Because Callie doesn’t mix business with pleasure. Not that she’s ever said as much but I’ve never seen or heard of her dating one of her athletes. I’ve been her client for sixteen years. She’s all about the job and while I admire the hell out of that—out of her—I wish she’d give me a shot.
A torrent of ice-cold water hits my stomach, ripping me from my traipse down memory lane, and I jump up. My eyes fly open to see five of my little nieces and nephews running down to the sea, pails of water flinging into the sand behind them.
“You little shits!” I holler after them, springing into action.
My knee twinges from the sudden movement but I block it out as I chase the kids into the ocean.
They laugh hysterically, shooting wild eyes over their shoulders at me. I scoop up my little niece, Ariella, and toss her into a rolling wave.
“Me next!” Matteo begs, raising his arms to be picked up.
I swing him up into my arms and throw him next. Then, all the kids are scrambling for my attention. I spend the next hour in the ocean with my family, playing with the little kids, doling out advice to the big kids, and avoiding my brother’s and sisters’ questioning eyes.
Are you retiring?
Will you be around more?
Will you settle down like us and have…all of this?
A gnawing type of emptiness eats at my breastplate, but I rub it away. I focus on the moment. I grin at my mom and wave to my pop, watching all of us from their sun chairs parked at the edge of the waterline.
The afternoon passes quickly, the way it always does when I’m with my loved ones, and I don’t check my phone once. In fact, I don’t turn it on for the next two days either. Right now, being off the grid feels good. Necessary.
“Jake, the red wine, not the white,” Svetlana says, pointing at her son.
“The one from the Rioja region,” my brother Joe, Svetlana’s husband, adds.
“Abuela’s favorite,” Svetlana reminds him.
“Such a popular bottle and yet, no one recalls the name of it,” Jake grumbles as he returns to the wine cellar for the correct bottle.
“When did he get this attitude?” my aunt Maria asks.
Svetlana laughs. “The day he turned thirteen.”
Dad snickers. “That was five years ago.”
“And we’re still suffering,” Svetlana agrees, flashing a good-natured smile.
“The wine is flowing like water,” my sixteen-year-old niece Carla comments, judgement in her eyes.
“Cariña, we need to get Tio Gage liquored up, so he’ll tell us if he’s going to announce retirement or not.”
I groan, closing my eyes and tossing my head back.
Carla laughs, gripping my shoulders tightly. She places a quick kiss to my cheek. “Don’t worry, Tio. You’ll still be my favorite whether you play football or not.”
“Hey!” Joe hollers. “What about me?”
“Your house is too loud,” Carla shoots back. “Plus, Jake’s friends eat all the good snacks.”
“That’s true,” Svetlana agrees.
The doorbell sounds and I shuffle my chair back to stand.
“Saved by the bell,” Mom breathes out.
I wink at her as I move toward the front door.
