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greyson
“Rope ’em good, kid. You got this.” I crouch in front of Theo, hands on his shoulders. We have twenty minutes before this thing starts, and I’m using that time to hype him up.
“Dad. I’m twelve. I’m almost a teenager. You can knock it off with the kid stuff now.” He tries to step out of my way when I reach to ruffle his dark hair.
Well then.
“You’ll always be my kid, dude, but whatever you say… little man.” His scowl lets me know I riled him up. Good. Keep his head in the competitive spirit.
Honkytonk country music plays over the loudspeakers near the stands and the scent of fried rodeo food stabs the air, at war with the sweat and animal stench nearby. The afternoon sun beats in waves, and everyone wears their jeans to avoid the obligatory leg burn of the hot metal seats.
I watch as my almost-a-teenager son struts back to the practice area where other riders toss ropes over fake cattle heads or sit in rows along the tops of the metal fence, their boots dangling off their skinny legs. His lanky walk rivals my own and his dark inky hair is definitely thicker than mine. I warn him not to wear a hat too often, but that dad advice is moot as he slaps on his uncle’s cowboy hat.
My knees crack as I rise from my haunches and brush the dust from my jeans. I watch Theo interact with his coach, pride swelling inside me. The years go by way too fast. Just hours ago, I was holding his squirming body in my arms as he yearned for Scarlett. His velvety soft skin, pink and wrinkly under the bright fluorescents, a stark contrast to his cloudy blue eyes blinking lazily after a meal.
As a father, a new one at that, I held in my arms the key to everything and I wasn’t about to mess it up, despite how inadequate I felt and still do at times. Parenthood has no manual. All you can do is go in blind and pray you keep the kids alive.
Now, Theo’s a stinky kid, steals all the good cereal, and says things like OG, and I’m supposed to know what the fuck it means. Quick Google search while he’s face deep in Captain Crunch: Original Gangster.
That title belongs to me, kid. Thank you very much.
The announcer calls out the first participant, his voice loud and edged in excitement. The rectangular arena, bursting with dry dirt and spectators, crackles with tension as the rider readies herself atop her horse in the metal chute. She steadies her twitchy companion by patting its side, but her face contorts with an expression of deep concentration and a hint of apprehension. I love how even at this young age they take the sport seriously.
If only I had taken things more seriously growing up…
My chest aches at all the years I spent being a washed-out prep kid with my mind on booze, girls, and not on what matters—family.
Sighing, I turn and make my way back to the stands, boots thumping up the stairs, and plunk down on the hard bleacher, sending dust up into the air. No time to wallow in self-pity over my own damn actions, not with this being Theo’s moment.
“Uncle Grey, does the rope hurt the cow?” Alistair swivels on his back pockets to pin his round hazel eyes up at me, wringing his little fingers in his lap. “That makes me sad if it does. I don’t think Milkdud would like that.” My nephew. The most inquisitive of creatures who often makes me ponder my own intelligence. Could be the brains he inherited from his father or the tender heart of his mom, one of my closest friends.
“That’s because Milkdud has the personality of her mother—sassy and insistent.” He wrinkles his forehead as Savy leans over to shove me in my shoulder. Laughing, I shove her back, almost sending her into the lap of Preston who’s flanked on both sides by two littler versions of himself—two-and-a-half-year-old twins, Camryn and Charlotte.
My ever-questioning nephew studies me and I pull him to my side, hugging him close to reach his ear over the noise of spectator chatter. “If done right, it doesn’t hurt the calves. They use the breakaway method here and the calves aren’t tied up. That’s why Theo practices so much. He wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt them. He loves Milkdud as much as the rest of us.” My answer calms him, and he nestles back into his mother’s side.
Savy, the resident cheerleader of all our friends, smiles at me warmly before squeezing her son tight and resting her hand on Preston’s jean-clad thigh. Their love makes me jealous, but not because my brother is married to my friend. No. It’s the gaping hole in my soul begging to be filled. Everyone around me is paired off, content, and happy. I crave that too.
Scarlett sits in front of us and turns around to give me one of her sweet smiles. That pesky organ in my chest pricks and pulls. Her azure eyes linger on mine briefly before glancing away to grin at Alistair. “Theo’s almost up. You want to go get some popcorn with me before it starts?”
After a head nod from Savy, the little man shoots up from his seat and takes Scarlett’s hand, hopping down from the bleacher. “Thank you, Auntie Turtle. I love popcorn, yum, yum, yum.” Her laughter rings out and again that twinge in my chest twists—hard.
When they’re out of sight, Savy nudges me in the ribs. “Here, I got something for you.” She hands me a folded piece of paper as if it contains all the secrets of the universe and only I’m ordained to receive it.
Crinkling my brow, I open the hot pink flyer and scan it. “Speed-dating?” A quirk curves my lips. “You and Preston are swingers now? I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to pass… you two making out in the archery yard was enough… bleck.” I pretend to gag into my shirt.
Her mouth hangs agape, and I shut it with my pointer finger. “I love you like a sis, Sav, and since you technically are, it’s just another reason against it.”
Preston leans over, pulling Charlotte’s sticky toddler hand from his hair, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Gross, man. Jesus, we aren’t swingers. I don’t share. Ever.”
“No, you overgrown toddler. Speed-dating for you.” If she was standing, she’d have her hands on her hips. All five-foot-four of her to my six-two. My tiny sprite of a friend who likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Why would I ever consider speed-dating? I didn’t realize this was still a thing.” I scratch my head under my ball cap and stare at her. “Thought it was all online dating. Do I look that desperate?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s still a thing. I thought maybe online dating would be stretching it with you. I’ve seen you moping around. You should go and try it out. You’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely, Savy. And I don’t mope. I’m too busy to think about that.” I glance beyond her haughty expression to see Lynn, her red hair glowing and her listening ears engaged as she munches on some funnel cake. Isaac’s focused on the show, oblivious to this conversation. I envy him.
