The Sweetest Game (Page 34)
My parents always got along really well. Every fight I’d ever seen them have always ended with a kiss and my father calling my mother by her pet name, Kitten. I’d find it kind of cute if it didn’t make me want to fucking barf watching my parents make out like teenagers. There were some things you could never un-see.
No one knew why my dad called her Kitten, even though I’d asked about a million times. I couldn’t even look at a kitten without thinking about my mom, which was pretty fucked up, if you asked me. And don’t get me started on the deal with the quarters, either. I blocked out the real reason they collected them and chose to think about the stupid cutesy stories instead. Do you have any idea how weird it was to grow up thinking that quarters were meant to be put into jars and not spent? I almost had a coronary the first time one of my friends pulled a quarter out of his pocket and deposited it into a vending machine. As a matter of fact, I got a little hysterical, and the principal was forced to call my mom because I refused to calm down. She had to come get me and take me home. To this day, I ask for my change in dimes and nickels. No quarters for me.
No girls either. Unlike my dad, who was apparently some grade-A womanizing badass, I tried to steer clear of girls. They were distracting, and a pain in the ass. I had no idea how my dad got them to leave him alone, but if I so much as kissed a chick, I couldn’t shake her for months. Didn’t fucking need that.
“Chance! Get out here and warm up that arm, son!”
I headed out of the dugout and started tossing the baseball around with a teammate while my mind wandered briefly wandered back to my family. My dad never missed a game once his career ended. My mom, on the other hand, missed some here and there due to her photography jobs. She accepted work when my dad forced her to. He told me he could see it in her eyes when she wanted to cover a story and that we needed to encourage her to go.
More than once, Dad and I had sat on the couch together and informed her that the house wouldn’t burn down, I wouldn’t flunk out of school, Jacey would have her lunch packed and homework done, and we’d eat three meals a day if she left us for a week. We basically had to convince the woman that we would survive in her absence.
Compared to other moms, mine was rare. More often than not, my friends’ moms couldn’t wait to leave the house and not be held accountable for what happened there while they were away. My family, on the other hand, practically shoved my mom out the door every single time. She never wanted to leave us. And to be honest, my dad wasn’t the same when she was gone. He always seemed a little sad, no matter how happy he was with me and my sister.
When both games finally ended, the group of us always gathered at either our house or my uncle’s for dinner; tonight it was our turn. Whenever we’d get together, Gran would rave about how much she loved being surrounded by family, but sometimes I wanted to kill my little cousins. Tonight Uncle Dean’s nine-year-old twins were running around like they were possessed by demons, wanting to put makeup on me and paint my nails.
What was it with chicks? Why did they always want to mess with your nails? My sister encouraged their behavior, even after I warned her I’d throw her in the pool with her clothes on.
“You wouldn’t!” She narrowed her green eyes at me.
“I would. And I will. Try me,” I dared her.
“Enough,” Mom chided from the kitchen. “Come in and eat. Girls, leave Chance alone. He doesn’t want his nails painted today, but I bet your dad does.” She smiled at Uncle Dean, and Aunt Melissa burst out laughing.
My dad walked over to my mom and planted an embarrassing kiss on her lips before giving my sister and me a squeeze.
When dinner was ready, we all sat at the table as the conversation flowed and the noise grew so loud it could probably rival an Italian family gathering in New York. About halfway through the meal, Dad calmed the table down, asking for silence.
“I have some important news I want to share with you guys,” he said, leveling his gaze with mine. “Especially with Chance.”
Once everyone had piped down, Dad announced with a big grin, “Fullton State has had a scout at the last few home games. They like what they see with Chance.”
The whole table erupted into cheers, while my heart beat rapidly in my chest. Fullton State was the only place I wanted to play ball. I might not be a pitcher like my father, but going to the same college where he had started his career, and where he and my mom had met? To say it was my number one choice would be the understatement of the year.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Dad.” I shrugged, elated that my father would be there to continue molding me until I was ready for the major leagues. Some kids might resent their father micromanaging their sports participation, but I knew I was lucky. There was no one better than my dad when it came to baseball.
“Yeah, just stay away from all the, uh …” Uncle Dean paused, glancing around the table at all the young girls before continuing. “… distractions out there. Make sure you get a background check on every slut who tries to seduce you.”
“Dean!” Gran shouted from across the table.
“Oh my God! Don’t listen to him.” Aunt Melissa smacked his arm. “I mean, listen to him, but …” She grunted and stopped short of finishing her sentence.
Uncle Dean smirked. “I’m just trying to warn him. Someone needs to.”
Mom came around the table and patted me on the back. “Chance has his head on straight. He isn’t a Little Jack. Don’t you worry, he’s focused. He’ll be fine.”
“I hope I get to go to Fullton State too,” Coby interjected and my mom audibly sighed.
“I’m not sure I could live through history repeating itself,” her widened eyes met my Aunt’s.
“Two generations of Carter boys? Lord help us all,” Aunt Melissa shook her head.
Before I could say anything, Dad scooted his chair back and pulled on my mom’s hand, causing her to fall straight into his lap.
“I don’t think using me as a bad example is really working here, folks.” My dad frowned at the rest of the family while wrapping his arms around my mom’s waist. “‘Don’t be like Jack,’” he said in a mocking falsetto voice. “‘Focus. Don’t be like your father.’ But as far as I see it, being like me will get you the best wife in the world, the coolest kids, and a great family. Yeah, son …” He glanced at me. “Don’t be like me. Wouldn’t want that.”
My mother practically melted as she gave him another less-than-appropriate kiss, no matter how many times I groaned. I watched, shaking my head, as my dad pulled two quarters from his pocket and tucked them into her hand. “For later,” he whispered, but I heard and he knew it.
Damn it, Dad. I was ruined forever. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I eventually wanted what my parents had … just not anytime soon.
Later.
WAY later.