The squeak of basketball sneakers on the gym floor is oddly comforting, and Noah and I walk over to the bleachers to sit and watch the rest of practice.
Even though I'm biased as his mom, thinking both of my children are amazing, I know that Liam’s a good basketball player. Coach Trey tells me that he’s got a real shot at playing in college, especially as he keeps growing taller.
The aforementioned coach waves when he sees me, a smile breaking across his face. Coach Trey, also known as Morris Jefferson III, is the grandson of Morris Jefferson.
From the pictures in Mabel's office, he looks just like his grandfather did at that age—tall, close-cropped black hair, richmedium-brown skin, and big brown eyes that hold genuine warmth.
Taylor always comments on how yummy he is, like Michael B. Jordan, and that if she had the opportunity, she would totally"bounce on it.”To me, he's always just been Liam's favorite basketball coach, someone he looks up to and trusts.
"Hey, Wendy," Trey greets me with a smile. "Nice to see you."
"Good to see you too, Trey," I say, returning the smile easily.
"What's up, little man?" he says, holding his fist out for Noah to fist-bump. My boy does it quite theatrically, complete with an imaginary explosion, which makes Trey laugh.
"How's he doing?" I ask, nodding to where the boys are scrimmaging.
"He's doing great, as always," he says, glancing back at the boys. "We've been working on getting that jump shot off quicker. He's been taking on a more leadership role, and I'm gonna name him captain."
"Really? Oh, that's great," I say, excitement and pride blooming inside my chest.
My eyes immediately find my son posting up, pump faking, and then sinking a fade-away.
Noah and I clap for him, Noah cheering loudly, and it catches his attention. He smiles and waves when he sees us, before jumping right back into the scrimmage, completely focused.
"How are you doing?" Trey asks. "I feel like whenever I see you, it's in passing."
"Oh, I've been doing well," I say honestly. "Working at Mabel's. I see a lot more of your grandfather now."
"Yeah, he told me. I'm glad you're liking it," Trey smiles, gesturing to the seat beside me, silently asking if he can sit and I nod.
Noah is sufficiently distracted in front of me, happily eating, so Trey turns to me and lowers his voice. "I know it's not my place, but is everything alright at home?"
My stomach drops. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I just... haven't seen Atlas in a while. My dad sayswhen he comes into the store with Trace, he's... different. Shorter. Quieter. He asked me if you'd said anything, and I told him I'd ask," he holds his hands up slightly. "I'm not trying to get in y'all's business. I'm just concerned, because Liam is..."
The grimace on his face makes my stomach twist.
"What?"
"Liam's... angrier lately. More intense. Not in a bad way, he's not fighting anyone or anything. He's been channeling it in his game. Which can be good, but... I was just concerned, because when I told him he should practice his jump shot at home with his dad, he said..." he sighs deeply. "Well, he said, 'Yeah, and when should I do that?' It made me a little concerned."
My eyes drop to the gym floor, the words getting lodged in my throat. I know this is only one of many times I'll have to tell people this, and at least it's Trey that's finding out first.
"The boys don't know yet, but Atlas and I are separating."
Trey winces, "I kind of figured, with your new job and the lack of Atlas around. I'm really sorry to hear that, Wendy."
"It's okay," I say, because it is and it isn't, both truths existing at once. "Please don't mention anything to Liam. I'm going to talk to him and his brother this weekend."
"I won't say a word," Trey says instantly, fingers crossed over his chest. "Promise."
"Thank you."
"And if you ever need anything," he adds, voice steady, "you know my family has always got your back."
I smile. "I really appreciate that, Trey."
