Page 12 of In Your Dreams

ME: Casual cute is fine, mama

POPPY: ok

ME: Hey, Poppy?

POPPY: Yes?

ME: You didn’t even say good morning to me

POPPY: Good morning, Parker

ME: :)

So yeah, I think it’s going pretty well.

I hear Tom in the back wrestling with equipment when I walk into the office. He’s vowed to “get it cleaned up” in here thisyear. Then again, he’s been vowing to do that for like three years so I don’t put a lot of stock into it.

I sit my coffee mug on my desk and then hear a loud thud followed by a rare Tom expletive. He never cusses unless he thinks he’s alone. Which, as this moment will show, sometimes he isn’t.

“You alright, Tom?” I call out.

A few more thuds follow and then he appears from the wreckage.

“Yeah, sorry. How long you been standing there?”

To keep his pride intact I say, “Just got here.” His secret use of the word “shit” will remain mine and mine alone.

“Good, good,” he says.

“Guess what?” I sit on the edge of my desk as he nears.

“What?” He asks.

“I got myself a date.” I declare it proudly. There’s probably even a little swell in my chest.

“It’s about time,” Tom says.

“What do you mean? She just got into town,” I say. “I'm not a magician.”

“Naw, son. I’m not measuring it by when she got back into town. I’m measuring it by the first moment your heart ever beat for her,” he says.

I should clarify that Tom has been with his wife, Betty, going on something like forty years now. He always says he knew the moment his heart stopped beating for himself and started beating for her. It’s how he measures all love stories. And if you can’t answer him when he asks, good luck trying to convince him you’re meant to be.

“I guess it’s been a long time, then,” I say.

“That’s what I just said, knucklehead,” he says.

Tom putters back to the back to resume the thudding and banging around and I leave him to it while I turn toward theagenda for practice this evening. Evening practices are better for two reasons. One, it’s the summer and hot as hell until then anyway. And two, parents are off work by then so participation will be higher. In fact, I sent out all the calendar reminders yesterday.

Of course, all I can think about is seeing Poppy. Sure, our date isn’t until later this week but having these practices does ensure I’ll see her for at least a little while. Like a Poppy snack. Something to hold me over. I gotta remember not to say that out loud.

Time flies once I turn my attention to organizing the roster and placing kids in groups by their strengths and where I think their focuses should be. And like that, it’s time to head outside and start welcoming players and parents alike.

Tom takes his time trailing behind me. I can’t fault the guy for moving slow. But if I make a fuss about it or ask him if he’s okay, he’ll call me a knucklehead again and wave me on. So I don’t even try anymore.

As I approach the dugout, I catch a glimpe of a few parents sitting in the bleachers already. I do appreciate punctuality. As I wait for more to arrive, I check my email from my phone. Looks like I have a few replies to the calendar reminder for tonight’s practice, which I’ve ignored up to now. I click on the chain to see a slew of notes from one parent after another withdrawing from the team.Whoa.

For a moment, I’m panicked. I start to count, hoping this isn’t some catastrophe that causes me to cancel the season. Then I remember that I’ve got way more boys than I can play and as I reach a total of eleven dropouts, I’m oddly comforted. Without those boys, I have a fairly normal-sized team. While I’m sorry they don’t want to play, it’s sort of a relief.

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