BANG!
AJR
BROOKE
Owen’s family’s seats in Badger stadium are filled with the usual suspects when I finally make it through the crowd and face the mountain of stairs I’ll need to climb to join them.
Shelly, his mom, shouts, “There’s our girl!” with her arms spread wide for a hug, though I’ve got a small hike ahead of me before I’ll actually make it to her. The rest of the Jones family follows suit, standing and making a small spectacle from the stands like they’re here to cheer me on and not Owen, whose game is about to start.
“Hey, y’all.” I wave and foolishly decide jogging up the steps is the best course of action as Shelly’s hands are still spread out like she’s expecting an insta-hug—not one given after a nice, leisurely stroll up this unholy set of stairs. So, naturally, I have an impressive amount of back sweat dripping down my spine, a boob sweat stain pooling under my bra, and am embarrassingly out of breath by the time I reach her.
I’m wrapped in Shelly’s arms first but quickly sandwiched between her and Owen’s dad, Gary, in the tight squeeze they’re prone to giving me every time we see each other.
“Glad to see ya, girl,” Gary says, kissing the crown of my head. He’s a picture-perfect example of what Owen will look like in thirty years. Dark, curly hair, graying handsomely in a way that only ever happens for men. Smile lines crinkling outside the ocean blue eyes he passed down to his son. “Ya made it just in time.”
“And how lucky are we getting you all to ourselves tonight,” Shelly says, not letting me go, though there’s an unfortunate amount of sweat transfer happening in this embrace she can’t possibly be comfortable with. I’m certainly not. “Aiden couldn’t make it?”
I know that she knows Aiden and I broke up, thanks to what I suspect is a stealthy but healthy Honey Hill group chat devoted to channeling information at rapid speeds between all of the women in our small town. But Shelly Jones is not like the other Southern mamas I know. She’s curious and honest by nature but never needlessly pries if she thinks it might cause someone she loves pain.
Though I’m barely sad over the loss of my relationship with Aiden. It was inevitable. And, honestly, I feel far more comfortable around the Joneses without Aiden here.
I shrug my shoulders, arms still trapped with Shelly’s hands on either side. “Things didn’t work out.”
She pouts, but there’s little regret in her voice. “Shame.” She pulls me close again. “We’ll just have to keep you all for ourselves a little longer, Brookey.”
“I think that’s probably best,” I agree, then make my way down the line, hugging Dinah and Jack, with Lola asleep in a carrier on Jack’s chest, and Gram, who saved me a seat beside her.
“Ya know none of us liked that boy for a single minute,” Gram says, handing over a bag of pretzel bites with Dinah’s shop logo, Knotty & Nice, stamped on the side. “He was a fool with koala claws for nails. And you were a fool for sticking with him for so long. Enjoy the snack.”
“Gracious, Gram. Don’t hold back.” I pop a pretzel bite in my mouth and fan my face. “Where’s Winnie tonight?”
Usually I can count on Owen’s little sister as back up when it comes to combatting Gram, who has an opinion about everything and, in contrast to Shelly, does not mind sharing it. As such, Gram was very honest about her distaste for Aiden from the get-go. And the guy I dated before him. And the guy before that. But even if she agrees, Winnie usually publicly takes my side, choosing instead to beg me to love her brother “for real” in private.
“Oh, she’s busy bein’ a fool, herself, I suspect.” She clasps my hand on the armrest between us and winks. “You know I love you, darlin’.”
I smile through the peanut butter and jelly bite still melting in my mouth and nod my understanding.
I’m a faithful, Southern girl, through and through, but I’d never take another sip of sweet tea again if it meant I could eat the PB&J Pretzel Bites from Knotty & Nice every day for the rest of my life. But even those bites couldn’t get me to walk up and down the stadium stairs again in this blaring Georgia heat, so I’m feeling pretty loved, indeed, knowing Gram saved these little gold nuggets just for me.
“Thanks for the bites, Gram.”
“Thanks for ditchin’ the loser, sweetheart. Now”—she squeezes my hand—“when are you gonna give our boy a chance?”
“Gram,” Dinah interrupts, laughter in her voice. “She just sat down. Give her time to breathe before you plan the wedding, alright?”
“Dinah, you married our Jacky after what… six months?”
“Yeah, but I’m irresistible,” Jackson says, as charming as ever and somehow made exponentially more appealing by the angel-baby sleeping against his chest. The Jones’ male genes are a beautiful mystery.
“You had multiple personalities and enough trauma and pain to write a medical soap opera, and yet, she loved you for you. You’re a lucky duck, Jacky. Brooke and Owen have been together for years, and I reckon they know each other inside and out. She’s had plenty of time.” Gram turns back to me and shakes a finger at me. “You’ve had plenty of time.”
“We’re just friends, Gram.” The line I’ve repeated for years’ worth of speculation flows easily from my lips.
“Said the liar,” she quips, perfectly timed as Owen runs out onto the field, taking his place on the pitcher’s mound and looking to where he knows we’re seated in the stands before his first pitch. He rubs his hand in a circle over his belly—where I always say his heart lives—for good luck. It’s an indistinct gesture to anyone else but one he’s made just for me at every game I’ve attended since college, and one I give back—for solidarity purposes only.
My heart is safely locked away in my chest, warm and cozy, and guarded by a currently very satisfied green goblin as my best friend smiles just for me before lining up the pitch and starting the ball game.
“So, what happens now with… ya know,” Dinah leans behind Gram and mouths, “Suite Hearts.”
