Page 9 of The Thought of You

“I swear, all Laurel talks about is how busy she is, and I always think to myself, we could’ve accomplished so much in all the time it took for her to describe every excruciating detail of her jampacked schedule.” She scoffs, and it’s not as playful as the eye roll. “She’s in med school—we fucking get it.”

“Language,” I whisper and cover one of Huck’s innocent little ears.

“Relax. He doesn’t even know the difference between fuck and fofo.”

“What is fofo?”

“Exactly.” She blows loose strands of hair from her forehead. “As I was saying—thank you for coming. I wasn’t going to go to the thing earlier, but after I saw the grade on my essay, I needed all the help I could get.”

I was on the phone with her while on my way over, during which she mentioned “the thing” was a happy hour poetry slam at an artsy bar here in Savannah. The essay was for the English class she needs to retake this semester since her first attempt ended with too many absences because of morning sickness, doctor’s appointments, and what she refers to as her “cankle crisis.”

Huck’s eyes blink open again as if he can smell his dinner like I would a ribeye grilled to perfection.

“You’re only a month into this semester; you should really start off on the right stanza.” I snort as I slide the eager, wiggling baby into her open arms.

“You’re hilarious,” she deadpans as she positions the bottle into Huck’s ready mouth.

“It’s what I do best,” I joke, but there’s a layer of sad truth to it too.

I’ve been the funny guy ever since I can remember, and while it’s an easy, natural gig for me, it can be a double-edged sword at times.

“What you do best is being a big brother.” She lifts her tired yet sparkling eyes to meet mine, and my chest swells again. This time, it fills with pride. “Thanks again for coming over. I hope I didn’t spoil your evening.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, sis. In fact, next time you do, I’m taking back one of your wins. I’ll cross it right off the board.”

She gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

We’ve only recently started playing Jenga at family dinners again, and what started as a short-term solution to the twins’ bickering as kids has officially become the longest-standing Conrad tradition.

“How was the thing?” I ask her.

“It was actually more fun than I thought it would be.” Her yawn stretches through time and space. Between school and Huck, plus family dinners and the soreness in her back, she doesn’t get enough rest—not exactly the sleepless college experience she expected when she enrolled. “Got to hang out with some of my classmates, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to be with other people my age.”

I clutch my chest. “Ouch. And here I thought you just went because you had to.”

“I did have to. For many reasons,” she says with a lazy smile on her pale lips. “As much as I love you, most of our conversations and hangs lately have involved Huck’s spit-up, explosive diapers, and busted eardrums from trying to talk over his screams.”

“I fail to see the downside. I live for that stuff.” Again, my attempt at a joke is undercut with a hint of truth.

I might’ve moved back to Sapphire Creek because my ACL injury ended my professional baseball career just over a year ago, but that wasn’t the only reason. The biggest one is staring back at me with his wide, innocent eyes.

Whit shakes her head as Huck drains the last of the bottle. “We both need a life.”

Humming, I raise my hand and bring it an inch from her nose. “You are breathing.” I skim the backs of my knuckles against her cheeks. “And you are warm. Definite signs of living.” I crack a grin, and she tsks.

“You’re going to make some woman very happy and equally annoyed someday,” she says on a laugh.

“She’d be lucky to be on the receiving end of my huge?—”

She holds the bottle up with her fingers spread out from behind it. “Don’t be gross.”

“Jokes. My huge jokes. What did you think I was going to say, you perv?”

“I’m serious, Owen.” Her lips sink into a frown, and I brace myself. “You’ve been hiding away since your surgery, rehabbing your knee like a maniac in between working and trying to sell your house in Atlanta, and I’ve been cooped up in here with this little guy for what feels like an eternity. We should get out more and live.”

She’s right. I have spent the last year transitioning from a career in professional baseball to teaching Physical Education to high school freshmen in Atlanta. When the same position opened up in Sapphire Creek, I jumped at the chance to move back home and be closer to my family.

When I learned it was my old baseball coach who was retiring, the deal was even sweeter, as I received the added bonus of taking over my hometown’s team too. Principal Weathers chomped at the bit for me to coach and practically offered me the job before my interview had even begun.

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