And the reasoning receives a sharp gasp prior to a whispered, “Mari…”
Her dark brows lift high on her cocoa-colored complexion.
“Um…” a hiccup escapes before anything else, “I…” the nervous tick that reveals she’s eventhinkingabout lying reveals itself upon her completed approach. “We…” This time two bounce her frame to the point I slide an arm around her waist forunspoken support. Support that manages to soothe the tell long enough for her to sigh, “Yes.”
Coach’s wife slowly nods while remaining speechless for a moment longer.
This isn’t how I wanted him to find out.
I wantedusto tell him.
At the very least his sister.
His best friend.
Not his wife.
Which she will.
Couples can’t keep shit like this from each other.
Shouldn’t.
I’d damn sure never expect them to.
Or even ask.
“I don’t wanna do this wronggggggg!!!!” screeches my baby brother like a country themed Steven Tyler from the kitchen. “Gilllyyyy!”
She winces, presses her lips together in an effort to hide her frustration, and calls back, “Give me a sec!” The sound of the teen’s voice – to my surprise – shifts a smile onto Mari’s face that prompts my girlfriend to confess, “We’re making his first mum.”
Mari immediately tosses a hand over her heart. “Ohmygod,do you remember when your brother made me mine?”
“I remember giving him shit about using more glitter in his life than he ever did toothpaste,” she good naturedly snickers.
“Ughhhhh,” groans the woman that will someday be my sister-in-law, “why do guys think we needthatmuch glitter? I looked like I was cos’ playing Tinkerbelle for weeks!”
“Takin’ that note like a ‘Shot Through the Heart’,” I quietly announce, hoping to be welcomed into the conversation.
“Good!” Mari mirthfully retorts; although the sweetness in her voice quickly fades when she meets Gilly’s gaze again. “Does Mil know?”
My girlfriend cringes and hiccups in tandem.
“Do your parents know?”
“They do,” leaves me along with a comforting stroke to her side. “And I think they like me.”
“They love you,” corrects the woman in my arms under her breath.
“And I’m pretty sure they like Bronny.”
“Hot!” he shouts ridiculously loud. “Why are you so effing hot?!”
“Why…” I lightly chuckle, “I ain’t got a clue.”
She merely offers us an amused headshake and inquires, “Do the boys know?”
“They do.” My free hand finds its way to my lime green sweats pants pocket. “And so does Hot Rocket – er – Hennington.”
