Page 20 of Old Fashioned
“… You know what I mean? And, don’t even get me started on the cornerback. The twin. What’s his name?”
“Boone Parson.”
“Parson!” Paige said, snapping her fingers together just as I came to a stop beside her. She glanced up at me with a grin. “Hey, Mama.” Then, her attention was right back on Coach. “So, yeah, Parson. Does he butter his hands before the game? Becausehonestly,there were two times during the game last night where he could have had an interception if he’d just held onto the ball.Two times,” she repeated, holding up her fingers in a peace sign as if it wasn’t sinking in yet. “Can you imagine what that might have meant for the final score?”
“Paige Marie, what on Earth are you doing?” I asked, grabbing her hand in mine until she looked up at me. “After all thestranger dangerdrills we’ve had, and you run up to a grown man on the playground?”
Paige’s face screwed up in confusion. “Coach isn’t a stranger,” she argued, looking at Jordan before she glanced back up at me with her hand stretched toward him. “It’sCoach.”
I pursed my lips — my classicMom Look— and Paige shrunk an inch.
“Yeah, Sydney,” Jordan said, tapping his chest with both hands. “I’m Coach. I’m not a stranger.”
“You do not know Jordan personally,” I said to my daughter, ignoring Jordan completely — mostly because he was stillveryshirtless and I did not know how I felt about that. “I understand that he feels safe because he is in a position of power in a sport that you love, but you still need to be safe, okay? You do not run up to an adult that is not your family without talking to me first. Understand?”
Paige dropped her gaze to her sneakers. “Yes, ma’am.”
My heart ached a little at the sight, mom guilt sneaking in as it always did. I grabbed her shoulders and squeezed, moving her in front of me. “Now, go ahead and finish telling Coach how to make the team better.”
Paige threw her head back, grinning up at me as Jordan barked out a laugh. For the next ten minutes, I listened to my daughter give every opinion she had on virtually every position on the team, as well as the plays that were run and the errors that were made in last night’s game.
I had to fight back laughter when she said things likebuttered his handsandcouldn’t block to save his life, knowing full well that she picked those phrases up from watching player discussions on ESPN. And when she struggled for the right words, Jordan helped her through them, suggesting what he thought she was trying to say. I knew she’d be cataloguing this conversation, adding it all to her football talk arsenal.
When she finally paused for air, I told her to go find someone to play with while I talked to Jordan, and that we were going to head home for lunch soon.
Like a bullet, she was off.
Jordan and I watched her sprint to the jungle gym, and I hung my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “I would apologize, but I love that little girl — quirks and all.”
Jordan chuckled. “I would have been offended if you did apologize. That was the best football conversation I’ve had in years.”
I smiled, glancing over my shoulder at him. The minute our eyes met, I remembered all too well the last time they had — when we were chest to chest and breathing fire at each other in the locker room, and when his eyes had stared at my lips…
I swallowed, but immediately after that tightness in my throat, I remembered what he’d said, how he’d blamed the entire loss on me. Judging from Randy’s comment, the entire town now thought the same thing.
I frowned, clearing my throat before I turned back toward the playground. “Well, I better—”
“She said she wants to play,” Jordan interjected before I could excuse myself. “Did you know that? That she wants to play football?”
I sighed, watching my daughter tuck the football into her chest and run with her hand out like she was blocking a defender. “I am very aware.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“I love that she’s found something she’s passionate about,” I explained. “But… as her mother, I worry. If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many girls playing football, and there isn’t a single female player in the NFL.” I turned to him with a frown. “How the hell do you tell your nine-year-old daughter that her dream of playing football professionally has practically zero chance of ever happening? How do you tell her that the sport she loves isa man’s sportand she should try something else, like basketball or softball? And, that even if shedoestry one of those and happens to fall in love with it, shestillhas a very slim chance of ever doing it professionally, because female sports are not revered in America the way male sports are?”
Jordan’s face changed several times as he listened to me, and when I finally stopped talking, he shrugged. “You don’t.”
“What do you meanI don’t?”
“I mean, you don’t tell her any of that.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms as I found Paige on the playground again. “You’re not a parent. You don’t understand.”
“No, I’m not, and I agree that I don’t fully understand what it’s like to be in your shoes,” he said, moving until he was in my view. I let my eyes flick to his, but the rest of him was so distracting that I ripped my gaze away as soon as it had connected. “But, what Idoknow is that there’s nothing in this entire world like that feeling when you’re a kid — that feeling where you can do anything, be anyone, if only you work hard enough. There may not be any precedent set, not yet, but does that mean she can’t possibly be the one to set it?”
I chewed my lip, watching my daughter laugh uncontrollably as she played football.
By herself.
