“Well, it’s kind of a given. That’s like saying you named your kid Madonna, but then you say it has nothing to do with the singer.”
She stops cutting my hair and looks at me in the mirror. “Nolan is not as famous of a name as Madonna,” she deadpans, trying to hide the smile on her face.
“Umm …” I squint my eyes, bouncing my head back and forth.
She laughs and holds my head still so she can continue cutting my hair.
“So, no. That’s not why I named him that. But, yes, because so many people have asked that—directly to him now—he knows all about the famous pitcher and begged me for a poster of him to hang in his room.”
“Please tell me you got the one with blood dripping down his face.”
“Um, no.” She chuckles. “He’s seven.”
“That photo is badass.”
She raises her eyebrows at me in the mirror. “He’s still seven.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. How much does he know about the man?”
“Everything,” she says with a sigh. “He says he’s the only kid who has such a famous name and he needs to know everything about who he was named after.”
“But I thought he wasn’t named after him?” I smirk.
“Believe me, if I had known people would assume I’d named him after the famous pitcher, I wouldn’t have.”
“So, if he wasn’t named after him, then where did you hear the name?”
She stops what she’s doing, and her head drops to her chest. “Probably from him.” She’s quick to add, “But it wasn’tbecauseof him.”
“Okay, fair enough. What’s his middle name then?” I hold up my hand even though it’s covered by the drape. “If you say Ryan, I’m not going to believe he wasn’t named after him.”
She laughs out loud again. “No. It’s not Ryan. It’s David, after my dad. Nolan David Freeman.”
“That’s cool that you named him after your dad. I have my grandpa’s name as my middle name—Randall.”
“Evan Randall. What’s your last name?”
I hesitate for a second, then just say it, knowing she’s going to find out who I am eventually. “Parker.”
“Evan Randall Parker,” she repeats back to me. “That has a nice ring to it.”
A sigh of relief washes over me that she has no clue who I am. Spring training in Florida is amazing, but players really have to be careful around there when it comes to girls who are just trying to snatch up a meal ticket and become arm candy on a professional athlete. Most girls knew who I was before I could even introduce myself. That was a huge red flag, so I kept my head down and just focused on the game while I was there. I need to remember that I’m not at spring training anymore and this area isn’t as focused on baseball as Florida was during those few months.
“What’s your last name?” I ask.
She nudges me playfully. “Freeman, just like my son’s.”
“Hey, I never assume these days. I didn’t see a ring so …”
“Nope. No ring, no baby daddy. Just me and Nolan from day one.”
Sadness flashes across her face that she’s quick to change when she sets the clippers down and places her hands on my shoulders again. “Let’s get you washed up now.”
I stand and follow her to the area containing the washbowls. I sit and lean back so she can wash my hair.
I noticed her perfume earlier, but now that I’m so close, the smell is much stronger, so I ask, “What scent are you wearing? It’s nice.”
“Thanks. It’s Thousand Wishes. It was my Mother’s Day gift from Nolan. I let him go into the store with my credit card and come out with what he liked best.”
