?”
“Are you a good listener?”
He nods.
“Sorry. Is that a yes?”
He nods with more vigor, and his smile begins to break through.
“I can’t hear you?” Leaning closer to him, I place a hand behind my ear.
“Yes!” he yells.
I smile. “Great, ’cause I like to talk.” With a wink, I turn and gather one of the five new baseballs I picked up after leaving their house this morning. I hadn’t known if they would actually come but had hoped they would. Being around them for breakfast was a nice change of pace. I didn’t feel like I had to be anyone special or compete with anyone to say the funniest thing or defend myself about why I was in the newspaper again.
In fact, for most of the time I was there, I was able to sit back and watch Ella and Hayden interact. I learned that Hayden loves baseball, and when he talks too fast, he begins to stutter. And I learned that Ella eats one thing on her plate entirely before moving on to the next, and that when someone speaks, she gives them her full attention, even when it was Hayden telling her about what had happened in the cartoon while she finished cooking. Every detail she listened to carefully. I knew because she’d clarified several points with him.
Tossing the ball into the air, I acclimate myself to its size and weight. “Do you know what’s special about a fastball?” I ask, noticing that Ella has moved her focus from her computer to us.
Hayden shakes his head. “It’s really fast?”
I nod. “It is fast, and when you throw it, the ball spins from the bottom to top.” I slowly move the ball with my hands to give him a visualization. “We call this backspin. But a curveball goes the opposite way. When you pitch a curveball, your ball is going to rotate from top to bottom so that the leverage is on the front of the ball rather than the back.
“The key to a really great curveball is your grip.” I hold the ball to show him exactly where his fingers need to be. “See how my index finger isn’t touching the ball? I’m going to use it to point to exactly where I
want my ball to go. And see how my middle finger is along the bottom seam while my thumb covers the back seam here?” I point out the details with my left hand. “When I throw the ball, my middle finger is going to lead my hand, and my index finger is going to direct the ball. Are you ready for it?”
Hayden nods with more enthusiasm as his thoughts of this being worth doing his homework fade into the afternoon heat.
I show him my grip again and then jog back several feet to create some space. I play baseball all the time with the guys at the station, but I’ve never thrown a ball around with a kid, and it makes me really nervous as I weigh the ball in my palm and consider the damage it could do if my aim isn’t accurate or I throw it too hard.
“Ready?” I ask again, ensuring his focus is solely on me.
“Ready!” he sings.
I wind the ball back, and as I step forward with my weight and release the ball, I cringe. I shouldn’t have thrown the ball. I should have just had him throw it.
This was a mistake.
What am I doing?
He’s going to break something!
Hayden catches the ball in his mitt, his smile stretched so wide I can’t help but cheer not just for him, but for successfully playing catch for the first time in twenty years.
I look over, hearing the same laughter that had demanded my attention only a few moments ago, and see Ella with her face reflecting the sunlight.
The next day I’m at the fire station. The daily newspaper sits on my bed with a permanent marker mustache, unibrow, and horns completing a picture of me.
