And by big, I meant big.
Who knew someone could have so many relatives? Since my grandparents died, it’d just been Dad, Annabeth, Chase, and me. There were no cousins or aunts and uncles running around. No close family friends wearing the honorary title, either. Peyton, though, she had it all. Brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins like you wouldn’t believe. Both sets of grandparents, and even a set of great-grandparents, were sitting off in the shade.
What would it have been like to grow up with that much love around you? What would it feel like to know that many people had your back?
It was unfathomable to me.
Even weirder than the legions of relatives taking over the dining and family rooms were the Williams’ family traditions. Apparently, Mrs. Grace was from south Louisiana, and there it was common practice to smash brightly-colored Easter eggs for fun in some type of battle royal. They called it pocking. I called it strange.
Peyton’s great-grandfather had been the first to rumble, squaring up against her three-year-old nephew Baylor. The two got all serious about it, too, going squinty-eyed and lining up the pointy end of the chosen eggs in their hand. Then, at some unheard cue, Baylor smashed his egg against the old man’s. Since his egg wasn’t cracked, he’d been declared the victor.
I couldn’t make this stuff up.
My Easter tradition? Waking up, spoiling Chase rotten with chocolate, then helping him into a monkey suit for church, so Dad could make his annual appearance. Afterward, I’d lock myself in my room for a nap. At some point, Rosalyn would swing by fresh from her own family’s celebration and leave me a covered plate of food.
“Justin, what’s it like playing ball for my old man?”
I blinked away the memories, and focused on Peyton’s brother Lars. “It’s awesome,” I told him honestly, and Peyton squeezed my thigh under the table. “The man knows his shi—” I quickly glanced at the young girl across from me and corrected myself. “His stuff.”
Lars’s wife Susan smiled at me as she scooped potato salad on little Eva’s plate.
“He’s one of my best players,” Coach interrupted from the head of the table. “Justin’s on JV, but I can already tell, the boy’s gonna be unstoppable.”
The tips of my ears grew warm and I stared down at my plate. Normally, I got off on praise. God knows I never heard stuff like that from my own Dad, and making Coach Williams proud was what I lived for these days. But here, surrounded by Peyton’s family, it sort of made me uncomfortable. Which made absolutely no sense.
“One of my friends played for Dad back when I went to Fairfield.” This came from Jesse, Peyton’s other brother. “He ended up getting drafted and got to play a few years in the majors. Think you’ll want to go to college, or try pro straight out of the gate?”
I shifted in my seat, mutilating the linen napkin in my lap. Despite the chaos of bodies, the clink of silverware, and the soft music in the background, it seemed like all eyes were on me. Waiting to hear what I’d say.
“Well, I—”
“He’ll have his pick,” Coach predicted for me. “As long as he listens to instruction, as he’s been doing, and keeps working hard, he’s got the stuff. I can feel it.”
He met my gaze with a proud smile and a weird sensation tightened my chest.
“On the field, scouts look at two things,” he said, lifting a hand and counting them off on his meaty fingers. “Field position and batting average. But what happens off the field is just as important. Keep your grades up, stay out of trouble. No problems with the law or too much disciplinary crap in school, stay away from drugs and alcohol.” His wise gaze sharpened. “And stay the hell away from steroids.”
“Dan!” Mrs. Grace scolded, swinging her widened gaze toward the children. “Language.”
Not wanting to laugh, I rolled my lips between my teeth. Hell was probably the least offensive thing I’d heard slip from his mouth when he got going, but I wasn’t about to bust him for it. Seeing his sweet wife put the tough old man in his place, however, was classic and I wished the guys were here.
I looked at Coach nodded, letting him know I heard what he’d said.
Steroids were no secret around sports, especially baseball. There’d been talk around the locker room, but so far, I’d yet to see anyone actually dope up. I was glad, too, because that shit was stupid. One of the best things about baseball was how pure the sport was. Unlike everything else in my life, it was straightforward, honest, and fun. Drugs had no part in that.
“I’m sure Justin doesn’t want to be beat over the head with sports talk,” Mrs. Grace said, sliding me a wink. “You boys do enough of that at school. Today’s a holiday, for Pete’s sake, one celebrating the season of redemption and life, and this year, we have a lot to be thankful for.”