“You better hope she doesn’t pop early,” I ribbed.
He stopped and looked at me. “Oh, shit. What if she pops super early? Like during the playoffs. Shit like that happens all the time!” he asked, his eyes wide. “What am I gonna do?”
I laughed. “Relax, man. You’ll deal with that later. You’ve got a lot of other things to do before then.”
“Like what?” he asked, slamming his locker shut, finally dressed.
“You’ve got doctor’s appointments and baby showers and midnight cravings and shit. It’s the beginning of the end, my man,” I teased as we headed toward the weight room.
“Try to scare me all you want, I don’t even care,” he shot back. “There is nothing you can do that can change my mood. My woman and I are having a baby. Dude,” he said, suddenly getting quiet. “We’re having a baby.”
I had never seen him look like he was in awe before. Ever. Not even when he and Vanessa got together. Kids will do that to you. Or so I’ve heard.
“I’m happy for you, man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now let’s get this workout going so you can get home.”
Later that night I was lying on my couch trying to watch SportsCenter. It had been a long day and a really tough practice. But the team was continuing to mesh really well. The rookies were starting to click on the field with the veterans of the team and I was confident we could be contenders for the Super Bowl this year. At least, I hoped so. I only had a few years left and hadn’t made it all the way yet.
I was having a hard time concentrating on the announcers on TV, because I kept thinking about that damn text from Addison. I wanted to respond, but I wasn’t really sure how.
Fuck it, I thought, sitting up and grabbing my phone. I took a deep breath and started typing.
Me: You’re welcome for the jerseys. I missed seeing you there. Had a great time with Mick, but it wasn’t quite the same.
I dropped my phone next to me on the couch, expecting to get no response. Surprisingly, she replied.
Addison: I had to work.
Me: On a Sunday?
She took a little longer to respond this time. Apparently she hadn’t thought that lie through.
Addison: Listen, Jason, I think you’re a great guy and I love that you have been there for Jaxon for the last couple of weeks. But I just don’t think it’s a great idea for us to hang around together.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Why was I not surprised that she was, once again, being cryptic.
Me: So you’ve said. You’ve just never said why.
Addison: It’s complicated. Please don’t be mad.
Me: I’m not mad. So listen, we don’t play until Monday this next week so I was hoping I might be able to come get Jaxon on Sunday. Do you have a second to chat?
She knew I was lying but I didn’t know what else to do at this point. I waited a full five minutes for a response this time. I even used the restroom and got another bottle of water before I heard back.
Addison: Sure.
This time, I made her wait. I knew it was petty, but I just wanted her to have to sweat a little. Like she kept doing to me.
When I finally dialed and put my phone to my ear, I was half expecting her to just not answer. Once again, I was wrong.
“Hello?” I was surprised when she answered and I realized how much I had missed hearing her voice.
“Hey.”
We both paused for a few seconds. With all the strange emotions coursing through me, I honestly had forgotten what I had called about.
“So, um . . . you wanted to see about picking up Jaxon on Sunday?” she asked nervously.
“Oh . . . yeah,” I said, finally remembering. “My apartment has this really awesome pool with a slide and a high dive. I was hoping I might be able to take him swimming. I mean, does he swim? Maybe I should have asked that part first.” It was strange feeling so nervous talking to Addison. I didn’t like it.
“Yeah, he swims,” she said. “He was on the neighborhood swim team last summer. He’s pretty good.”
“Yeah?” I said with a smile. “Did he have to wear a little bitty speedo and shave his legs and all that?”
She giggled. “They actually have jammers now. They’re like biking shorts. It’s what most of the little boys wear these days. And no . . . he didn’t have to shave his legs. The neighborhood team isn’t that competitive.”
“Oh. Good,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to have to call him a pansy to his face or anything.”
“Yeah, that probably wouldn’t help his ego,” she joked. “Especially considering their jammers don’t exactly fill out at this age yet.”