“No, yeah, but it was probably a Derick with anekinstead of anick. Like Derek Jeter or Derek Hough.”
“Didn’t know you were a fan of baseball or ballroom or…both?”
Claire appears at the island in her pink Victoria’s Secret pajama set. Her brown frizzy hair, almost matching mine, is down. “Weren’t you the one who told Dad baseball was far too slow and boring for your tastes? It’s why you never come to my softball games.”
Her timing is impeccable when it comes to blowing my cover.
“I changed my mind.”
Dad barrels in from upstairs. “What have you changed your mind about?” His eyes land on Derick, confused but not unhappy. “Derick, good to see you. It’s been a while since you’ve been around these parts. How’s your dad and the rest of the family?” He notices that Derick is wearing one of my T-shirts but doesn’t say anything, which I’m going to call a gigantic win for me. Hearing his birds-and-the-bees spiel—which he repurposed into a colorful birds-and-the-birds soliloquy over spring break—again would be the last thing I need.
“They’re good. Thanks for asking, Mr. Roland.”
“Please, call me Frank,” Dad says. “And how’s that big bus-line expansion going? I saw they’re taking over part of the public library lot for more commuter pickups.” Dad’s township utilities job keeps him in the know around Willow Valley.
“Uh, fine. I think.” Derick looks uncomfortable and quickly changes the subject. “Wren was just telling us how he changed his mind about baseball. He’s apparently quite the Derek Jeter fan now.”
“A Yankees Hall of Famer?” Dad crows. “You know this is a Phillies-only household. Are you sure you’re my son?”
Mom finally returns with four rolls of paper towels. What did she have to do, go on a scavenger hunt for them? “Is Wren coming around to the idea of a family baseball outing? You know your dad and I used to go on dates to Phillies games all the time. That’s how we became close. When I moved back here after college, we had a group of friends who chipped in for season tickets. We’d get the nosebleed seats and gorge ourselves on hot dogs and beers.”
“Who says romance is dead?” Claire jokes.
“Baseball games can be very romantic,” Dad says, serving himself some pancakes with a healthy dose of maple syrup. “Your mom and I ended up on the kiss cam more than once! We always got the loudest cheers.”
Nothing like picturing your parents making out in front thousands upon thousands of people. My appetite has packed up its bags and vacated my body.
“Your father proposed to me at a Phillies game!” Mom opens her Instagram account. Even she’s social-media literate and loving it. For their last anniversary, she posted a photo of Dad on one knee in the aisle of Citizens Bank Park, the field fanning out behind him. The players look like action figures from the distance. Mom has two hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes are wide with surprise and happiness.
“I did it during the seventh-inning stretch! The whole crowd was singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’” It might not be my idea of cinematic grandiosity, but it is endearing.
Mom starts singing the famous American pastime jingle, and soon we’re all joining in. During the sing-along silliness, Derick and I lock eyes. His gaze is loaded.
When he smiles that I’ve-got-a-secret-and-it’s-only-for-you smile, I can’t help but thinkDerek Jeter, who?
Chapter 14
Derick is wearing the purple tank top again, washed of course, and I can’t quite keep my eyes off his lats as he wields a screwdriver, fixing an unsecure cabinet door.
We finished painting Alice’s living room last week, so she corralled us into the kitchen.
We brought bagels this time, which Alice was thrilled by, though she moaned that New York bagels were “soooooo much better.” On a list of Alice’s favorite activities, complaining would take the top spot.
I’ve been put on floor duty—sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing. I’m still on phase one since Derick keeps tracking in dirt on the bottoms of his multicolored, pricey sneakers. Alice is sorting old dishes and china pieces into three piles: keep, donate, and trash. Whenever her eyes wander away, she’s sure to point out a spot I missed in the recesses of a corner, though I know she can’t see that well so she’s just messing with me for the hell of it.
I move to the back door with the heavy gallon bucket. Heaving from the knees, I dump the excess water–vinegar–dish soap mixture out into the yard. I instruct everyone to strip off their shoes while the floor dries. Derick hops up onto the counter to do so. Mercifully, it doesn’t snap from his weight.
Even though she’s not watching it,The Mary Tyler Moore Showstill loops in the other room.
Finally, I ask, “Do you ever watch anything else?”
She frowns, deep folds dragging down her face. “What? Do you have problem with seventies sitcoms? Too cool for comedy?” She places a chipped cup, one of the ones from the first day I was here, in the trash pile. I grab the battered tennis ball Alice set out for me and begin going at the black scuff marks. Doubtful at first, I’ve come around to seeing how effective everyday objects can be for cleaning. Here’s one way Alice uses her creativity now: inventive solutions to everyday problems.
“No, it just seems like it’s the only thing that’s on when we’re here. Don’t you watch any movies?”
“I don’t watch movies anymore.”
I stop what I’m doing and gape at her. My heart almost stops. “Wait, seriously?”
