Giving this life to him is why I left our previous one. He’s why I finally found the courage. Because this right here, breakfast sandwiches and football practices and silly stories, is what he deserves.
“So, tell me again, Coach Mike is Derek’s dad? And whose dad is Coach B?” I’m trying to keep it all straight, but it’s a lot for people I haven’t even met yet. My friend Michelle did carpool duty for me Tuesday and Thursday this week. Her son, Liam, is on the team with Cooper, and she’s an absolute godsend to us. Though she’d probably say the same thing about me and Cooper.
Michelle’s married, but her husband travels for work a lot, though I don’t know what exactly he does. She always describes it as ‘something with sales and robotic medical devices’ like she doesn’t know either, but with her being a pseudo-single mom sometimes and me being an actual single mom, we became fast friends when the boys started kindergarten. We’d bonded pretty hilariously over not wanting to be room mom while the other women were literally racing over each other to sign up.
Cooper’s mouth is full, but he shakes his head. After swallowing, he corrects me. “No, Coach Mike is Evan’s dad. Coach B is just one of Coach Mike’s friends.”
Something about that seems strange. I mean, most of the teams are fighting to get one person to step up and coach. So for this guy to help out and not even have a kid seems . . . odd? Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but I’m protective of Cooper, maybe even bordering on helicopter-y, not that I’d admit that freely. I’ll definitely have to meet this Coach B today and get a feel for him. I’ll make it a point to ask Mike about his qualifications and background check too. Due diligence to check the guy is the least I can do.
There isn’t a chance to ask Mike about his friend before practice starts because almost as soon as we arrive, they start running laps around the park. They look like a well-oiled machine, albeit one that occasionally misses a step or two. But if their line gets out of whack, they quickly correct it themselves. Pretty impressive for a bunch of eight- and nine-year-olds, I think.
I’m sitting on the makeshift ‘sideline’ of the boys’ practice field with Michelle, fresh cups of to-go coffees in our hands even though it’s hot as balls out here. “So, what do you know about this Coach B character?”
She laughs. “Let me guess, you’re getting ‘Coach Mike says’ and ‘Coach B said’ as much as I am?”
I nod, sipping my bean nectar and not saying anything else.
“I saw him at practice this week when I was waiting for the boys.” She lowers her voice, looking around and making sure none of the other nearby moms are paying us any attention, but still talking behind her cup like someone might read her lips. “Huge guy that I would happily climb like a tree. My ovaries damn near exploded from across the field. And that was before he started helping the kids. Pretty sure I was soaked down to my knees at that point.”
I can’t hold back the snort of laughter. “Oh, my God, Michelle. You are so hard up! When’s Michael coming home?”
“Girl, it ain’t about being horny,” she says with a throaty chuckle. “Wait till you see him. You’ll be dreaming about that beard scratching your thighs all night, too. That cowboy could wear his dirty boots to bed and I wouldn’t complain a bit, especially if that was all he was wearing.”
Her words bring up imagery I’d rather not have. It’s not that I’m asexual. I have a sex drive and a battery-operated boyfriend like most red-blooded women, but it’s been so long since I’ve had actual two-person sex that I’ve probably forgotten how to even do it. Is it still tab A and slot B? Or is there some newfangled way of doing things these days?
“I don’t think that’s my thought pattern,” I correct her, shoving any lack-of-sex thoughts out of my head. “I’m more worried about Mike’s random friend hanging out with a bunch of kids. Can you say sketch-yyy?” I singsong the last word under my breath, drawing it out.
Michelle shrugs, unconcerned. “Mike said he’s some football pro or something that he wrangled into helping. The boys like him and they seem to be learning, and you know Mike appreciates the help. Getting those boys to play together is like herding squirrels, so if he got some backup that doesn’t require me getting out there to catch a ball, I’m for it.” She does little finger-quotes around the word ‘catch’, making it clear that she can’t play any better than I can.
I turn back to watch the boys cross what appears to be their finish line, judging by the cheers and high-fives. “I’m still going to keep an eye out and talk to Mike.”