Page 22 of Curveball
Adele’s been opening cupboards, pulling out a mixing bowl and a few other ingredients, and reaches into the refrigerator for the buttermilk. Nat reaches in after her for a can of Coke, shuts the door, and takes a seat across from me. “Game’s cancelled this afternoon, huh?” The hiss of her opening the can fills the air, just before she glances out the window over the sink. It’s only coming down harder.
“Yeah, it should let up this evening though.” I shift my gaze to Adele, lopping off butter into the bowl and then measuring in the milk. “Looks like it’ll be a double header tomorrow. Then I’llbe leaving Tuesday morning for”—I give my head an uncertain shake—“Somewhere.” We’ve been back less than a week from a two-city away series and I’m pretty sure this one’s even longer.
“Don’t you fret about that.” Adele wipes her hands on the towel tucked into her waistband and steps back to the fridge. “I’ve got your schedule right here.” She tugs the team calendar from beneath the colorful magnet Nat made in school when she was little, maybe six or seven, and drops it onto the table.
Nat swipes it up, and Adele snatches it back. Nat stares at her with wide eyes.
“But Dilly, I want to see!”
Adele gives her a smug grin and lays the paper flat on the table. “Gotta share, girl.”
She goes back to mixing up whatever she’s creating, and Nat rolls her eyes. I hide my grin in my fist, my gaze marking the games of the upcoming week.
“Looks like Wisconsin first, then Alabama and St. Louis before we’re back home.” I look at Nat, and then Adele. “Can I trust you two not to drive each other crazy while I’m gone?”
Adele shuts the oven door after sliding in a baking pan of what looks a lot like cornbread batter. Her grin is mischievous as she solemnly swears, “I helped raise that girl from day one, but I’m not promising anything except to feed her and get her to school on time.”
Nat laughs. “Same. I promise not to kill her, but her sanity is fair game.”
And I might be glad to be three states away and not around to witness this battle of feminine wills. Or wiles, as the case might be. Something tells me I’ll also be wondering, and worrying, about everything else my daughter will be getting away with while I’m off playing America’s favorite pastime. Which reminds me . . .
“So, Nat, a little bird tells me you’ve been ignoring Dilly and spending all your time on the phone?” I phrase it as a question so she understands I’m aiming to start a conversation, not put her on the defense.
Nat’s jaw drops and she whips her gaze to Adele, who’s rinsing out the mixing bowl at the sink.
“Dilly! You told on me?”
Adele gives her a slight shrug, but those eyes of hers are sparkling. “Was it a secret?”
“Well, no. It was just Becks and then Dylan, but?—”
“Dylan Sloan?” It takes all my effort, but I manage to keep my tone low. Reasonable. Curious. “Isn’t he the boy who got you called into the headmaster’s office, like,four days ago?”
I’m distracted by the aromas mingling in the kitchen, but Natalie glowering at me from across the table is plain and clear.
“His name’s Dylan Lopez, but decompress, Daddy. One could argue that I gothimcalled in, and Ms. Sloan doesn’t hold it against me.”
I am not as reasonable as I think if my daughter is giving methe lookand I need todecompress. Also, it’s good to know her teacher isn’t retaliating for whatever either of our kids may or may not have done. Somebody cheated, and the way my daughter’s taking her punishment in stride, I’m less convinced she was an innocent victim.
“So. This Dylan. Real talk.” I tap my finger against the tabletop and Nat nods. She understands there’s shit I need to know.
The timer goes off and Adele pulls the cornbread from the oven. Then, she quietly hangs the dish towel over the lip of the sink and edges toward the door.
“No need to leave, Adele. This affects you too if it’s happening at your house.”
She sighs like she was actually hoping to be excused from this bit of family drama.
“Only if you make it up to me by staying for dinner. I’ve been smelling this chili all damn day and I’m not of a mind to wait much longer to eat it.” She reaches into the cupboard and peers at me over her shoulder. “Now, do I get down one bowl or three?”
I know when I’m being played, but damn it, I’ve been smelling that pot, too. Some players are downright rigid with their food intake and macros during the season. I generally eat healthy, and clean, but from time to time, I treat myself to something I truly enjoy.
And then schedule extra time in the gym.
“We’ll stay. But Natalie’s going to set the table.”
Nat pops up from her seat, probably glad for the distance between us, and blurts out, “He’s just a friend, Daddy. We talk about stuff.” She takes the empty bowls from Adele and ladles chili into each.
Adele cuts the still-warm cornbread into large squares and forms a pyramid with them on a plate, which she brings to the table with her bowl. Nat sets one bowl in front of me and keeps the other for herself.
