Page 18 of The Nicest Thing
My eyes closed on a wince.
"I didn't want to bother you,mi carino.But it's the third one this week, and well…"
"Oh no,yaya.What'd it say?"
"A bunch of nonsense."She scoffed."Something about how rent is due, and if he doesn't get it, they'll kick me out on my rear.Blah, blah, blah."
"I'm so sorry," I said."I thought we had another week."
"Pssh, what are you apologizing for?You're not to blame."
She sniffed, and I could practically see her frown.
"It's that Directormierda."
I shook my head."You shouldn't call him that…even if it is true."
Director Redmond really was a shit.
"Well, maybe if he stopped being a little shit, I wouldn't," she said, echoing my thoughts."But perhaps you're right.I'll switch to Directorputain.The French curses don't sound nearly as insulting but pack twice the punch."
I laughed, couldn't help it.It was either that or cry.
"I miss Angela," she said wistfully.
"Me too," I said.
The old director of Silver Pines Senior Living was an angel on Earth.She cared about the residents, saw them as actual people and worked with us to find solutions for payment options in difficult times.Unfortunately, she'd been replaced last year with Director Shaw Redmond.He sent threatening notices—what yaya called "nasty grams"—never remembered the seniors' names, and only cared about money.
"Sorry again,yaya.I was already planning to come tomorrow morning.I'll see you bright and early for our tea."
"Stop apologizing," she said.
"Okay."
"And don't forget the strawberry jelly."
"You got it."
"Ah, my little Rose, I love you so," she said.
"I love you too,yaya," I said."Call me if you need anything."
"Same to you,mi carino.See you soon."
"Bye,yaya."
After she hung up, I took a deep breath.Everything was fine.I had the money for this month.There was nothing to fear.But my sales were dipping; the prices at Silver Pines kept climbing, and Grandma Rose's call was the reminder I needed.Gathering my papers, I strode toward the field in search of my best friend.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Once I reached the bleachers, my eyes found him immediately.It wasn't that hard.Finn was in the third row.He had a notebook resting on his lap and a pencil in one hand as he took notes.His attention was fully on the field.The other people in the stands—girls mostly—shifted their gaze between various players and…him.Finn O'Brien had just as much pull.More really.The O'Brien force was strong with him.I knew he was writing stats.Finn tried to explain to me once how he input all the data and analyzed it to produce the best outcome for both the Wolves and each individual member of the team.I didn't followeverything, but my big takeaway was that my best friend was a genius.
A sentiment shared by the entire Wolves baseball team.
Despite their star players—Finn's older brothers—graduating and going on to play professional ball, the Wolves were still in contention for a run at the championship.
It was a testament to his mother's coaching.But I knew Coach O'Brien would be the first to give Finn credit.He didn't play the game.He worked behind the scenes to make everyone else better, not needing praise or adulation.
