I lower Archie to the ground and adjust my coat, then smooth my hands down my stained and slightly wrinkled Goode’s dress. My medical-looking granny shoes are scuffed, the white faded by years of wear, a tiny hole in the toe where my sock shows through. A couple passes by me, the woman fit, her thighs visibly muscular through her fitted designer jeans. With new, unbroken cowboy boots on, her long hair twisted into perfect waves, lashes thick and lips plump, makeup perfect, she wraps her arm around a man’s waist. He’s wearing a pullover, a new Stetson on his head, and new boots on his feet. Their smiles are a bright, medically-assisted white, and when they wrap their arms around their son, a wash of deep guilt and insecurity nearly leaves me breathless.
My boys deserve that. They deserve happy, perfect parents who show up for every moment, full of love and support. Parents who have enough money to take them out after moments like this to celebrate. Parents who can afford to opt for the fancy cleats, just to show their kid that they see how hard they’re working. They deserve a mom who can give them their focus for more than two broken hours a day.
“Tanner!” Archie screeches. Looking away from the perfect family, my gaze collides with my middle boy. His hair is wet, tangled in a heap on top of his head, the black beneath his eyes smeared completely down his cheeks. His grin is crooked and wide, and I can’t help but see him as a baby in my mind for a moment, that same smile. My chest squeezes as he collects Archie in his arms, hugging him tight before lowering him back down.
Next he hugs me. With my chin on his shoulder, I tell him everything I hope he knows.
“I am so proud of you. You have been working so hard, you had such a great game Tanner, I love you so much.” Ifight the stinging behind my eyes because I know if I get emotional, Tanner will kill me.
He pulls back, out of my arms, leaving a sticky film of sweat and adrenaline along my chest and arms. With his helmet tucked under one arm, he uses the other to pull his coach in our direction, motioning with his hand.
I’ve seen Dean McAllister once or twice at practice pickup, but we’ve never officially met until right now. Something low in my belly twitches at the sight of him, all up close, under these lights, a little sweaty, a lot happy.
“Coach, this is my little brother Archie,” he says, palming the top of Archie’s head, spinning it to face his coach. Archie giggles while Dean, a small dimple adorning his cheek, grins down at my little boy.
“Archie Colt? I always thought you were Boone Holt’s little brother.” He’s likely saying that because my boys and the Holt boys are close. Especially the youngest two. In fact, there’ve been a couple of times while working the french fry booth at the farmer’s market that I’ve mistaken Tyson, the youngest Holt, for Archie, too.
I nod and smile, sensing Archie and Tanner’s gazes moving between me and Dean. “Yeah, well, the Holt boys are almost exactly the same age as my boys. As you’re aware, their oldest, Boone, just graduated and now my oldest, Rawley, is a junior. And Rex, their middle boy, is a sophomore like Tanner, and their youngest Tyson is just a year older than Archie. And those two,” I continue, suddenly feeling like I’m talking too much or too loudly as nerves bead in the form of sweat all along my neck. “Tyson and Archie spend a lot of time together, so if you saw Archie with the Holt’s or chasing Boone, it’s because the Holt and Colt boys are friends. Have been forever.”
He scratches the side of his head, causing his hat to tip tothe side just slightly. Tanner reaches up and affectionately and playfully bonks it back down into place. “Same ages, similar last names, that could be confusing,” he says with a smile.
Something about his lopsided grin makes me grin back.
“And this is my mom,” Tanner says, jokingly, as if we stole the opportunity from him to introduce us. Dean’s hand juts out, and I glance at it a moment before sliding my hand into his. It’s so big, and the way he squeezes with force and gentle ease as we shake makes that flutter in my belly come to life again.
“Clara June,” I tell him, a rush of insecurity hitting me as a family brushes past. The mother, her auburn hair styled in a sleek ponytail, nails painted white on the tips, winks at Dean. “Good game, Coach,” she says, eyeing him over her shoulder before she eyes me next. It’s only a split second, but it’s enough to make me feel…insecure.
Tanner plays ball, but I’m not the involved mom who watches practices and chats with all the other moms about fundraisers for new pads and new stadium lights. I don’t chat up the coach in hopes of being invited to the team cookout, and I don’t join their private chat groups on social media to discuss “our boys” the way the other moms and dads do.
I just can’t. I have to work. And I have to work a lot.
When my eyes slide back to his, part of me thinks they never left me. He’s studying me, my eyes, or maybe the liner spilled beneath them from a long day in a crowded restaurant, or maybe the crows feet that have taken up space from years of stress and exhaustion.
“Dean McAllister,” he says, and I realize then that we’re still shaking hands. I must realize it just when he does, and Tanner, too, because we both pull our hands back. I cradle one hand with the other, in front of me, and smile up at him,trying my best to hide the strange nervousness that suddenly and strangely hit me.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, Coach. And I know Tanner is ready to lead this season.” Archie sticks his hand in my pocket, fishing around for a stick of gum. He pulls out a pen, and my waitressing pad. “No gum?” he asks, blinking up at me as he places both of his boots on one of my feet.
Dean shoves his hand into his pocket, producing a box of TicTacs. His eyebrows raise as he holds the box up, meeting my eyes, silently asking me if it’s okay. I nod.
Archie sticks his hand out and Dean fills his palm with mints. “Thank you,” Archie tells him. A group of sweaty football players bump into me from behind, pushing me into Dean’s chest just as they tackle Tanner to the ground. They’re whooping, laughing, and wrestling, and I’m stepping back from the wall of muscle and cologne, apologizing.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I tell him, grabbing Archie's hand so he doesn’t get pulled into the playful tussle.
Dean whistles, and the boys halt, Tanner clambering to his feet, out of breath. “Y’all know you knocked into Tanner’s mom, so get up here and apologize.”
Three boys get to their feet, bring their hands in front of them, and one by one, they apologize. Even Tanner.
I glance up at Dean, who’s still eyeing me.
Awkwardly, I turn to Tanner. “Archie and I are heading home. You want us to wait around, and give you a ride?”
He shakes his head, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, toward the cluster of boys. “We’re going for pizza, then we’re gonna play Call of Duty at Jason’s house.”
I press my finger to his chest. “No later than midnight.”
He nods, then kisses my cheek before fist bumping animpatient and ready to leave Archie. “Thanks mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say, but by the time too has left my mouth, Tanner’s back is to us and he’s drifting off with his friends, happy as ever.
