Swing and a Mishap (Summersweet Island 2)

She pauses when she gets to me, since I’m blocking the way for her to get past and go up into the stands with the handful of other parents that are here early.

“How was your day? I got you a peppermint mocha.”

“Thanks!” Wren smiles at me cheerfully.

Too cheerfully.

She takes the cup from my outstretched hand, and with her eyes still on mine and a smile still on her face, she leans to her right and drops the coffee right into the trashcan.

“Right.” I nod, making sure I absolutely do not laugh even though I want to, stepping back and turning to the side with my arm out so she can pass. “Carry on then.”

And she does. Making sure to stomp on my foot as she goes.“Excellent night for practice, don’t you think?”

“Bite me.”

“I can certainly arrange that… I’m kidding! Put that lighter away. Why do you even have that on your person?”“I’d like a double-scoop of toffee crunch, please.”

“We’re out.”

“Okay… mint chocolate chip.”

“Out.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough?”

“Oooh, just sold out.”

“Let me guess. You’re out of every ice cream flavor I could possibly want.”

“Who says professional baseball players are dumb?”

“Do people say that?”

“I say that. About you.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Eat shit.”“Are you stalking me?”

“Is that what they call picking up dinner to go from The Barge? Kids these days… always coming up with some kind of new slang.”

“You are so annoying. Go away.”

“I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to enter this great establishment with the best diner food in the world when you’re here. Should we set up a schedule? Friday’s are pumpkin pancakes day, so I’m gonna need that one.”

“Well then, you’ll definitely want Wednesdays. That’s bullshit sandwich day. You seem to like the taste of bullshit in your mouth.”

“Moooom! Why are you being weird? Oh my God!”“How long do you plan on keeping this up?”

“What day is it?”

“Monday.”

“Forever. Fuck off.”“Get in.”

“Oh no, it’s fine! I’m cool!”

My golf cart idles on the curb of a side street just around the corner from the high school. After I put all the equipment away in the storage shed next to the baseball field, I made sure all the guys on the team had left and no one needed a ride home. I started heading to my cottage and noticed Owen stopped on the sidewalk to get a better grip on everything he’s carrying.

“Seriously, Owen. Get in. I’m not letting you walk that far with a bat bag and a heavy bucket of balls,” I tell him when he doesn’t move from the sidewalk and bites his bottom lip as he looks down at the bucket almost overflowing with baseballs.

My original assumption that Wren had been avoiding me during drop-offs and pick-ups from practice last week was only half true. She definitely made other people pick him up for a few days so she wouldn’t have to see me. But she didn’t drop Owen off a half hour early to avoid me. I found out from the varsity coach that Owen Bennett has been coming to practice early since he was in tee ball, and according to the coach, “Driving his mother crazy wanting extra practice all the time.”

I guess when Owen was younger, Wren would go out onto the empty field with him, playing catch to warm him up before everyone else got there and timing him while he ran sprints between bases. Once he got older and no longer needed a parental chaperone, he now takes it upon himself to make sure he gets here early every single day before anyone one else. He reminds me so much of myself it’s almost scary. And I know for a fact he never drove Wren crazy, because she’s exactly like my parents. Working her ass off day in and day out to make sure he has the best coaches, the best equipment, the best training, and the best opportunities. My parents worked their fingers to the bone, never really enjoying what life had to offer until all their sacrifices paid off and I was able to make sure they never had to sacrifice again.

“It’s fine. I swear!” Owen tries to reassure me. “It’s not my mom’s fault. I was supposed to go home with Dominic, because he has his golf cart license and he’s the only one of my friends my mom trusts to not act like an idiot behind the wheel, but his girlfriend asked him to come over, so he ditched me. I could call my mom, and she’d totally come get me, but I don’t want to bother her, because she’s busy. It’s fine. I don’t mind walking. I walk all the time. It’s good exercise!”

Jesus… the way this kid is making absolutely certain I don’t think Wren is a bad mom, and how overenthusiastic he’s trying to make walking two miles home with a heavy bat bag and an even heavier bucket of balls sound, makes me want to cry like a fucking baby.