“Of course you do.” She brushes a fingertip over my father’s face. “He’s darker and his hair is coarser, but that bone structure. Same handsome face. Same mouth.”
Her smile is wistful, and maybe slightly wicked. I’m sure she has memories of his mouth that I want to know nothing about. So much of what I know about my father has been through the media and old friends telling stories. There are things I never asked my mother that maybe only she knows.
“Was he a good man?” I ask, watching her face for the truth. I don’t miss the bitter tilt of her lips settle into ruefulness.
“He was a great father.” She looks up from the photo. “He loved you more than anything. He was so good to you.”
“And to you?” I ask softly, prepared for whatever she answers. “What kind of husband was he?’
She hesitates, considering the picture again before looking in my eyes. “What kind of husband was he?” She tosses my question back before twisting her mouth into that rueful little curve. “A young, handsome one, with lots of money and time on the road.”
“Like me then,” I half-joke. “Sometimes I see so many parallels between us.”
“You won’t make the choices your father did when you’re married, August. I’m not worried about that.”
“Really?” I ask, thinking about all the ass I pulled in my rookie year. “Why not?”
“Because I raised you better than that.” She winks and brushes her hands over my hair. “You just need to find the right girl.”
Of course, my mind defaults to Iris—to the last time I saw her laughing with Sarai and bouncing her on her knee. Reminder. Another man’s baby bouncing on her knee.
“Maybe I’ve found the right girl.” I close the flaps of the box. “Maybe it’s just a matter of timing.”
It’s hard for me to surprise my mother. She usually sees everything coming from a mile away, but her eyes stretch, and her mouth drops open.
“Do I know her?” she demands. “Is she in San Diego? How did you meet her? When can I meet her?”
“Uh, Mom.” I hold up a hand to stay the tsunami of questions coming off her in waves. “It’s not like that. I mean, it is. For me it is. I’d bring her to meet you right now if I could.”
“She doesn’t want to be with you?” She rests her fists on her hips, the Irish feistiness to match that red hair sparking in her eyes. “Does she have any idea what she’s missing?”
“She doesn’t care about my contract or the money or any of that stuff.” Even though Iris is with Caleb, I know it’s not because he has any of those things. And as soon as I figure out why she is with him, I’ll convince her it’s not enough. Not as much as I could give her.
“Those aren’t the things I meant either,” Mom says. “You’re
kind, and generous, and smart, and ambitious. I raised you to know how to treat a woman. She’d be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Mom, though you might be just a little biased. I think you’d like her.” My smile drops. “I mean, if she ever leaves her boyfriend.”
“August, what?” Her eyes stretch. “Tell me.”
“It’s a long story.”
She crosses her arms and sits on one of the nearby bins in the garage. “Do I look busy?”
I pull up a bin and tell her about that first night before the tournament, how Iris and I talked about any and everything; we shared our pasts, our families, our dreams, and hopes. I tell her how disappointed I was to realize Iris was dating Caleb. I leave out the part where I saw her naked breast at All-Star weekend, but I hit other highlights, ending with the last time I saw her, at the game before Caleb’s dirty play.
“So you’ve only seen her a few times?” Mom asks. The consternation on her face gives me pause. She thinks I’m crazy. I know I am.
“But we talked for hours the first time,” I say, hearing the defensiveness in my voice. “We talked about everything. I’ve never felt that connected to someone so quickly. And even at the All-Star game, it was like we just picked right back up.” I toss my phone back and forth between my hands and shrug. “I know what you’re thinking—it’s some infatuation. Or maybe you think I just like her because she’s Caleb’s girl, right?”
“I knew Matt was the one after our first date.” She chuckles at the startled look that must be on my face. “I did. We had exactly what you’re talking about. That ease. That spark. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world.”
That first night in the bar, I didn’t even notice the other customers leaving. I didn’t notice the bartender cleaning up. I barely noticed the game ending.
“She absorbed me,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d never felt that way about anyone else. When she told me she had a boyfriend, I felt like she was reading from the wrong script. Like that’s not how this is supposed to go. How can it possibly go that way when I feel like this already?”
I roll my eyes, playing my words back in my own ears. “I sound like a chick.”