Mia thanks Dustin, gives him a high five and then she says, “I need to thank my coaches.”
“Yes. You go do that and then we’ll go get ice cream,” I tell her.
She starts to run toward Greyson. Then she turns back toward me and shouts, “I wish my daddy could be here! He would be so proud of me.”
I go suddenly still, unable to move. My gut is a wind tunnel. The air whooshes out of me. Avery’s hand is instantly on my back—silently holding me together.
I muster a smile for Mia. She turns and runs to Greyson and Will to thank them.
“Gut punch,” I tell Avery.
“You’re not kidding. Kids are amazing. How can she still want him here when the idiot doesn’t even show up for stuff like this—ever?”
Avery carries so much of my righteous indignation for me, and I’m eternally grateful to her for it.
“People can’t do what they can’t do,” I say simply to my sister. “And I’d far rather be the little girl with a heart wide open than the grown man who somehow lost touch with his.”
“Touché,” Avery says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “She’s awesome because she has you.”
My eyes drift over to Mia. She’s smiling up at Greyson. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking down at her, telling her something. I wish I knew what he was saying.
He gives her a high five, then he holds his hand higher and she jumps and slaps his hand with hers.
They turn toward me at the same time.
When Mia walks away from Greyson, he follows her—in my direction.
“Congratulations,” I say when he’s within earshot.
“Thanks.” He looks from me to Avery and back to me.
I told him she knows about us now.
“Avery,” Greyson says. “Do you mind if I have a minute with Mia’s mom?”
“Ohhh. By all means. Go talk baseball things with Mia’s mom.” She winks at Greyson and I give her an elbow to the side.
“Ouch!” she says, far too loudly.
Mia’s already running up and down the bleachers with two other players while their moms talk at the end of the row.
Greyson pulls me aside. “I wanted to ask you to dinner.”
His posture looks like he’s talking about baseball. Anyonewatching us would have no idea he just asked me to share a private meal with him.
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah. Can you get away to come over?”
“Let me check with Mom to see if she can watch Mia. I’ll text you.”
“Great,” he says. And then, as he walks away. “Let’s extend the snack rotation to include playoffs.”
I almost chuckle at his attempt at a cover-up. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to the other moms.”
Do I really have to talk to them? They don’t seem to want to talk to me. Chirsty does, but the rest are still only mildly cordial—on a good day.
I walk back toward Avery.
