Page 49 of Curveball
Dylan looks up from his phone. “I could eat.”
I laugh. “When could henoteat? I could afford a vacation to Hawaii if I didn’t have to feed him for a week.”
My comment sends Adele into storyteller mode, relating tales of Natalie and her hearty appetite—which I admit, I’m not surprised about. She’s not like those girls at school who’re concerned with sticking to celery sticks and low-fat yogurt. She wouldn’t be afraid to eat a burger.
Max calls Natalie over and she helps carry the meal to the outdoor dining table near the grill—the bowl of homemadepotato salad that I threw together early this morning, another bowl of bag salad because, as Max announced, “That’s how I roll when it’s my turn to cook,” and a heaping pile of chicken breasts and hamburger patties with all the trimmings laid out on an oversized tray.
Dylan takes three.
“Really, Dylan?” I ask in slight mortification, but Max laughs it off.
“I used to eat like that, too; must have been about his age.” He shifts his focus to Dylan and says, “Eat up, boy. Food’s a lot more fun when you don’t have to calculate macros all the damn time.”
He serves himself one of the three chicken breasts he grilled, and drops it on a large pile of salad.
Dylan nods and gives him a considering look before dropping his fork of salad and exchanging one of his hamburger patties for a piece of chicken.
Max approaches the table to take a seat, but stops at my side to say into my ear, “Hate to break it to you, Palmer Girl, but you’re not getting to Hawaii anytime soon.”
I twist my lips in a grimace becauseyeah, I already figured that out.
It doesn’t take long before the leftover food is stowed away and Max and I are propped in chaises beside each other, scrolling our phones and sending each other funny memes. Adele left after lunch towatch her show. Natalie teased her that she was leaving to take a nap. It’s a good day for it. The sun is warm, my belly is happy, and the cushion on this lounge chair is so cozy. I could easily drop my phone to my lap and doze off. Instead, I look over to Max and whatever video he’s chuckling at, and then peer around the deck area. “Where’d the kids go?”
He points a finger toward the house. “They left a while ago. I believe they’re quietly plotting to take over the baseball universe, one fictional stadium at a time.”
“In other words, you broke down and got Natalie that new baseball video game.”
“I might have. Mighty Max Marshmallow strikes again,” he drawls with zero shame, and then tilts his head and considers me with something like mischievous respect. “It’s pretty cool that you understand my reference without me having to spell it out.”
I spread my hands wide. “Son. Friends. Teammates. Dedicated family room so I don’t have to listen to the electronic cacophony . . . or them.”
“Here, the game room’s in the basement.” He climbs out of his chair. “I should go check on them. Not because I don’t trust them, you know, but . . .”
Two teens who’ve been out of sight for a while. Nothing to go bad there.
“Yep. I think I’ll come with you.” I get up and follow along. “In case you need a wingman.”
We are assaulted by the loud sounds of their animated trash talk long before we arrive and discover, as we anticipate—or at the very least,hope—they’re fully engaged in the game.
Dylan is sprawled on a deep leather couch, shoes kicked off, hat backwards, focused on the immense flat screen on the wall and abusing his controller. “Not done with our game yet.” he says predictably without looking up, and he doesn’t wait for whatever I am going to say before he’s back to whatever’s going on in the game.
Nat peers at me over her shoulder. “You can’t leave yet. I’m about to beat the shit out of him.”
Max’s brow soars and she backtracks fast.
“Um, we’re still playing and I’m about to grab the W.”
Dylan shouts out an insistent, “Cap!” and Nat barks out a laugh in response.
“Delulu, dude. You aresogoing down.”
And the adolescents just lost me in their next gen vernacular.
Max backs slowly from the room and he leads me back upstairs—where I understand the language.
“We should go home,” I say. I’m suddenly more nervous about being alone here with Max than I am with our two teenagers that we can no longer hear. “I mean, we shouldn’t take up your whole day.”
He captures my hand in his and moves in close, and my resistance withers. He drops his forehead against mine and looks at me closely.
