Page 26 of Soft
"He's a Little," I said, keeping my voice low enough that it stayed between us. "I didn't know for certain until last night, but I dreamed. And the second I saw him I knew. It was like—" I stopped, trying to find the right word for it.
"Like what?"
"Like everything made sense. You know how you always said you knew with Mom?"
Pops went quiet for a second. "Yeah."
"It was like that. Except I'm not going to say that out loud to him for a very long time because the man already ran out of the room when I told him I'd been thinking about being his Daddy." I paused. "There's work to do."
Pops absorbed my words, a thoughtful look to his features. It reminded me of when he used to help me with math homework or try to figure out what to have for dinner when he didn’t feel like cooking.
A couple minutes passed. The line moved.
Then he said, "He ran because he had feelings too."
"That's what I figured. It’s what the others said."
"No, I need you to really hear me on this. A man who isn't interested doesn't run. A man who doesn't care what you said doesn't need to leave the room to deal with it. He ran because your words ripped him open, and he didn't know what to do with those emotions." He shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Give him room and let him come to you. You're already here. Rushing him would be a mistake."
Sometimes I forgot that he'd spent years watching people and figuring them out. He'd had to, raising me on his own. He got very good at reading a situation fast.
"I texted him this morning. Before I went to the gym. I tried to keep it simple."
Pops raised his eyebrows. "What'd you say?"
"That I meant what I said and there's no pressure. I told him that I'm around when he's ready."
"Good. That's good. Short and no demands. I'm proud of you."
"You don't have to be proud of me for sending a text, Pops."
"I'm proud of you for keeping your shit together, son. Don’t pretend you didn’t want to send him pages of text declaring all the ways you’d be right together. I know you.”
He wasn't wrong. Restraint wasn’t generally my strongest suit when I wanted something. I had learned, mostly through trial and a fair amount of error, that the same aggression that served me well on the field didn’t always translate to personal situations.
We eventually made it inside Hazel's, landing a table near the window. The place smelled incredible, like butter and coffee and cinnamon. I immediately wanted to try one of everything.
A woman in an apron that saidHazel's since 1977approached us, two mugs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. “Mornin’. I’m Gemma. What can I get you gentlemen today?”
Pops ordered approximately half the menu. I got a glass of milk, biscuits, bacon, and eggs, mindful of my need to still impress a team in the near future. Indulging occasionally was fine. Eating enough for a family of four was not.
Once Gemma left, I turned my attention to the view outside. I couldn’t seem to stop staring at this place and its people. I was enamored.
"What are we doing today?" Pops drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
"I figured we'd walk around. See what's here. I heard there's a local college with a good baseball program. They've got a home game this afternoon."
His eyes lit up. "A game? Hell yeah."
"Nothing professional. Just?—"
"I don't care. Baseball is baseball. What time?"
I sighed. "Two o'clock."
He sat back in his chair looking deeply satisfied with the day's itinerary. The man's threshold for fun was very low, which honestly, was one of his best qualities. Give him food, a walk, and a baseball game, and he’d tell you it was the best day he'd had in years.
He meant every word of it too.
