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Swing (Landry Family 2)

Page 68

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“Do you know why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.”

I head to the sink and pick up her cup. The paintbrushe

s remind me of how I finagled my way back into her office to paint with Rocky. Out of all the contents of this house, this cup is the only thing that I feel a connection to. That feels dumb.

“Lincoln?”

“She has this hang-up with me because her family are complete dicks. Sorry, Mom,” I apologize for the language before she can call me out on it. “Her dad was an athlete and kind of ruined their family, I think. I’m losing her and it’s nothing I did. Nothing I am, other than exactly what I am.”

“That’s tough.”

“You think? She likes being with me, likes me doing little things to try to make her like me, yet she panics about it. She flipped out on me today because I tried to take care of her. How do you get around that?” I ask. “How can I fix her not wanting who I am as an athlete and not wanting me to, you know, love her? Not saying I do, but you know.”

I know my mother is smiling. She’s probably standing in her massive dining room with her diamond-laden finger sitting right on her heart. I said the L-word. She’s a sucker for that stuff.

“I don’t mean I love her,” I clarify. “Don’t go planning weddings and stuff.”

She laughs. “I won’t.”

“This is why I don’t date seriously. It’s too much of a headache.”

“You don’t date seriously, Linc, because you haven’t found a woman that makes you want to see her every day. No offense, but you don’t typically choose women that have much to offer you.

“Oh, they offer me—”

“Lincoln Harrison Landry, don’t you even go there with me!” she nearly yells over me. “I do not want to hear about your escapades. Save that for your brothers.”

I can’t help but laugh, and before long, she’s laughing too.

“I think she’s scared,” Mom reasons. “From what you told me, she doesn’t have a safety net to fall on. She’s probably learned to be her own protection system. Think about it. You are handsome and smart and wealthy and talented . . .”

“Keep going,” I grin.

“You are a prize, honey. And she knows that. Think about this from her perspective: she is alone in the world. She finally breaks and lets you in and then something happens and it doesn’t work out.”

“But that’s true of any relationship. Not just with me.”

“True, but you’re an athlete. Like her dad. It’s human nature to stay away from things that remind us of other things that have hurt us.”

I hate when she makes sense. “So that leaves me shit out of luck?”

“That’s a disgusting choice of words.”

Ignoring her, I press forward. “So I’m supposed to just suck it up because her dad ruined her life? That’s not fair, Mom. I don’t accept that.”

“Then don’t,” she says softly. “You just struck out. What do you do when you strikeout in a game?”

“I hit a homerun at the next at-bat.”

“That’s right,” she sings. “Just be patient with her. Pretend like the pitcher is a little off his game and you have no idea what’s coming down the pike.”

“The pipe, Mom. What’s coming down the pipe.”

“Whatever,” she laughs. “You get the picture. Now, tell me when you’ll be home.”



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