I peer up from the phone to see Mom staring at me.
“What?”
“You know what?” she deadpans. “You and Wyatt hang outeverynight. It would be good for you to go out.”
“I went out a couple weeks ago with Lindy andBrent.”
Mom chuckles. “Why must you say his name like that?”
I shrug and bite my inner cheek.
“Besides, that doesn’t count. That was Lindy’s date, not yours.”
She’s right. It absolutely does not count. Never would I ever go out with Reggie—the Diet Coke hater with out-of-control eyebrows and a tall-women fetish—ever again. And truthfully, it has nothing to do with the Diet Coke diss or the crazy brows. He was rude. And he stared at me like I was an Amazonian woman.
I press my lips together.
“You should go, dearest.” My mother is seventy years of wisdom and goodness. I would be a complete idiot not to listen to every word that leaves her mouth.
“But she’s a Red Tail player’s wife. It could be a conflict of interest for me to be seenwith her.”
Mom nods, understanding. She’s followed me and my career for two decades. She knows soccer almost like I do. “They’re semi-pro, though. Right? Last I checked, you still hadn’t accepted that promotion to ref in the major league.”
“Yes, but still pro. There are still expectations. And you know why I haven’t accepted that promotion. It means so much more time away from Wyatt.”
“I know that, darling.” She dries her hand on a rag and cups my cheek. “I also know there are expectations for a referee in the pros. But you and I both know those expectations are more relaxed in the minor league. Be cautious and smart. But don’t miss out when you so clearly want to go.”
“Clearly want?—”
“You wouldn’t be talking about it otherwise.” Mom’s hand slides down until she’s holding my own. “You have sacrificed a lot for your family, Maggie.”
I shake my head, still in her hold, my throat aching suddenly.
“You have. I know it. Daddy knows it. So does Lindy. You and Wyatt are the only two oblivious to the fact.” She grins, and it’s contagious. I grin, too, all the while my eyes fill with tears. “It’s okay for you to have a life, baby girl.”
“Is it?”
She lifts on her toes, as my mother is three inches shorter than me, and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Yes.”
“You don’t think it would be a horrible conflict of interest?”
“Are you going to suddenly become biased and change the way you ref? All because of an art show?”
“No.” I search the ground. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Go out with your friend, Maggie. If you feel like it’s swaying you one way or the other, revisit the situation.”
I swallow. “It might not hurt anything.”
“Not at all. And last I checked, this Fran wasn’t a soccer player. You’re meeting her there, not the Red Tails.”
It feels like a stretch, like justification. But also true. And she’s right, I do want to go.
This small pop-upgallery for the community of Tesoro is packed with Red Tails. Like, does every single Red Tail love art? Pottery, to be more exact? How in the world did this happen? I came here to meetFran, all while insisting I’d be lucky if I ran into any Red Tails at all, assuring myself that I wouldn’t be socializing with them, and now every last one is here.
Ugh.
Including… Oh,heaven help me. Saint Lucca Cruz.
