Page 3 of Catching Her Heart
I turn to find a woman in her fifties with beaming at me. She's wearing an Austin Stars jersey with "BRENNAN" and the number 12 on the back.
"Excuse me, what?"
"Teddy told us he met someone special! I'm Kathleen, Ted's mom." She pulls me into a hug before I can explain the misunderstanding. "Girls! She's here!"
Two more women turn around—one about my age wearing the same jersey, and an elderly woman with perfectly set silver hair and sharp blue eyes.
"This is Bridget, Ted's sister, and this is Nana Brennan," Kathleen continues, beaming. "We are so excited to finally meet you!"
"Oh, I think there's been a?—"
"You're even prettier than Teddy described," Nana interrupts, pulling out her phone. "Let me show you his baby pictures!"
"I'm actually not?—"
"Don't be modest, honey," Bridget chimes in. "We know all about you. The sports reporter, right? Teddy was so flusteredwhen he came home yesterday, talking about this brilliant woman who asked all the right questions."
I open my mouth to correct them, but Kathleen is already unpacking what appears to be enough food to feed a small army.
"I made sandwiches," she announces, pressing a wrapped bundle into my hands. "Corned beef. Teddy's favorite. And I brought extra just in case you came! A mother knows these things."
"Mrs. Brennan, I think you misunderstood?—"
"Call me Kathleen, sweetheart. We're practically family now!"
Practically family? I've known Ted for exactly one day, and that was a professional disaster.
"Look, there's our boy!" Nana points toward the field where the players are taking warm-up swings. "Number 12. Isn't he handsome in his uniform?"
I follow her gaze and spot Ted behind home plate, adjusting his chest protector. Even from here, I can see the easy confidence in the way he moves, the way other players gravitate toward him between drills.
"He's been talking about you nonstop," Bridget whispers conspiratorially. "Asked Mom to make extra sandwiches, which he never does unless he's really smitten."
"I think you're confused about?—"
"Oh! It's time for the national anthem!" Bridget jumps to her feet. "This is my favorite part!"
Everyone around us stands, and I'm trapped in the middle of the row with no escape route. The announcement comes over theloudspeaker asking everyone to remove their hats and put their hands over their hearts.
That's when Bridget opens her mouth and begins to sing.
It's very enthusiastic. Also very loud. And very, very off-key. I try to keep my expression neutral, but it sounds like she's torturing the melody with a rusty spoon.
People in the rows around us are starting to wince. A man in front of us actually covers his ears, pretending to adjust his cap. But Kathleen and Nana are swaying along proudly, completely oblivious to the musical carnage happening.
"What so proudly we haaaaaailed..."
I glance down at the field and see Ted looking up at our section. His shoulders are shaking slightly, and I realize he's trying not to laugh. When our eyes meet, he shrugs apologetically and mouths "I'm sorry."
Despite everything—the confusion, the trapped situation, the assault on my eardrums—I find myself smiling back and mouthing "They're sweet."
And I mean it. They are sweet, in an overwhelming, assume-you're-dating-their-son kind of way.
Bridget's crescendo could probably shatter glass. The poor man in front of us gives up all pretense and just openly covers his ears.
When the anthem finally, mercifully ends, everyone sits down with visible relief. Bridget looks flushed and proud.
"I've been taking voice lessons," she announces to no one in particular.
