for making dinner.”
“Thanks for cleaning up.”
“Kiss me again.”
He did. Then she did. Then I hightailed it out of there before things got even more uncomfortable. I was halfway up the stairs when Dad called me back.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
I turned in time to catch the ball he threw.
“Grab your glove. We’ve got work to do.”
* * *
The ball hit my glove with a thud. The leather was soft from the lanolin Dad had been rubbing into it each night since I got it, but it didn’t feel like part of my hand yet. I threw the ball back.
“Good,” Dad said. “How’s it feeling?”
“Getting there.” I caught the ball, threw it back.
“Tell me about the guy.”
My throw went a little wide, but Dad caught it. “He’s not the guy. He’s Nick and we’re still just friends.”
“He hasn’t missed a game.” No, he hadn’t. Home or away, Nick had been to all twelve so far. He’d kind of become my good-luck charm. We hadn’t lost since the first game. I was surprised Dad had noticed. “You like him?” He still held the ball, waiting for my answer before he threw it again.
“I guess.” Sure, I liked Nick. He was nice, sweet. Thoughtful. All good things, easy things. The ball soared back to me.
“Your mom wants him to come for dinner.”
“I know.” Mom hadn’t stopped bugging me about it. Dad caught the ball, returned it.
“And?”
“And I’m not sure.” If I officially invited Nick to dinner with my parents, that would be a pretty big step, a boyfriend-type step. There wasn’t anyone else I was interested in, and I already knew Nick would be a good boyfriend—he wouldn’t hurt me or break my heart. But I had this idea somewhere in the back of my head that he should be able to, that I should feel enough for him that a broken heart was a possibility. I didn’t think my heart would ever be at risk with Nick, and I kind of wanted it to be.
“You met Mom when you were both nineteen, right?” Dad nodded, turning the ball before throwing it again. I caught it. “And she was your first real girlfriend.” Another nod, another throw. “Didn’t you ever like anyone before that?”
“Sure,” he said, “but no one caught me like she did.”
The ball hit my glove, I threw it back. “What do you mean?”
“Some people you meet and it’s nice, it’s good, but you can walk away. You’re okay without them.” He gazed toward the house. “I’ve always been that way, good on my own—it never bothered me until your mom. I knew from our first date that I would never be okay without her.”
I was slow to throw the ball back. Dad rarely talked about his life before Mom. I knew pieces, random things he or she let slip over the years. He’d never been adopted, and at least one of the foster families he’d lived with wasn’t allowed to have any more kids after Dad was removed. As for the others, he wasn’t in contact with any of them, which was telling enough. Mom was his first real family, his only family, until Selena and I came around. I wanted him to have so much more. I started to check my phone to see if Brandon had replied, but Dad barked a warning at me.
“No. No phones. Come on, Dana, do you want this or not?”
I couldn’t tell him what I was checking my phone for, so I had to take the reproof. “I do,” I said. I liked softball; most of the time I even loved it. I knew I’d never give it up like Selena had, but what I really wanted was Dad nodding at me again, smiling. I wanted him to be proud of me.
“Then start acting like it.”
My hand came up reflexively as he released the ball. It sank right into the pocket of my glove. “There,” he said. “You ready?”
Our easy game of catch was over. In hindsight, I was surprised it had lasted this long. I sucked in a breath and nodded, knowing he was going to start relentlessly hitting screamers and grounders at me. Dad grabbed the bucket of balls and a bat while I set up the net we used to mark first base, then moved back to the far end of our dirt yard—not the most aesthetic on our block, but that was by design. We didn’t host barbecues or have a swing set in one corner; we ran drills. Endless drills.
The bucket of balls Dad set beside him was close to overflowing. “We’re going through it three times.”
I avoided looking at my legs. Their fate had just been sealed, and sure enough, my shin ate the first grounder Dad hit my way. He’d drilled me enough over the years that I didn’t even think to olé out of the way. As third baseman, I was used to taking hits to the chest and shins, and more than one to the face. But I wouldn’t trade the hot corner for any other position. I scooped up the ball and fired it at the net designating first base.
It was nine by the time Dad started refilling the bucket, and I still had homework to do. When I mentioned that fact to Dad, he gave a little shake of his head and hit a hard shot to my left so that I had to half dive to catch it, barely snowconing the ball in the tip of my glove.
“You do some tonight and get up early to finish the rest in the morning. Selena was out here with me every night.” He picked up another ball from the bucket. “Nothing else took priority, not boys or needing to be on her phone constantly, just this.” The ball stung a little when it hit my glove, reminding me how close Dad had come to playing professionally before a torn rotator cuff in college ended that dream for him. He’d had hopes for Selena, but now all those hopes rested heavily on me. I wasn’t as good as my sister, and no amount of drills in our backyard was going to change that, but I was willing to work that much harder because of it.
I put more heat on the ball I threw toward the net, hitting the target dead center and earning a little nod from Dad.
“Again.”
My shoulder was still aching when I woke up the next morning. It was dark out, and my textbooks were waiting for me exactly where I’d left them the night before. I missed breakfast, but in between checking my phone for Brandon’s reply, I got my homework done in time to grab a few pieces of cold bacon from the kitchen and a kiss from Mom before racing to school.
I half slept through my first hour, rousing every few minutes to check my phone under my desk. Still no response. My disappointment was palpable. I had to keep reminding myself that it hadn’t even been a full day since I’d written to my grandfather, but I really needed this to work out. I rubbed a freshly formed bruise on my shin while I waited for the bell to ring.
I repeated that process until sixth hour—practice. Superstition Springs had recently approved a new policy that not only allowed participation in extracurricular sports to count as PE credits but let us practice during school hours. I couldn’t wait to be outside. The weather was perfect, not a surprise for Arizona in the spring, but the clear, baby blue sky and the
