Page 8 of In Your Dreams

“Thank you,” she says.

There’s a moment of silence, a pause I desperately want to fill with the question that’s been burning a hole in my brain but I don’t get the chance before she speaks.

“Well, I better get out of your way,” she says. “Go join the other moms in the bleachers.”

“We’ll talk after,” I say, solidifying another opportunity.

“For sure,” she says, as she turns away.

I watch her for a few moments as she navigates her way to a spot towards the top. She reaches into the bag at her side and pulls out a can of Dr. Pepper. She pops the tab and puts it to her lips. What I would give to be that can.

“Ready to get started?” Tom asks, clasping my shoulder. “Or are you still makin’ eyes at your girl?”

“Tom, I swear,” I say. “You are such a—”

“Careful,” Tom says, interrupting. “There’s little ears around.”

“Butthead.”

Tom laughs, shaking his head. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

***

It takes us three hours to cycle all the boys through tryouts and practice. It doesn’t usually take that long but the roster this summer is abnormally long.

There are a few players who are really good, Aiden included. They’re genuinely talented kids who may have a future playing baseball. Others have a longer way to go. And a few… let’s just say they really try. One kid in particular, well, he’s just going to have to be the waterboy. Clay Thomas doesn’t have an athletic bone in his body. But his father played ball in school with me and his mom was a cheerleader. Which is to say, he’s not here by choice.

“Okay, gather around,” I say, clapping my hands. “Good job today, really good hustle out there. When I see you next week, I’m going to have all your assignments. And remember, every single position is important. Whether you’re a pitcher, a fielder, or you’re the equipment specialist. You’re all important.”

The boys begin to gather their things. Some are visibly exhausted while others seem to have enough energy to run the entire three hours back again. I think I’m somewhere in the middle. I’d like to get home, crack open a cold non-alcoholic beer, and sit by the fire pit in my backyard.

“You’re a great coach,” Poppy says, her voice coming suddenly from behind me.

I turn to see her standing here, one hand on her hip and the other occupied with tucking a few strands of her behind her ear.

“Thank you,” I say, completely ignoring the equipment I was packing into a bag.

This is it. This is the moment I seize and ask her out. Or maybe I at least find out if she’s open to being asked out.

“So how are you doing after seeing everyone last night?” I ask.

“Honestly, it was really nice. I was surprised to feel so welcomed,” she says.

“Why would you feel that way?”

“Because of how I was over the years. Distant. Short. I wasn’t exactly a great friend,” she says.

“Well, we all blamed Wayne for that,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“You weren’t wrong,” she says, laughing.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’d like to take you somewhere, if you’re up for it?”

“Right now?” She asks.

“No, I was thinking tomorrow night,” I say.

Poppy studies my face before answering, “Like a date?”

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