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She was walking around the room, checking on her students. As she discussed their work with each of them, her face lit up, and so did the faces of the kids she was teaching. Her enthusiasm was contagious. I loved hearing her talk about art, and therapy and how she would use both in the center she wanted to open.
I’d seen the way her students had blossomed just from the short time she’d been teaching in town. Shy kids grew more confident. Kids that had behavioral issues acted out less.
I’d personally witnessed at least a dozen parents speak to her at the bar about what a difference she’d made in their kid’s life.
She’d told me that in her childhood art had saved her. It had given her an outlet to express herself and also it had been an escape. She wanted to help other kids find their voice or give them that same escape through art therapy.
I loved that she had such a big heart. She was a nurturer. She’d make such an amazing mom one day.
An image of me putting my hands on her pregnant belly popped into my head. It wasn’t the first time I’d imagined what it would be like if she was carrying my child. It was a common theme lately.
I knew that she shared the same values as me. That she wanted the same things out of life. And I wanted that life to be with her.
The practice was ninety minutes of torture. I ran the boys through dribbling and defensive drills. Split them up into two teams so they could scrimmage. And finally, with just a few minutes left called out for them to run ladders.
Cheyenne’s class ran for two hours so I knew that she wouldn’t be done for another thirty minutes. I had to get to the bar since I was covering all of Billy’s shifts while he was still in the Bahamas. Otherwise, I would’ve probably found some excuse to hang around until she was done.
When the alarm on my phone went off signaling practice was over, I blew the whistle and excused everyone.
I was picking up the balls to return them to the utility closet when I heard Mallory behind me.
“You workin’ tonight?”
“Sure am,” I smiled, wishing it was Cheyenne who was asking, although she’d already know the answer to that question which was probably why she hadn’t been in.
Mallory’s dimples once again made an appearance as she smiled from ear to ear. “Good to know.”
“Mom!” Tommy was already waiting for her at the entrance to the gym and he looked embarrassed that his mom had been flirting with me. I imagine that had to be tough for kids.
Hell, it was strange for me to see my mom with a man who was her husband and I was an adult. My parents had never been affectionate, but my mom’s new husband Mitch was. She couldn’t walk by without him grabbing on her. Whenever he was sitting down he pulled her onto his lap. If she was at the stove cooking, he would come up behind her, wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck.
I was a grown-ass man and it made me feel weird seeing him pack on the PDA, as a teenager I don’t know how I would have handled it. That was part of the reason I’d only been up to visit her a handful of times in the six years since she’d moved. That and I didn’t really feel like I belonged there.
Mitch had kids, grandkids, and my mom fit right into that family. They all loved her and had welcomed her with open arms. I was happy for my mom. She’d always wanted a big family and now she had one.
Even though I knew that they couldn’t replace what she really wanted which was for me to settle down and have kids. Every time I talked to her, she brought up the subject of grandkids. She’d ask if I’d met anyone special.
I allowed myself one more look at Cheyenne. There was someone special, she was behind that plexiglass. Which was pretty fucking symbolic of our relationship. I could look but I couldn’t touch.
