Page 110 of Ella Gets the D
“Haile Bear.” Julian slides his rugby bag off his shoulder to join her at the island. They share the handshake they’ve been practicing with Jackson for weeks.
“Can you please tell my mom Jackson will survive today?”
“She’s still nervous about the game.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sheis standing right here,” I say with a laugh. “Haile, please get your brother and tell him breakfast is ready.”
“Yes, Mommy.” She takes off for the stairs and yells for her brother halfway up. “Jackson! Get off the game and come eat!”
I scoop pillowy eggs onto two plates with a satisfied nod. I might have burned toast on more than one occasion, but I am good with scrambled eggs. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. I usually keep pregame meals to a protein bar. What’s going on today?”
I slide the plates over the island and avoid his stare. Can’t a woman worry in peace? “It’s fine.” I wave a hand and put the skillet in the sink. “I’m fine, really. Just being silly.”
Julian rounds the island, pulls me to his chest, and buries his face in my neck. His voice is a velvet murmur. “How can I put your mind at ease?” Soft lips rush the hollow of my throat. “Need me to take care of you downstairs?”
I bump him with my butt and giggle. “If you don’t back up!” He leans against the counter to mirror my stance. “I know it’s safe.”
He nods for me to continue.
“I don’t want him to get hurt. What if some kids forget it’s flag rugby and tackle him? There’s no protection.” I bite my lip at how foolish this must sound to Julian. Here I am freaking out about flags when he and Antonio send men on their asses every game.
“There’s a risk of accident or injury with any contact sport, but we make flag rugby as safe as possible,” Julian says. “We emphasize on- and off-pitch safety and encourage an environment of respect and safe play. Jackson has natural instincts, and he’s building the awareness of a great player. Plus, he has a good coach.”
I roll my eyes and huff out a laugh. “Says the one coaching him.”
Julian started up a youth rugby team in February with a former player who now coaches at a nearby university. He takes Jackson with him to practice every Tuesday and Thursday before he hits the pitch for himself. I put the ninety minutes to good use by taking Haile to the jiujitsu classes I no longer needto figure out how to squeeze in on Saturdays. Her MMA gym—yes, that’s still wild to say about my five-year-old—isn’t far from Jackson and Julian’s practice pitch, which makes for a smooth pick-up.
Everything fits, and where I once had to shuffle solo, I now have someone who willingly puts in the effort. I don’t rely on Julian because I have to. God knows enough mothers have proven time and time again that when our backs gets pushed against the wall, we’ll find a way to get it handled.
The past eleven months have taught me that time is priceless. I discounted myself for a man who never recognized my value, and I won’t make the same mistake again. I’m a rare commodity, and the price went up.
I stare at the one who enchants my heart, caresses my imperfections, and helped nurture me back to life. My steps are quick to close the distance for a kiss. He meets my lips, capturing every emotion whirring through me with a soul-reaching tenderness.
“I love you.” He reclaims my mouth at the declaration, lifting my face into his hands with a gentle possession.
The rumbling from upstairs breaks us apart as Jackson and Haile barrel down the steps. Our glances linger while the kids sit in front of their plates and proceed to scarf their food.
Jackson and Julian clown me for the snacks I packed for them, which make Costco samples look like crumbs. We throw the bags and the kids’ suitcases in the trunk and head to the pitch belting songs from theAladdinsoundtrack.
“He sure is fast. Look at him go!” Ms. Thelma sticks two fingers in her mouth to whistle at Jackson. I would do double take at the gesture if my son wasn’t speeding down the turf.
Julian is jogging along the sideline with a clipboard in one hand and a raised fist. Jackson’s opponent gets within reach of his flag, but at the last minute, my son cuts left to score.
“Woo!” Our little cheering section is small but mighty. Ms. Thelma is on her feet, whistling. Katharine narrows her hands into a makeshift megaphone. I’d never heard my mother-in-law raise her voice, let alone show up so casually dressed. She’s in high-waisted khakis and navy heels, but at least it’s not a suit or a blouse.
Even Haile is taking in her brother’s big moment.
Julian and Jackson share a look before Julian ruffles Jackson’s curls and calls him and the rest of the team in for a huddle. He’s in his element as coach, laughing with the kids and using his knowledge to build up the next generation of players. A natural educator, and quite the mom magnet.
More than one has come up to offer him everything from a Capri Sun and fruit snacks to a neck massage. He’s been sending bunny-eyed SOS signals from the field, but what does he expect me to do? Brawl in the stands? Go off on someone willing to give up their pretzels when he’s been snacking on my trail mix?
We can’t draw attention to ourselves, and no one has crossed the line—though DJ’s mom does look a little sus with a paper airplane in her hand, one that I bet contains her number.
Ms. Thelma leans over and nods at the formation of mothers on the first row behind Julian. “That poor boy will have to fight them off with a stick. Can’t say I blame them. You could bounce a quarter off that butt.”
