“She is not.”
He snorts. “So you don’t find it admirable and attractive at all that she knows why her kid’s unhappy, and she’s working to make things as comfortable as she can for June? And where’s June’s daddy? Running off with some other woman and telling people his ex-wife stole his kid from him. But is he fighting to get her back? Is he dropping by out here? You ever hear June ask anyone to send him pictures of her playing? You ever see Maisey calling him to tell him about what June’s done on those rare instances when she gets to play? Nope.”
“What’s your point?”
“I repeat, my friend, she’s your catnip. And she’s off-limits. For real. Not in the she’s off-limits, so I’m going to try harder to score with her kind of way. Get over yourself. Leave Maisey alone. And call me next time you need a reminder.”
“Way to kick a guy when he’s down,” I mutter.
“If you’re down, you did it to yourself. Won’t get better until you expect better from yourself. You can be better, Flint. Quit being a grumpy asshole who assumes nobody would love you if they saw your flaws and insecurities, and get out there and let people in. Sure, some of ’em will hurt you. But more will surprise you.”
“I let people in.”
“You spend your days building up kids that you know are going to turn around and leave. You like knowing you don’t have to get attached. And then you spend your nights alone, or hanging with me and my love-muffin, or making excuses to go see Opal instead of taking a chance that you could find a woman who’s legitimately available and who’d love you in spite of yourself. We both know you don’t want to be a grumpy, lonely asshole, but you’re too afraid of your baggage to let yourself actually try to find someone who would make you happy. That’s on you, my friend. I still love you, but that’s on you.”
The bell rings in the building behind me.
I’m late for class.
Late for class and completely fucked in the head today.
I owe Maisey an apology.
And probably more.
Chapter 12
Maisey
The one thing I promised Junie that I’d never do again was lie to her.
Yet here we are, three days after the closet incident with Flint, on our way home from a crushing defeat at a high school an hour from Hell’s Bells, where she didn’t get to play at all, which I know was killing her, and I’m lying to her.
I train my eyes firmly on the road so I don’t have to look at her while I do it. “What do you mean, I was acting weird? I wasn’t acting weird.”
“You went out of your way to avoid Coach Jackson when the game was over.”
Deflect. Deflect! Don’t let your face tell any story that contradicts your mouth! “He made some very poor decisions in the first half, in my opinion, but he’s the coach, and I am not, so I respect that he did what he felt he had to do. I just didn’t want to get close enough for my mouth to accidentally say that for me. What did you say to Vivian out there when she got pulled in the second half? Have I told you how proud I am of you for making the most of this situation I got you into?”
“Mom.”
I’ve never once wanted to be a criminal like my own mother has become in her later years, but I wouldn’t mind if I could tell little white lies easier. “What?”
“I can’t even say his name without you making a face and trying to change the subject. And it’s not the face you make when you talk about Dad. It’s like—it’s like—ugh. This is so disgusting.”
“What’s disgusting?”
“It’s like you like him.”
Dammit.
I hit the brakes and pop on my turn signal, then pull my truck to the side of the road.
I handled the puberty discussion like a champ. The sex discussion too. Though I probably shouldn’t have left five minutes later—after each of them—to board a flight to another taping location.
I didn’t flinch when I had to tell Junie that Grandma was going to prison, and I was straightforward and matter of fact when I told her that her father and I were getting a divorce.
But I do not want to have this conversation with my daughter.
“Junie, I’m about to say things that are going to make you cringe, and I apologize for that. Please pretend I’m not your mother for the next five minutes.”
“Oh my God, Mom.”
“Also, please remember you were very recently glad that I wasn’t dead.”
“This isn’t getting better.”
I reach into the cooler behind me and come up with a juice box, a cheese stick, and a lunch-size packet of chocolate chip cookies. “Let’s have a snack. Low blood sugar will only make this worse.”
Congratulations to me.
I have now earned the ultimate teenage disdain look.
Gonna have to add that one to my mom badges when I get home.
“I stood on the sidelines for an hour,” she says. “My blood sugar is fine.”
“Can you just humor me and have a snack just in case? The cheese stick might not help, but it definitely won’t hurt.”
She rolls her eyes.
I take a deep breath, shove the food into her lap, and open my mouth, not at all sure what’s about to come out, because that’s what Flint Jackson does.
He addles my brain.
“Coach Jackson is an objectively attractive man—”
Junie’s face telegraphs an intense desire to fling open her car door and throw up.
“—but I have no interest in dating anyone, least of all an adult in your life, and especially your coach.”
The dubiousness hangs thick between us.
I don’t know which of us believes me less.
“He was really mean when he hosed me off the other day. And not nice about it at all when I took your muffins and cookies into school on Monday.”
She rips open the string cheese and takes a bite right off the end.
There was a time in my life I would’ve acted horrified and called her a savage for eating string cheese wrong, but she hasn’t wanted to joke around with me much lately. I give half a thought to trying, but she snorts softly while she chews, like she’s preemptively rejecting the joke, and I go back to the matter at hand.
“I don’t want to trash-talk your father, but I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mother if I didn’t tell you that the relationship left me unfulfilled, and all of us—all of us—should walk away from relationships that suck our souls dry. Whatever that relationship is and whoever it’s with. I don’t know how it got to that point, but I know that I can’t be a good partner to anyone if I don’t know what I want and what I’m willing to offer. So you can rest assured that no matter how objectively attractive any man might be, I won’t be dating until I’m satisfied with myself and where I am in my own journey of loving myself.”
Her chewing has slowed, and she stares at me like I’m an alien.
Not just an alien, but an alien sitting in the middle of the couch, shoving popcorn up my nose, and using my feet to flip through all the channels like an anxious man on crack.
I sigh and turn back to the road.
Still have half an hour to go, and it’s getting dark.