I curl up on the couch, tucking my feet beneath me, wrapping myself in the quiet. For tonight, I let myself be a little sad for the woman who thought she knew where she was going.
And then I turn off the light, leaving the future for another day.
thirteen
Colson
“Thismaybeadumb question, but does the phrasecherry pitmean anything to you? Other than the literal?” I ask Sadie as the last kid gets picked up from camp. I’ve been helping out over the last few days, and somehow we’ve fallen into this easy rhythm—moving around each other, working together, trading jabs that feel way too natural.
I’ve put my mom’s list on the fridge–the things I want to try and get to. The first thing on there ischerry pitand I still don’t know what that even means. I wouldn’t say I’m off to the strongest start but it’s better than nothing.
We’re walking back into the gym to close up when she responds, “Cherry Pit. It’s a place. Have you not been there yet?”
“Considering I just asked you what it was, how could I have been there?” I poke, mostly to see that little eye roll she does.
“It’s a Golden Harbor staple,” she explains. “Every Thursday during the summer, they have these contests… like who can make the best thing. Whatever it is that week. Think cherry jams, cookies, juice, salsa—”
“You did not say cherry salsa. That sounds like a hell no from me.” My brows pull together and I definitely judge.
She stops walking and shakes her head at me. “Do not knock it until you try it. Salsa is one of the things that gets two Thursdays! There are so many people who want to participate that they break it up into two different weeks. And it’s delicious.”
I lift my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say. No judgement.”
We start putting the basketballs back on the racks when Sadie asks, “So, are you free tomorrow night?”
I stop, hands on my hips, the gym suddenly feeling smaller. Her eyes are on me—curious, hopeful in a way that hits unexpectedly hard.
“For what?” I ask, trying to sound casual even though my chest tightens.
Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “Cherry Pit. It’s Thursday. The whole thing we just went over,” she grumbles while pointing between us.
Wait. What? Does she want to come with me?
“You—ugh.” I put my hand through my hair until it reaches my neck. I pull at the skin. “Want to go?”
She side-eyes me long enough for me to think about it. To wonder if that’s a flash of disappointment.
“Relax, Colson. It’s cherries. Not a marriage proposal.”
Her face almost pales on those last two words. I watch her swallow past whatever it is.
“Cherry pit. Yes. Let’s do it.”
Sadie smiles as she pushes the racks back so they’re ready to go for us tomorrow morning.
Us? Who am I? I’ve found it easy to kind of melt into her rec center schedule. That can’t be all that bad, right?
Fuck. Probably.
I don’t know. It’s easier to letthatbe the thing determining what’s on my schedule. The short term version of what’s next.
Do you know what I like best? I’m Coach Colson—not NBA player Colson Burke. I know some of the kids and their parents know who I am, a few bringing some things for me to sign in the most quiet and respectful way I’ve encountered.
No one’s blown it up yet. Nothing has been leaked.
After everything is put away, ready for another day of basketball chaos, Sadie’s locking the door when I ask her about it.
“Did you tell people? To keep me here a secret? Or something?”
