Page 21 of Wild Hit
CHAPTER 10
MIGUEL
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
Marty sighs like she’s seventy-years-old and has already lived a life, even though she’s just zipping up her sparkly black backpack for school. “You always ask that.”
I’m also zipping up my bag—the duffel one I pack as carryon for away series. Departure today is at a reasonable hour, so I didn’t have to ask Consuelo to come over early to get my daughter fed and delivered to her school bus safely. I’m taking care of it before I go.
“That’s because I always wonder the same,” I explain before pointing at her plate. “Finish your breakfast.”
This is a household that breaks its fast on arepa with cheese and eggs. Marty’s plate is complimented by orange juice and mine by a green protein shake that tastes like death compared to the corn dough sandwich of my native country. Marty twists on her chair back to focus on the food, her now fully loaded backpack sitting next to her on my spot.
Leaving my bags at the door, I return to the kitchen to finish drinking my swamp shake. Yesterday Marty was the most excited I’ve seen her in a long time after hanging out withour neighbor. I didn’t think it was the right time to bring up whatever’s going on at school. But my kid isn’t a morning person, so asking her right now isn’t going to make her morning any worse than it always is.
“So…” It’s funny how I have to gather my nerve for something like this. “How are things going on at school?”
She lifts her head from the arepa in her hands, watching me as I round the kitchen island. “School is okay.”
“Are you making new friends?”
She shrugs.
“Give it time. Sometimes it takes a while for people to open up to you.”
Shit. I walked myself into a conversational wall.
I let her munch for a while, buying myself some time to devise a new approach. But even though my brain races with possibilities, I’m modest enough to admit that I’m only really smart at the game of baseball and nothing else, and finesse requires wits that I just don’t have. I end up going for the very direct approach.
“Anything difficult at school?”
She gives another long suffering sigh and sets the last of her food down on the plate. “Did she tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I tilt my head, a moment later realizing that if I really wanted to seem innocent, what I should’ve questioned was the who and not the what.
Her little mouth arcs with displeasure. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Do you not know me?” I cross my arms over the counter, lowering myself closer to her eye level. “All I ever do is worry about you, chiquita.”
It embarrasses her when I call herlittle one, especially because she’s always the tallest girl in her classroom—even over the boys, since they’re still not teens. But what can I say? She’salways going to be the tiny bundle of farts and puke I used to hold in my arms.
She pokes at her food with her finger, avoiding my eyes as she speaks. “There’s going to be this thing at school that I’d like to go to…”
“Hmm?” My shoulders relax. That doesn’t sound like much trouble at all. Of course I’ll let her go to a school day trip or a pajama party with responsible parents or?—
“But I can’t, because I don’t have a mom.”
I freeze. You could hear a pin drop.
Finally I break. “Wait, what?”
“It’s a mom and daughter tea party at the start of the new year. It’s a school tradition,” she says, her voice softer, like she’s about to cry.
The swamp protein shake in my stomach threatens to spill over.
Marty has a mom—she’s just in Doctors Without Borders, and last I checked was based out of Cambodia.
Lauren Smith showed up as a beautiful and fun woman at a nightclub. She was with other med school friends and I was with some teammates in the minors, riding a high after a commanding win against another team. One thing led to the next, and by morning we had no idea that we had just made the best mistake of our lives.
