Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

She makes this noise in her throat, half scoff, half moan. “What if one interferes with the other?”

I notice she doesn’t blow off my comment and what it means.

“I probably should care more about that, yeah.” I sip coffee from my own mug. It’s still too hot, and it scalds my tongue. “But I’ll be honest, I’m having trouble giving a shi—caring that much about football with y’all around.”

“That a good thing?” Amelia raises her brows. “Or a bad one?”

Liam starts to fuss, so I set down my coffee and pick him up. “You tell me.”

She frowns. “Well. How are you feeling about your contract extension?”

“I haven’t thought too much about it.”

“Why is that?” Amelia crosses her ankles and leans a hip against the countertop, holding her mug in both hands.

Liam’s fidgety, but when I try to set him down, he starts to fuss again, so I hike him back up on my hip. I grab a nearby canister of apple-flavored toddler puffs and open it, offering it to Liam. He smiles and digs a hand inside.

“He loves these things,” I say.

Amelia shakes her head. “Kid has the appetite of a small horse.”

“But yeah, I guess I don’t want to think about it. The extension. I’d rather . . . I don’t know, think about what I should order us for dinner or what other ridiculous backyard sports we can pick up. By the way, I think croquet could be cool. My point is, that stuff is way more fun.”

“And that’s a problem because . . .”

Liam offers me a puff. “Dada eat,” he says. I open my mouth, and he pops it inside with a giggle. I bite down on it with exaggerated crunch. He giggles louder, and for a second, I’m so happy I feel like my chest’s going to burst.

“Because it’s fun,” I reply to Amelia. “And fun isn’t what it’s about.”

“Life, you mean—you’re not supposed to enjoy it?”

“No,” I say with a mirthless laugh. “You’re supposed to work all the time and be miserable, obviously.”

She elbows me in the side. “You know, I was talking to Grandma Rose last night, and she floated this idea that I shouldn’t base all my decisions on whether or not they’d make my mom proud. Like, why is it so important that I teach at a particular school? Why do I have to follow this very straight and very narrow path? Maybe it’s limiting me in the long run. Maybe she’d be prouder of me for being brave enough to follow my own path, even if it’s different from hers.”

God, I love when Amelia gets real. Makes the hard stuff in my center soften, like her vulnerability is a reminder of what I should be chasing.

How I should feel. Free, like I really have let go.

“What did you say?” I ask, heart thumping.

She purses her lips.

“Dada, eat!” Liam yells, stuffing another puff in my mouth. “We-wa, eat!”

“Okay, little man,” Amelia answers with a smile.

So we much on puffs for the next minute or so. I just wanna continue my conversation with Amelia, but Liam refuses to be still.

She claps her hands, grabbing Liam’s attention. “Would you like to play with your doggie puzzle, Liam?”

“Doggies. Lili play doggies,” he replies and scrambles out of my arms.

She moves to follow him to the family room, but I grab her hand.

“What were you saying, A?”

“Let me get him started with his puzzle.”

We head to the family room and sit on the floor as Liam starts to pull the pegged pieces out of the puzzle board.

Is this how conversations will always be as a parent? Fragmented? Constantly interrupted?

“How about this,” I say. “Let’s finish this conversation later this afternoon when he’s napping. That way, we can actually talk.”

“You don’t have to work out?”

“Not between twelve and one.”

She grins. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I’m waiting at the bottom of the stairs at noon on the dot when Amelia comes down from putting Liam in his crib.

“Hi,” I say.

She furrows her brow, smiling. “You really do want to talk.”

“I do. Kitchen?”

“Sure.”

I hold out my arm. “After you.”

Amelia plugs in the monitor and sets it on a nearby counter. Then she sits on a stool at the island. I stand opposite her.

“So you were talking about how your mom would be proud of you for following your own path,” I begin.

“Right. Definitely something to think about. Maybe it’s something you should think about too—why you put this pressure on yourself to earn this much money or win this championship. Why do you need to be that guy? The one who runs harder and faster than anyone else?”

My heart continues thumping as her words barrel into me again and again.

I don’t want to talk about this stuff. But Amelia’s honesty is magnetic, or maybe contagious is a better word for it. I’m not gonna leave her hanging.