Mom’s eyes shift to the women still huddled in my tiny kitchen.
“Um, six. I think,” Aunt Vera says. “But we’ll cancel them right now.”
“Please do.” I step out of my mother’s arms and rub the bridge of my nose.
Aunt Vera tiptoes out of the kitchen, grabbing the stack of phones from the coffee table before heading back to the rest of my aunts. She distributes the phones and, to their credit, it looks like they get started with canceling dates and deleting accounts right away. My shoulders sag in relief. Thank goodness that’s over. I wonder if I should tell them more about Nick before he shows up, or let them sweat it out? After all the trouble they’vecaused, I’m inclined to let them sweat. Besides, I have more pressing matters to explain to them right now.
“So, should we go down and get dinner started?” My mother asks, rubbing her hands together in excitement. She loves cooking in commercial kitchens.
“Before that, I have a couple of things to talk to you about.”
The look of surprise on their faces as I explain about Wade looking like someone they’ll recognize and how they, under no circumstances, are to mention it to anyone, pales in comparison to the excited grins they give me when I tell them about Carson. Because hiring him to help him out is the least of the ways I hope to take care of him. When I tell them he’s downstairs right now, I can’t contain them any longer. As one, they burst from my apartment and run down the stairs, where I assume they storm into the restaurant and demand to see him.
I can’t help but smile a little at their excitement as I watch them go.
Lesser Known Dangers Of Cornhole
Nick
“Where does Carson work,anyway?” Jared asks, tying his wet hair up on top of his head. When I interrupted his workout to tell him about our dinner plans, I asked him to shower early so we could talk about the living situation. I still need to tell him I’m planning to extend the offer of a permanent place to live to Carson, too. Not that I think he’ll have an issue with it, but if we’re going to be a family, we need to talk about things. Just like Carson and I talked a little about his parents earlier today.
And when I say we talked a little, I meana little.
It took Carson less than five minutes to settle on cremation and the least expensive urns the funeral home had. Rather than choosing internment, he’s keeping their remains until he finds somewhere meaningful to spread the ashes. Our conversation led me to the conclusion that aside from their love of drinking, Carson knew very little about his parents. He had no idea what they would have wanted as their final resting place, and he wasn’t ready to make that decision today. But he did what he could. And damn it, I am so proud of him for that.
Shortly after we finished talking about his parents, Carson informed me about the shift he has at work this evening. He said he was sorry, but that he couldn’t let his boss down and wouldn’t be joining us for dinner. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t talk him out of going. The kid lost his parents last night, and he still feels so much loyalty to his boss that he’s going to work.
When he left the house, I came into the gym to get in a little cornhole practice before heading over to Tina’s place. Peter might think I’d be better off to focus on my love life, but now that being with Tina is no longer a possibility, mastering cornhole is back on the agenda. Well... suckinglessat cornhole is back on the agenda, anyway. I know my limits. Just like I know cornhole is no substitute for Tina. But it’s what I’ve got, so it will have to do.
“I didn’t ask.” I shrug, pulling my practice cornhole board out of storage, forcing my brain to focus on anything other than Tina. “I was so stunned that he was thinking about going to work so soon after last night, it didn’t even occur to me to find out where. Bring the bean bags for me, would you?”
Jared grabs the bags off the shelf and jogs along behind me. He watches me set up the board, then walks with me to the line taped on the floor that marks the twenty-seven foot regulation distance before passing me the bean bags. Peter says there’sno point in practicing if you’re not practicing to competition standards.
“Wherever it is, he’ll have a hard time doing much with his hands all messed up,” Jared says, holding his hands up and rotating them at the wrists. “He should have taken a few days off, at least. I get why he didn’t, though. He was telling me last night that his boss has been better to him than his parents ever were.”
“I got that feeling, too, when he insisted on going to work today. Seems like whoever this boss is, they’re one of the few people who ever looked out for Carson.”
“Until now,” Jared says with a grin. “Until you.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “You already know, don’t you?”
“Know what? That you’re a big softie?” I cock an eyebrow at him, but that only encourages him. “That you’re going to be my new daddy? And Carson’s new daddy?” He says in a baby voice, then laughs. “I knew as soon as I walked in last night. That stunned look on Carson’s face? The way Gloria rushed to reassure me I wasn’t being sent to yet another new foster home? Yeah, I know.”
“And you’re fine with that?” I take my spot behind the line, then gently lob a bean bag toward the board, overshooting my mark by a good 5 feet. “You’ll be okay with another kid in the house?”
Jared laughs. “You serious, dude? Am I okay with another kid in the house? It’s one guy, and he’s older than I am.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe I would ask him such a ridiculous question. “Do you know how many shitty diapers I’ve changed over the years I’ve lived in foster care? How many crying babies I rocked to sleep at night because their lazy parents couldn’t be bothered to wake up when they had a free nanny, excuse me, I mean grateful foster kid, living in their house?” Hebarks another laugh. “Coach, this is the best situation I’ve ever lived in. Carson living there won’t make that any less true.”
Jesus, this kid. My heart breaks for him. “Okay.” I nod, turning away so he can’t see the emotion on my face. “Good to know.” I lob another bean bag, this time landing short by at least eight feet. “Shit,” I whisper harshly. “How am I getting worse?”
“I don’t know,” Jared says, grabbing a bean bag from me and tossing it in the air. “Were you standing closer to the board the last time you played?” He tosses the bean bag, and it lands in the hole without even touching the board. He claps me on the shoulder and says, “Keep trying. You’ll get there.”
He walks into the staff room as I stare after him with my mouth hanging open. How did he do that?
I bounce the last bean bag in my hand, visualizing the trajectory I want it to take when it leaves my hand. Over and over in my mind, I picture myself winding my arm back, before gracefully swinging it forward, then letting the bean bag go at the end of the arc. I watch the bean bag leave my hand. I watch it sail through the air. I imagine how it will feel to watch it land on the board before sliding into the hole. When I’ve visualized the sequence several times, I open my eyes, take a deep breath, then perform the action precisely like I’ve done it in my mind, expecting to see it land on the board in the same way.
But that’s not what happens.
Not. Even. Close.
