Her arms are open, waiting for me to step inside. Her eyes are full of pride, and happiness shines from her wide grin. Like a child, I bury myself into her embrace. I’m older now, and much bigger, but the warmth of her hug still permeates my chest. It’s the physical equivalent of being told everything will be all right.
“I wouldn't call myself a star,” I argue, stepping back. I was ecstatic when I was invited to play at the MLS Combine. The four-day showcase led to an invite to try out for the Atlanta MLS team. Try-outs were a few weeks ago, and I thought I did well, but I haven’t heard back from them yet.
Nothing.
Nada.
Not even a phone call. Every day I tell myself to chill out, but it’s getting hard as each day passes.
She gives me a knowing look and makes atsksound. “Play humble with someone who doesn't know you like I do.”
All I can do is laugh. She’s right. I’m kind of a stud on the field. I played well in college. I worked harder than ever, trained harder than ever, gave up everything from alcohol to girls. Despite what I’ve accomplished, I try hard to be humble. Nobody like’s an arrogant prick. A part of me wonders if I keep my ego in check because Ember would hate an inflated head.All these years later, and her grip on me is still firm.
“Any chance there’s some breakfast left over?” I ask, changing the subject. It’s easiest.
“There would be if you’d gotten your ass out of bed at the time of day when people eat breakfast.”
I turn toward my big brother’s voice. Beneath a big beard is a smile, his teeth being the only thing to let me know he’s grinning.
We hug, clapping each other on the back. “I thought you were getting rid of the face pubes?” I deliver a couple ofthwacksto his cheeks with open palms. Last weekend, at dinner after my graduation ceremony, he told me he was going to cut off his beard for his big day.
He bats my hand away, grumbling. “Not you too.”
Alyssa stands beside him, rocking back on her heels. She hugs me and whispersthank youinto my ear. I’m confused, and when we pull back she points at Brody’s face and pretends to gag herself.
“I’ll shave him tonight when he’s asleep,” I promise.
“I’ll supply the razor.” Alyssa pokes Brody in the side until he laughs.
He walks to the pantry and grabs a bag of tortilla chips. “Breakfast,” he says, pushing them to my chest. “Mom wants us to run an errand for her.”
I’m not buying it. “She said I need to go with you?”
“Yep.”
Liar.
I open the bag and toss a chip in my mouth. “Let’s go.”
Brody pecks Alyssa on the cheek. I wave to her and Gretchen on my way out.
“What’s the errand?” I ask as soon as we’re driving. I crack my window and let the warm May air filter in.
“Mom’s kind of embarrassed about it, so don’t say anything.” Brody uses a button on the steering wheel to turn down the volume of the music. Reaching over, he sticks his hand in the chip bag and takes out an overflowing handful. A few spill onto the floor and into the cup holders in the center console, but the majority of his haul makes it into a pile on his lap.
After shoving three into his mouth, he crunches and says, “Mom needed me to grab her prescriptions. She’s going through menopause.”
Brody makes a face as he says the final word. It’s probably the same face twisting my features right now. Remembering your parents are human is uncomfortable.
“What prescription?” I don’t know why I asked that question, but I can’t think of what else to say.
Brody shrugs, using the back of his thumb to wipe his upper lip. “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”
I roll my eyes. Brody is a day trader. He has a degree in accounting, but said he’s more successful sitting in his underwear in front of the computer. Alyssa swears he wears shorts, but the shirt is fifty/fifty.
“Okay, then. To the pharmacy we go.” I toss the bag of chips into the backseat and try to calm my racing heart.
Who says my mother even uses the same pharmacy?Even if she does, surely Ember doesn't still work there.What if she does?
