Page 11 of The Game Is Afoot

Anyway, that’s what’s been heavy on my heart today! Thank you for letting me share—I don’t know what I’d do without my circle of mamas I love you all to the moon and back!!

Four

At 8:42 a.m., Brady Parkis already so crowded that we have to park three blocks over, and even then I have to make some risky moves to squeeze my Prius between two minivans.

The place has the energy of Coachella…or at least what I think Coachella is like. I don’t willingly go places that will require me to use a porta-potty and/or stand for more than ten minutes. But there are devoted fans staking out their spots, an electric anticipation of what’s to come, and cheers already filling the air even though the first game of the morning doesn’t start until nine thirty. The crowd is a lot shorter, I guess, seeing as most of them haven’t yet hit puberty, and instead of a sea of sponsored Revolve clothing, there are soccer uniforms in a rainbow of colors. Still, this is the Coachella of extracurricular activities, and I’m expected to brave it bright and early every Saturday morning.

“Is that your seventh cup of coffee or your…infinity-eth?” Pearl asks as we walk across the big field. She’s teetering to the right under the weight of her gear bag, which she insisted on carrying herself.

“It’s only my third, baby girl.”

She raises her eyebrows. “That still seems like too much to me.”

Two toddlers in orange jerseys and matching hair bows kick their ball our way, and I just barely dodge getting knocked in the head.Seems like not enough right now.

“That’s why you couldn’t get off the can this morning,” my dad says, hoisting our two lawn chairs farther up on his shoulders. “You’re messing up your stomach with all that caffeine. One a day, that’s all you need! My alarm got me up at five thirty a.m. every day for forty years, and that’s all I ever needed! Otherwise you get all…” He makes a very helpful swirling motion around his stomach, then flicks his fingers behind him, in case I was uncertain what he meant.

“I’m sorry, can wenottalk about my bowel movements? Also, you’re the reason I couldn’t sleep last night and needed all this coffee. You woke up Polly, coming home all late.”

“Bowel movements, bowel movements,” Pearl repeats, trying it out in her mouth. “That sounds funny!”

“Hey now, Bert coordinated a guest for us to interview last minute. We had to work with her schedule if we wanted her on the show,” he explains. “And anyway, that dog may run your life, but she doesn’t run mine.”

He says that as if I don’t see him passing her scraps off his plate every night, insisting she needs just a little taste.

“Oh yeah, Jack mentioned that you asked him to be a guest, too. Since when are you having guests on your podcast? And anyway, Jack doesn’t even watchLaw and Orderunless I put it on.”

“Well, our focus is shifting slightly—”

“Bowel movements. Bow-wel mooooove-ments.”

“What’s a bowel movement?” Langston, one of Pearl’sfriends, falls in line with us. He’s wearing an aquamarine jersey that matches hers.

Pearl shrugs. “I don’t know, but my mom has them.”

“It’s a poop, little man,” Jasmine, Langston’s mom and my best friend, explains with a loud laugh, and her husband, Leon, joins in. “And what’s going on with yours, Mavis? Did you have a weird one? Do you need some advice?”

“Oh my god, no! Can we all stop talking about this?” I mean, I can’t betooindignant, because I do go to Jasmine for medical advice often. She’s an ob-gyn and her husband is a nurse, so between the two of them, I’m usually covered. But not for this. And not so loud in the middle of Brady Park. My bowel movements arefine.

“Okay, girl. Suit yourself.” She pulls me into a tight hug, filling my nose with her comforting scent of cocoa butter lotion and floral perfume. She’s wearing a sweatshirt withGo Sports!embroidered on the front and eyeshadow to match the team’s jerseys. “Just text me, and I’ll help you out,” she adds in a whisper. “But please, no pictures.”

I groan and play-shove her away, and her eyes dance with mischief.

“Coach Cole said this is going to be a tough one, Elijah,” Leon says, clapping my dad’s shoulder. “There’s an eight-year-old on the other team that looks like he’s thirteen, and I hear he keeps diving. Always at the end of the second half, too.”

My dad sucks his teeth. “Well, we gotta watch that ref then. Make sure he calls a foul. And has Cole checked that birth certificate?”

They always launch into this soccer strategy talk as soon as they see each other. Leon’s the one who suggested we enroll Pearl in the league, and my dad was measuring her feet for cleats before I could even give a definite answer. I could ask what thehelldivinghas to do with soccer when there’s no water nearby, but then I’d get a whole lesson on soccer fundamentals followed by a play-by-play through the whole game. And it’s just not that serious for me—or Pearl. The most strategy she employs during these games is making sure she’s on the bench at the same time as Axel so they can pick flowers for crowns together.

“Hey Jack! Hey Derek!” Jasmine calls, waving to where Jack is sitting with his brother. She turns to me. “Oh, he’s so cute, getting here early and saving spots. Do you ask him to do that, or does he keep doing it on his own?”

“He does it on his own.”

She puts the back of her hand to her forehead and feigns fainting, and my skin warms like the sun just came out. Jack asked for a copy of Pearl’s game schedule, and the next time I was at his place, I saw it up on the refrigerator, right under the lunch menu for Derek’s day program. It’s still new between us, only a few months now of officially dating, but moves like that make me start dreaming of…well, a lot longer.

Jack jumps up, runs to meet us, and quickly slides one of the chairs from my dad’s shoulder.

“Hey.” He kisses my cheek, scratching me with his salt-and-pepper stubble, and takes my only cargo, my giant water bottle. No more moving the goalpost:Self-care starts today!And drinking water is, like, level one of self-care.

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