Page 30 of Red Zone Realizations
Mom
How precious!
Lane
He’s got his uncle’s athleticism.
That is a cute photo of Mikey. I’m sure Mom read my text and said something to Dad, which made her forget to text me back.
I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want to be rude, so I just heart react to the photo and put my phone down on the counter.
Then I pour myself a glass of red wine.
Should I text Noah? I glance at my phone on the kitchen counter and consider snatching it back up and messaging him. I could tell him that sometimes it feels like my parents don’t care what I think or have to say if it doesn’t revolve around grandchildren. I could ask him what he ate for dinner and what his plans are for tomorrow and let him take my mind off my family. The first option will definitely end in questions Idon’t want to answer. So I decide not to text him as I take my wine and my phone with me to the dining room table.
It’s still early enough to get some work done before bed.
And why not, it’s not like I have anything else to do.
Chapter Fourteen
AUDREY
AUGUST
The time I’ve spent with Noah the last couple of weeks has been nothing short of amazing. We’ve mostly just been keeping to ourselves. Seeing movies and sitting way in the back. Hanging out at my house, making desserts and watching TV. Taking really long walks on days that Noah’s feeling tight after a tough workout—which now that training camp is over and they’re playing preseasons games is pretty often. But mostly, we’ve been getting to know each other. Taking things slow.
Is it a red flag on my part that I have yet to tell him why my relationship ended? Probably. I’m still not in a hurry. It feels like as long as we don’t have that conversation, then we’re not serious and this stays fun and just friends hanging out. And if we aren’t ever serious, then there’s no reason to have that discussion.
Despite that, I can’t help but crave being around him.There’s such a caretaker presence about him. He brings a calm with him wherever he goes. It’s like if shit is going to go sideways in my life and he’s around, he’s going to weather the storm for me. He won’t let me get into a hard place and will be the rock in my life.
It’s Michael’s fifth birthday this Sunday. His big party with all his little friends is next weekend, and this is just the family celebration. As I pull up to my parents’ house, I’m pretty confident in how things will go. I’ll quickly open a bottle of wine to get me through the entire day.
I love my family, but… when we all got together for my mom’s birthday a couple months ago, I walked in to find her hairdresser's son waiting to greet me at the front door. They thought I should get to know Sean. Apparently, he has a master’s in mathematics and wants to work at NASA. What’s not to like? Except the fact that this was only three months post-engagement blow up, and I was in no way ready to be set up with someone. I wish my mom would have known that it was too soon for me. But it never even occurred to her, I guess.
My parents are pushy, but they only have their life experiences to go off of, so that’s what they think everyone should have. It doesn’t come from a place of negativity, just a bootstraps mentality. It worked for them when they were younger (and the economy was better and everything was all around cheaper). But literally, times are so different now, yet they don’t acknowledge that.
Mikey plops down on the sofa next to me and heaves a sigh only a kid who has no real responsibilities is capable of.
“What’s up, bud?”
“Why don’t I have any cousins?” Mikey is very upfront, no decorum.
“Because Uncle Lane doesn’t have any kids yet.”
“But you could.”
“I could, but I don’t.”
“Why not?”
I stall, thinking how to best answer. A four—sorry, five-year-old—isn’t going to understand sexism, misogyny, and reproductive freedoms. I go with the age-appropriate truth instead. “Everyone wants different things in life. Some people want to have kids, other people want to focus on their careers. I have different things that bring me happiness. Like hanging out with you.” I tickle his side teasingly. “Besides, you’d have to share your cake.”
He thinks for a second, the wheels behind his big brown eyes turning. “You’re right. More cake for me.”
“Exactly.” I nudge him to the edge of the couch. “Now go wash up for dinner.”
Dinner is only mildly chaotic. The chicken and the sides aren’t done at the same time, and Mom’s in a tizzy that waiting for the potatoes will dry the chicken out. My nephew is pretty unenthusiastic about being ripped from his iPad to sit at the dining room table.
