Page 37 of Comeback
And all that has me missing my parents in such a crushing way that I find myself getting to my feet quickly. “I just remembered I need to make a quick call.”
“Oh.” She moves her legs to let me pass, surprise and confusion in her expression. “Is everything okay? Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” I wave her off. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The stadium is crowded with people going up and down the stairs to get to their seats or hit the concession stand before the game starts.
When I get out to the concourse, I find a space against an empty wall and pull out my phone.
Me
Hey! Just checking in. How are you feeling?
In true mom fashion, she calls a few seconds later. I answer and put the phone up to my ear, pressing it tightly to help me hear over the noise.
“Hi! I’m at a football game so I’m not sure you’re going to be able to hear me,” I say by way of greeting.
“Hi.” My mother’s voice on the other end of the phone soothes the ache in my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Sabrina? Can you hear me?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing thickly around the emotion clogging my throat. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling fine,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s smiling. “Don’t worry about me. Your dad is hovering around enough for the both of you.”
I hear him in the background but can’t quite make out his words. Dad doted on her even before she got sick. My parents are one of those couples that love each other so much you can see it in their every interaction. I thought that was just how all parents were until around junior high when my friends started commenting on how cute my parents were. I paid attention in a way I hadn’t before. Their parents seemed to like each other well enough but weren’t affectionate or sweet with each other the same way mine were always being so loving and considerate.
Other friends had parents who were divorced or separated, and then of course there were some whose parents were still together, but you’d never guess it from the way they treated each other so horribly. My parents were different. Still are. Sometimes it’s embarrassing, like the time I came home fromschool with two friends, and we walked in on my mom sitting on my dad’s lap while they were full-on making out.
But as I’ve gotten older, their love has become a standard. I want that. To be loved and cherished, even when I’m old and gray, and to love someone through all of life’s ups and downs.
“Are you still there?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. I’m here.” The tightness in my chest loosens enough to take a deep breath. “I’m glad Dad is hovering. Tell him I say hi.”
“Hi, pumpkin.” Dad’s voice is closer now.
“You’re on speaker,” Mom says.
“Yeah, I got that.” I smile, almost able to picture them huddled together with the phone between them.
“What are you up to tonight?” Dad asks. “Sounds like a party or are you at work?”
Most dads probably wouldn’t be thrilled that their daughter was dancing at a night club, and maybe he isn’t, but I tell them everything and they’ve always been supportive.
“I’m at a Mavericks game,” I say.
“Oh, you’re going to watch Brogan play?” Mom asks, but before I answer, Dad says, “Should be a good game tonight.”
“We have the game on the TV,” Mom confirms what I already suspected.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Dad says.
“We’re sitting at the fifty-yard line behind the team.”
“Ooooh. Fancy,” Dad croons.
“Did Olivia go with you?” Mom asks.
