She chuckles and then collapses to the bed. I take care of my condom and then climb back on her bed where I bring her on top of my chest so I can look at her. Face red, eyes sated, she looks freshly fucked, and it’s the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.
I push a few stray hairs behind her ear and say, “Glad to have your boy toy back?”
She laughs out loud, and then brings her hand to my crotch where she gives it a squeeze. I shudder under her, not prepared, and also fucking sensitive.
“I would say so.” She places both of her hands on my chest and stares down at me. “Did your moms cry saying goodbye?”
“They always do,” I answer, feeling weird talking about my parents when I know things are rocky for Indie. But she seems unfazed and honestly, I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried.
Sadness can be a tricky thing. You can think someone is completely okay on the outside, but on the inside, they’re lonelier than ever. I’m nervous that Indie might be headed in that direction.
But from the fresh look in her eyes right now, I can probably think otherwise.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her, rubbing her back.
“Good.” She smiles. “I’ve been volunteering at the public library in the children’s section all break.”
“Really? How come you didn’t tell me?”
She shrugs. “I’m telling you now.”
“Okay,” I say, hesitantly. “What did you do?”
“Everything from putting away books, checking out, setting up different displays, and my favorite was story and craft time. It felt like I was preparing my own classroom. Great experience and I really enjoyed working with the kids, even if some of them had snot hanging out of their nose.”
“Ew, really?” I ask.
“Oh Lincoln, so much snot. And you could tell the parents with one kid against the parents with multiple kids.”
“What do you mean?”
Brimming with joy—something I haven’t seen from her in a while—she says, “One-kid parents have all these devices with them. Like special tissues called Boogie Wipes, specific for kids’ runny noses. They take one out, wipe the nose, and then everyone is sanitized.”
“And what about the other parents?”
Her smile grows wider. “Multiple-kid parents are the ones who see the snot dripping, call the kid over—while holding another kid in their arms like a sack of dog food—and then wipe the snotty kid’s nose with their own clothing. They shove them back into play so they can deal with the sack of potatoes.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Also, one-kid parents have their hair done, look presentable and like dignified members of society.” She shakes her head, growing serious. “Multiple-kid parents, they’re . . .” She clutches her heart. “They’re sprung from the depths of hell, raggedy monsters, stomping around the earth, repeating the same thing over and over again—don’t touch that, don’t touch that, don’t touch that—while Cheerios cling to their hair and a toddler’s finger is shoved up their nose.”
I laugh even louder. “So what I’m hearing from you is that you’re never going to be a multiple-kid parent.”
“Or a parent at all.” She shakes her head. “I like kids, but after this break I realized one thing: it’s nice to give them back to their rightful owners. Plus, kids mean marriage, and I think we both know I’m never getting married.”
Ah, so she’s not fully better.
She pats my chest. “I’m starving. Let’s get some food.”
And just like that, she hops off me and goes to her dresser where she grabs some clothes and heads to the bathroom. I stare at the ceiling, placing both my hands behind my head, trying to figure out how much I push her?
Technically, she’s happy right now.
She’s fine.
So why bother trying to peel back a scab that she’s trying to heal?
MARCH
“Indie, it’s so great to see you,” Mom says, pulling Indie into a hug.
“It’s great to see you, too.”
Mama puts out her hand for a shake and says, “I really appreciated your chanting. It was colorful.”
Indie snorts next to me. “I may have gotten carried away.”
“You were good up until the point where you told Indiana to eat shit after I struck out the side,” I say.
“Personally, I thought it was deserving,” Mama says, as we all walk into the restaurant.
I pitched one hell of a game today. Coach said I was consistently hitting ninety-five, and it showed. The batters were having a hard-ass time keeping up with me. Ended up with a shutout and another win under my belt. After the game, Disik pulled me to the side and said if I stay consistent with my spin rate and speed, there’s no doubt I’ll be in the top of the draft class and on my way to Double-A in the summer.
Hell, it’s crazy to think that in a few short months, I could be training with an actual professional team. I know it’s going to be tough, the pay is going to be shit in the minors, but it’s all going to be worth it in the long run, because I’ll be living a dream.
We’re seated by the host, who gives me a fist bump before handing me a menu. “Heard you pitched one hell of a game,” the guy says. “Can’t wait to see where you’re drafted to by the end of the season.”
“Thanks, man,” I say. And yeah, I’m puffing my chest out as I answer him because of the gaggle of important women surrounding me. “I really appreciate that.”
He walks away, and both my moms look at me with a knowing smile.
“What?” I say, setting my menu down.
Indie pokes my side and says, “Ooo, someone’s famous.”
“Shut up.” I laugh, but it doesn’t stop them.
“We should get your fanboy back, have you sign a few things for him,” Mom says.
“Can you stop? He was being nice.”
“You know he’s going to tell all his buddies about seeing you in here, eating a giant burger, taking that meat down like a man,” Mama teases.
I look between the three ladies as they all laugh. “Are you guys done? Care to be mature about this?”
“Not really,” Indie says. “This is more fun.”
“She’s right,” Mom adds. “Plus, we bought you, so we can tease you however you want.”
“What did I say about saying you bought me?” I say with a smile.
“We did,” Mama says, jabbing her finger to the table. “The lawyers didn’t pay for themselves.”
Indie laughs next to me. The sound’s so goddamn throaty and perfect. “Oh that’s great.”
“Did all three of you decide to gang up on me during the game?”
“Oh no,” Indie says, petting my head. “Are your sensitive man feelings getting hurt?”
“Yes,” I say, a huff to my voice. “Yes, they are, and I’d appreciate it if you all would stroke my ego and make me feel important.”
“Ah, we’ll leave the stroking to Indie,” Mom says on a smirk.
“Jesus.” I cup my forehead with my hand. “I can tell this was a bad idea.”