whoa mom u wont believe it im starting
Heather read the text in astonishment, because something good had happened. Jordan had taken the top spot. Her heart filled with happiness and another emotion—hope. She felt unaccountably as if her son had lifted up their entire family in just one stroke. She texted back: you’re STARTING!?
yes ?
Heather felt wetness come to her eyes. It was the emoticon that got to her, a generic representation of a smile that was too damn long in coming. On impulse, she scrolled to her phone function and called him.
“Ma, hold on,” Jordan answered, his voice low. Heather assumed he was going where he could talk to his mother without fear of embarrassment.
“Jordan, is this really true? You’re starting pitcher for varsity?”
“Mom, do you believe it?” Jordan asked, his voice filled with happiness.
“No, no I don’t!” Heather felt tears come to her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’m so proud of you! You deserve it! You worked so hard, you practiced so hard!”
“Mom, it’s unreal! Coach Hardwick just told me, like, in front of everyone. I felt bad for Raz, though.”
“He’ll be okay. What did Coach Hardwick say?” Heather wanted to know every detail.
“He said, ‘starting roster for today’ and read off the names, and when he got to the pitcher, he said my name. Awesome, right, Mom?”
“So awesome! So what did you say when he said that?”
“There was nothing to say. I got my glove.” Jordan laughed, a carefree giggle that Heather remembered from when he was younger.
“Where are you now?”
“In the locker room, in a stall.” Jordan laughed again, and Heather realized that he had no one to share his happiness with except her. Raz was his closest friend, so there was nobody else left. She wished she could be there to watch him pitch, and wetness returned to her eyes. She cleared her throat.
“Well, you have a wonderful game, sweetheart. Knock them dead!”
“I will. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, honey,” Heather said, hoarsely. She had no idea why she was getting so choked up. The emoticon. That giggle. Her son, who had worked so hard for so long, had finally caught a break.
“Bye.” Jordan ended the call.
Heather wiped her eyes with her fingers, then looked up to see her manager, Emily, striding toward her.
“Heather, what are you doing on the phone?” Emily asked, glaring.
“Sorry.” Heather looked Emily directly in the eye. She wasn’t about to deny it. She would take her lumps.
“Was it a personal call?”
“Yes. My son.”
“Was it an emergency?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t your son know not to call you at work?”
“He didn’t call me, I called him.”
“For what reason?”
“None of your business.” Heather felt anger flicker in her chest, underneath her name tag.
“Did you have an emergency?”
“No.”
Emily’s blue eyes hardened like ice. “You know you’re not allowed to make personal calls at work. We’re in the middle of a luncheon. We’re trying to get everybody served.”
“My station is completely served.”
“How do you know they don’t need anything? They could need something while you’re outside in the hall, making personal calls.”
“The call lasted three minutes, maximum. I was just in the dining room and I can go back in right now.”
“Not the point. You broke the rules and you should know better. This is a warning, and if you do it again, you’re fired. And you were on more than three minutes. You were on four.”
“Are you serious?” Heather felt the anger burn brighter. “You timed my phone call?”
Emily didn’t bat an eye. “Yes, that’s my job.”
“No, your job is to make sure the luncheon is going well and the club members are happy, which they are, at my station. You’re just trying to catch me in a mistake because you have it out for me, from day one.”
“And you made a mistake. Because you’re not committed to this job.”
“Of course I am! I’ve been doing it for seventeen years. If you look up ‘committed’ in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of me in this stupid dirndl.”
Emily crossed her arms. “I don’t like your attitude.”
“I do. I love my attitude, and you know what, you don’t need to fire me. I quit.”
Emily’s eyes flared. “You better think about what you’re saying.”
“I have,” Heather said, though she hadn’t. She was tired, finally of waiting. For nothing. For everything. For her life to start. She found herself untying the back of the white apron that went over the dirndl, which wasn’t easy considering that she still had her cell phone in her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m stripping in the freaking hallway.” Heather balled up the apron and threw it on the rug. “And if I could, I’d take off this effing dress, too.”
“Are you serious right now?” Emily asked, surprised.
“Abso-effing-lutely.” Heather didn’t know why she was using profanity. She never talked that way. Meanwhile, one of the new waitresses walked by, averting her eyes, and Heather thought that if this were a movie, people would clap, like at the end of Bridget Jones. But in the real world, people looked away. They didn’t want to see somebody jump off a bridge. “Take this job and shove it” was a song, not a career move.
“Fine then.” Emily snorted. “We’ll send your last check to your house.”
“Thank you.” Heather turned away, heading for the locker room, her eyes suddenly dry and her thoughts newly clear. She would get her purse and change into her clothes. She was going to a baseball game to watch her son pitch for varsity.
One of the Larkins was in the Winner’s Circle.
Chapter Eighteen
Susan slipped on her sunglasses and hurried through the parking lot to the baseball game. Thank God it was a sunny afternoon because she didn’t want anyone to see her puffy eyes. Everyone would know about Ryan’s arrest by now. She’d considered not going to the game, but she couldn’t sacrifice Raz for Ryan.
Susan prayed Raz was pitching today. He derived so much self-worth from being the pitcher, believing that his athletic skill was the only thing he had over his more academic older brother. Susan saw so much in Raz that he didn’t see in himself—his open heart, his carefree way of looking at life, his absolute joy in meeting people—all of it so much like Neil. But because those things came naturally to Raz, he didn’t value them, and nothing she could do would convince him.
You’re as smart as your brother, honey, Susan remembered saying to him when he brought home another borderline report card. You can get better grades, if you try.