“Killing time so I don’t go crazy,” I admit. “Mostly.”
That earns me a knowing smile.
“Nervous?”
I shrug. “Not really. We’ll either win or we won’t. It’s the waiting that gets to me.”
He nods, thoughtful in a way that feels older than his years. “Do you think your dad will be at the game again?”
My shoulders tighten out of habit. “I hope not,” I answer, honestly.
He doesn’t react right away. He just processes it.
“My father and I don’t have a good relationship,” I add.
“We should start a club,” Sam says dryly. “Why don’t you get along with him?”
I want to be truthful, but I’m also aware I’m talking to a kid. A perceptive one, but still a kid. I choose my words carefully.
“He’s not a nice man. He wasn’t a good dad when I was growing up. He was pretty mean.” I hesitate. “To me and my sister. And to my mom.”
My throat tightens as the words settle between us.
“Is your mom…” he starts, then stops.
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” I say quietly. “Almost twenty years.”
He meets my eyes. “I’m still sorry.”
“Thanks.” I swallow, forcing a breath. “Anyway. He calls sometimes and gives me shit—” I catch myself. “I mean, crap.”
“It’s okay,” Sam says easily. “Ben says swearing is allowed when the situation calls for it.” He pauses, then adds with absolute certainty, “Your dad sounds like a real piece of shit.”
My laugh echoes off the walls of the equipment room. “Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess he really is.”
“I know what that’s like.”
My smile falters as I look down at him. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I know you do.”
He hops up onto the table, his legs swinging as they dangle above the ground. “I used to think it was my fault that he left. I get it now that it wasn’t.” He shrugs. “I don’t miss him. And I used to feel bad about that, because he’s my dad. You know?”
“I do.”
“But when I think about it, Mom and I were happier once he was gone. Like we could finally breathe.” He pauses, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “My teacher says families come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes they’re the ones you’re born into, and sometimes they’re the ones you choose.”
He looks up at me then, intently. “So, if your dad’s a jerk, I don’t think you have to feel bad about not wanting him around. You can make your own family. If you want.”
He doesn’t say the words outright, but I feel the invitation settle in my chest all the same.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “You’re a smart kid,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning. “I know.”
We both laugh.
