Page 52 of Waiting for Her

“Fine. You big baby. I’ll be serious. How did the week go?”

“He’s an incredible coach,” I sigh, and it comes out embarrassingly dreamy, even though that’s not exactly what she asked.

“As we suspected,” she says in a light voice.

“Yeah, though, it’s different seeing it up close and personal, hearing it from the everyone, you know? He really is meant to coach. It’s so natural to him. And the players—they really love him. But more than that, they respect him. He doesn’t just bark orders, he listens and gets in the middle of the field. Tries to see firsthand what the guys are seeing on the field, so he knows what he needs to adjust. Every day he spends as much time with the players as he does working with his staff. I know everyone is going to be judging him for his age but truly, if they watch him for any amount of time, they’ll realize that his age has nothing to do with it. Southern Michigan State made the right choice giving him that job.”

She’s quiet on the other line before, “Exactly, how up close and personal?”

“Mom! That’s what you got out of what I just said?”

“Well, I kind of zoned out after a while because you kept talking.”

“You’re the one who asked!”

“No, I didn’t. I asked howyourweek went, not how Grady was as a coach. You’re the one who ran with that.”

She’s right. Dammit.

“Oh.”

“But I guess that answers the other question I had.”

“What’s that?”

“What it’s like being around him?”

I chew on my bottom lip, sitting on my small deck with a glass of wine, the early evening air already starting to cool down but still pleasant. Every morning while I’m having my first cup of coffee, my eyes stray to Grady’s backyard, already learning his schedule and that he has a cup of coffee on his patio every morning as well. Every evening, I wind down doing the same. I have yet to tell him I know where he lives. Or that I watch him like a creepy stalker.

“It’s… getting easier.”

“Bri,” her voice is sad.

“I told him.”

“About?”

I laugh humorlessly. It’s a good question.

“The baby.”

“Oh hon,” she sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Mom, I did it over the phone. Like an idiot. I don’t even know how, but it kind of spilled out of me. Not at all how I planned to tell him.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Definitely wasn’t pleased, both with hearing that I’d kept the secret and the way I told him. Flipped over his wooden patio table. He also busted a pot on his deck,” I tell her, remembering watching him lose it.

“He did what?”

“Well, here’s the other thing. Turns out, we’re neighbors. Our backyards are kind of neighbors.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little bit.”

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