Page 71 of Tackle

The front door opened as they made their way up the walk. His mom came out, a beaming smile on her face, her hands flying over her head. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

A petite woman, she still managed to wrap him in a big bear hug with a strength that belied her small size. He hugged back, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of roses and sunshine even on such a dreary overcast day. “It’s good to be here. I’ve missed you.”

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, smiling up at him. “You look good. Happy.” Then her gaze found Emerson. “And you must be the reason why.” Emerson received an equally large hug.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Ms. Turney. Oz talks about you all the time.”

She guffawed. “I insist you call me Rita. Shall we go in? You must be chilled to the bone.”

“Take Emerson in and show her around. I’m going to grab our bags.”

After depositing their stuff in his old bedroom, Oz found them, their heads together, in front of the fireplace mantel, overloaded with pictures in an assortment of frames and sizes, featuring him as the star. Oz internally groaned as they oohed and aahed over every stage of his life from baby-faced toddler to surly teen and everything in between—a chronicle of his life right before their eyes.

“This one’s my favorite.” His mom picked up a blue frame which housed a picture of Oz dressed in a baseball uniform and holding a trophy, his grin showing off his missing two front teeth.

“He didn’t play football?” Emerson asked, surprised.

“That came a few years later.”

“Ah, the shrine of my life,” Oz said, coming into the room. “Has Mom shown you her collection of my baby teeth yet?”

She slapped him on the arm. “Oh stop. You know the Tooth Fairy has all those.”

Emerson chuckled and held up a photo of a baby Oz dressed only in a diaper, his face and chest covered in spaghetti. “You were so cute,” she gushed.

Oz felt his cheeks heat and he zipped his gaze around the room, trying to find anything else they could focus on. They landed on his mom’s bookshelf. Eureka. “Oh,” he turned to Emerson. “Have you seen Mom’s cookbook collection? I know how much you love those.”

“Stop trying to distract her,” his mom snapped playfully.

Emerson chuckled.

Oz was never so relieved to hear the sound of a buzzer from the vicinity of the kitchen.

“Oh! That’s the meat loaf.”

Oz grinned, patting his stomach. “Time to eat.”

Food. The universal subject changer.

“What’s on your mind, son? You’re quiet, even for you.”

They were sitting in the living room, sipping hot chocolate, watching the sun set through the large bay window. Dinner was done and Emerson, claiming exhaustion, had escaped to his room to give them some privacy.

Oz did not want to have this conversation, so he stalled, like the big fat chicken that he was. “Why does something have to be on my mind? Can’t I just be enjoying the peace and the view and my current company?”

“You could be, but you’re not. I’ve known you for thirty years, Oz Olson, and you didn't come all the way out here on your only break from the season just to sit here with me and watch the snow melt.” She took a sip of her cocoa and nonchalantly threw out, “Is Emerson pregnant?”

Oz almost choked on the gulp he took. Thankfully, he was able to swallow it down safely and not spew the liquid from his mouth. “No!”

“Well, damn.”

“Jeeze, Mom.” Oz shook his head. He knew his face was beet red. It felt like it was on fire.

“What? A mom can hope, you know.”

“Can we at least get married first?”

Her eyes brightened and a smile lit her face. “Is that why you’re here? Did you and Emerson get engaged?”

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