Almost Home

Chapter Seven

Easton, not one to leave anybody out, stands and looks at his mom, "What's his name?"

"Her," I respond, giggling and gesturing to the baby, "She has a bow in her hair."

"Yeah, well," Easton looks over at me, his green eyes full of humor, "I'm not observant."

"It's a bow!-"

"Zoey," his mother interrupts, smiling at our bickering, "Her name is Zoey."

Easton stares at the baby for a second, something like admiration in his eyes before he turns to his mother, "Who told you about the game?"

"Your father."

There's a stunned silence in the air before Easton asks, "What?"

"I asked," she stammers, "He does update me on you, EJ, every once in awhile."

Easton, who had gone so long thinking that his mother didn't talk to him or his sister, sways slightly before he manages, "He does?"

She nods, her brown hair bouncing.

"Why didn't you just ask me? I would've told you what was going on."

I know I haven't known him for a long time, but I don't think he's telling the truth. He doesn't want his mother to know anything and by asking him, herself, Easton can avoid her getting an answer. He can avoid her.

She has to know that, which explains why she asks Jack - he must be unable to tell her no, even after all these years.

"I guess I never thought," she avoids her son's eyes, "I wasn't sure you'd text back."

"I'm not sure I would either," he replies, honestly, "But at least, then, I'd get a choice in the matter. I'm eighteen years old, I deserve the truth."

"I know you do," her green eyes flood with tears, "I'm sorry, for everything. Can we talk? Smooth things over?"

I don't know how long it's been since they talked, actually talked, but by the way Easton had made it sound, it had been since he was twelve.

That's six years.

As if remembering that, he takes a shallow breath, his eyes flitting down to me like I'm going to give him the answer.

I look down, purposefully avoiding his gaze - whatever decision he makes, it'll be of his own accord.

"Yeah, sure," he finally breathes, "After baseball season is over, we'll make plans."

She breathes a huge sigh of relief, scooping the youngest, Andy, onto her hip, "I'll text you, specifically, and ask. I promise."

"Thank you."

Somehow, all the attention swivels to the boyfriend, husband, whatever he is, who takes a step back, like he doesn't want to be involved.

Eventually, after a pointed look from Easton's mother, he dips his head and says, as if in embarrassment, "You pitched a good game, kid."

Easton softens a little beside me, seeming like he had temporarily forgot all of the bad stuff associated with the guy as he mumbles his thanks.

An awkward silence begins, but before it gets too deep, before Easton can say what's really on his mind, his mother clears her throat, taking a retreating step backwards, "I will get with you on our lunch date."

Easton gives a timid smile, "Okay."

***

Although we had a full two days between the last game and this one, the boys still look a little sluggish.