The Player and the Single Mom

George and my dad had two lawn chairs set up by the boil station, each drinking a beer. My dad was talking and George was nodding.

Conway laughed. “No shit. Dad’s got him captive.”

Sera, who had been laying out newspaper on tables with my mom, wandered over, her arms around her waist. “I don’t know about me eating the crawfish,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not sure my stomach is going to allow that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just eat the potatoes or whatever looks good to you.”

She nodded.

“She’s thrown up a few times,” I told Conway. “Including in the car yesterday on the way to the airport.”

“Damn, that sucks.”

“I don’t mean to offend your parents.” Her face was a little pale.

“They’ll understand,” I assured her. “My mother did have seven kids.”

“Throw the bag!” Hank yelled from the other side of the game. “Your love life can wait.”

I threw the bag because I didn’t want to listen to him complaining. It went wide.

“Y’all going to have seven kids?” Conway asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No,” Sera said. “No, no, no. This is it.”

“Sera can’t get pregnant,” I told Conway, shooting her a grin. “That’s what she told me anyway.”

“Cash!” Her cheeks turned pink. She turned and walked away.

Shit.

“I think you stepped in it,” Conway said.

“I think I did too. I was just teasing her.” I went down and scooped up my bags. “Ava,” I called out. She was sitting on the grass on her phone. “Take my turn for me, please. I need to talk to your mama real quick.”

To my surprise, she actually stood up and shoved her phone in the back pocket of her denim shorts. “I kick butt at cornhole.”

“Alright, then.” I nodded in approval. I handed her the bags and went after Sera.

She was sitting at a table with Marigold on her lap. In an hour a bunch of family and friends were arriving for Faith’s graduation celebration. It was asking a lot of Sera to spend all day socializing with strangers so I needed to make sure I hadn’t truly upset her.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down on the bench next to them. The wood creaked when I sat. “Do you want me to get you some plain rice to eat? I think it’s probably ready by now for the gumbo.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

I ran my hand over the back of Marigold’s head. She was snuggled into Sera’s chest, sucking her thumb. “Come in the kitchen with me, babygirl. I’ll get you a popsicle.”

Marigold’s head popped up. Her thumb came out. “Popsicle!”

It was a hot day. I felt bad. Sera looked pale and a little clammy. I hesitated, then asked, “Do you want one too?”

Sera shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of my brother.”

She nodded.

I had a feeling she was working really hard not to throw up. She was breathing through her nostrils and sitting very still.

The best thing I could probably do was just keep Marigold off her lap and not expect her to speak. I stood up and held my hand out for Marigold. “Come on, shrimp.”

“I’m not a shrimp!”

“Are you a crawdad?” I asked her as she slipped her hand into mine and we headed toward the back door.

“Yes. And you’re my crawdaddy,” she said, in that goofy tone she sometimes used that was about two octaves lower than her normal voice.

That made me laugh. “That was very clever. I’m impressed.”

My mother and George’s wife, Alison, were in the kitchen. “I hate to bother y’all but can I get some rice for Sera? She’s feeling poorly and needs to eat something.” I took Marigold to the freezer and opened it. There were always popsicles in there. Or used to be, anyway. If I had promised something I couldn’t deliver I’d be driving my ass twenty minutes to the store.

My mom ran her kitchen with an iron fist and a lot of love. This was the second house on this property, the first being the small ranch we’d all grown up in. Currently Toby and Conway lived in it, which left a nice guest room in the new house for me and Sera. The kids were crashing in the family room. This two-story creole style house was a quarter mile from the original house and had been built as a gift from me to my parents after my rookie year. It had my mother’s dream French country kitchen, with two islands, a tea station, and a pot filler. She loved this kitchen and it made me feel proud as hell to see her enjoying it.

“Oh, poor thing,” Alison said. “And here she went and made all those cupcakes this morning. She should be taking it easy.”

I kept digging in the freezer.

“Cash, get out of there,” my mother said, stirring the gumbo. “You’ve had the door open too long, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m looking for a popsicle for Marigold.”

“They’re in the garage.”

Alison set a bowl of rice down on the island. “Here you go.” She tucked a plastic spoon into it with a smile.

George’s wife was a teacher, sweet, and always ready to help. My brother had done well in landing her.

Marigold picked a piece of rice out of the bowl and ate it.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Get your fingers out of there.”

She giggled. She stole another piece.

“Hey, now,” I told her. “You’re about to lose your popsicle privileges.”

That made her back off the island, sticking her hands behind her back. She looked alarmed. “Daddy, no!”

“Go take this to your mom,” I told her, handing her the rice. “And I will get you a popsicle. I’ll meet you by your mom. No dirty fingers in that rice, Marigold. I mean it.”

She nodded and took the bowl and walked fast but carefully with the plastic bowl.

“You’re good with her,” my mother said. “I’m proud of you.”

I paused on the way to the garage. “Thanks. I had a good example.”

Being home, with Sera and her kids, made me really damn happy.

In spite of the fact that Sera didn’t want to talk about marriage.