One True Thing (21 page)

Coach looks at Mom and then back at me. I take a deep breath and begin the inevitable. “Coach Castro,” I say, “this is my mother Javonda Branch.”

To his credit, he only hesitates a fraction of a second before reaching out to shake her hand. “Don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says.

“We haven’t,” she says. “Tyler’s father came with him on the recruitment trip.” A couple of guys on the team stop nearby and I watch them look at Mom and then back at me—you can practically see them putting the pieces together, trying to find traces of Mom on my face. When we were little, nothing pissed her off more than being mistaken for our nanny. I don’t make eye contact with anyone, just focus on Mom and Coach.

Coach puts an arm around me. “Well your boy here has been on fire all year. Don’t know if he mentioned it, but there are several major-league organizations that have been talking about him for next year.”

Mom cocks her head at me. “Is that right? You’d think that’s something a boy would tell his own mother now, wouldn’t you.”

“Mom, please,” I say. “I didn’t want to tell you guys until there actually
was
something to tell.”

Coach winks at her. “I’ll make sure he passes on any necessary information from here on out.” He smacks me on the back. “I have to get going—right pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” she says, watching him go. “What a nice man. Nothing like that old coach you had in high school…what was his name? The one who would pull his hat down over his eyes and pout in the dugout when a game wasn’t going well?”

“Coach Collins,” I say. I look around and more than a few people are staring at us. “Don’t you have to get back to Houston to catch your plane?”

She looks at the delicate gold watch on her wrist, the one Dad said was from us for Mother’s Day a few years back. “I should get going,” she agrees. “Nice meeting you Mitch.”

“You too ma’am,” he says.

We walk toward the rental car mom has parked in the rec lot. “So that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asks.

“Not yet,” I say.

“I take it Jenna hasn’t answered any of your calls.”

I shake my head. “How did you know I was calling her?”

“You’re my son. I know a lot more about you than you think. Give the girl a few days—there’s a lot for her to think about. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.”

“You sound like one of those motivational posters.”

“Whatever works.” We pause in front of a new, silver Audi.

“Tell Dad I said hi,” I say as she unlocks the car. Having her here makes me realize how much I miss them.

“I will.” She pauses. “And don’t worry, all of this will stay between us.”

I give her a hug and a kiss. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Chapter
Twenty (Jenna)

Staring at the red numbers on my clock is getting me exactly nowhere, so I sigh and pull myself out of bed even though the alarm isn’t set to go off for another hour. Might as well go to the café and grab a cup of coffee before class. I can’t stand being in the apartment anymore, knowing that Ty is in the same building, breathing the same air. So many times in the past week I’ve wanted to knock on his door or answer his texts but I’ve forced myself not to. This is about trust, and that’s one thing he’s proven I don’t have with him.

I dress in my workout clothes and pull my hair back into a quick ponytail, closing the front door softly behind me so as not to wake Courtney. I creep past his apartment and down the stairs, but when I open the door to the parking lot, his bike isn’t in its spot and I get a kick in the middle of my stomach. Ty hasn’t been around much lately, but where could he possibly be at 7am on a Friday morning? In someone else’s bed, that’s where. Good to know he’s not taking things too hard.

The morning is still cool, so I walk to the café, trying not to run through our last conversation in my head for the millionth time. I pull out my phone and open it to the selfie that I took of the two of us leaning against his bike a few weeks ago. I’m a wreck, but Ty looks gorgeous as always. His full lips that just beg to be kissed, the strong nose, the dirty blond curls that he keeps cut short—it all makes sense now. I put the phone away, but I can’t bring myself to delete the image.

After getting my latte I set it on an empty table and glance around the cafe. It’s pretty empty this early, but the people who are here have their eyes on their phones or buried in a thick stack of books. I watch a guy walk up to the rack in the corner of the room and pull out a new copy of the Garvin Gazette. As he passes by, I see a familiar picture on the front page and it’s like the universe is torturing me. I can’t believe it. I go up and grab one just to see for sure and there he is staring at me from the front page with the headline
Garvin Player Scouted by MLB
. I skim the first few sentences:

For the first time in two seasons, a first-string Garvin State player is being scouted by several teams in Major League Baseball. African-American center-fielder Tyler Branch has had an amazing season so far, with 98 RBIs and an overall batting average of .350.

The first words of the second sentence hang in front of my eyes and for a moment, I get a tiny sense that Ty might be right. He’s no longer just a Garvin player or the league leader in RBI’s, he’s the African American player who’s doing all of these things. He hasn’t changed, but the way everyone sees him has.

“Happy Birthday to youuuu.” I hear the beginnings of the song and look up, sorry for the poor sucker who’s going to be embarrassed so early in the morning, only to see Stewart walking toward me with a blueberry scone on a plate with a candle stuck in it. I can’t believe I forgot.

“Make a wish,” he says, setting it down in front of me while the whole place erupts in applause. I can’t bring myself to wish for anything, so I just close my eyes and blow it out. “Happy Birthday sweetie,” he says, sliding into a chair across from me.

“Thank you,” I say, leaning over the table to kiss him on the cheek. “I can’t believe you remembered. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. I came in to get a scone to surprise you with at the studio and there you were, looking all sad and pensive.”

“I’m not sad and pensive,” I say, breaking off a piece of the scone and putting it in my mouth. I haven’t eaten much lately—something that has made Madame give me several compliments. Apparently heartbreak is wonderful for a dancer’s body.

“If you say so. Would you look at that?” Stewart turns the paper around so that he can read it. “It’s like the universe is giving you the finger, isn’t it?”

I look at the upside-down photo of Ty. “Exactly.”

Stewart looks at me carefully. “Ain’t no chance you can just let this all go? Ty’s very sorry.”

“How do you know he’s sorry?”

A guilty look crosses his face. Stewart was always a crappy liar. “I just assumed…”

“Stewart…”

“All right. I happen to know that he’s been staying on his teammate’s couch for the past week.”

I stare at him. No wonder I haven’t seen his bike. “Which teammate?”

Stewart pops a piece of my scone in his mouth with a dramatic eye-roll. “Fine. Rowan’s couch. And I might have been over there a few times lately.” He shoots me an evil grin.

“Don’t you dare say anything about me!”

“Don’t worry,” he says, holding both hands up. “My lips are sealed. And anyway, Ty doesn’t talk much—one of those strong, silent types. But he just oozes unhappiness.” He looks up at me. “Kind of like someone else I know.”

“Seriously. Stay out of this,” I tell him.

“Don’t you worry about it,” he says, shoving the plate back at me. “Now finish up your birthday scone.”

I have to endure another round of the birthday song at the studio, which is totally embarrassing, and a little sad now that I don’t have anyone to share it with. Dance is my only class on Fridays, so I’m glad to get out of there and have the rest of the morning to myself.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday!” Nina says, catching up to me as I rush out the door. I have to admit I’ve been avoiding her lately. Seeing her is too close to Ty for me right now.

“Yeah,” I shrug.

“Are you doing anything? Want to go out with us tonight?”

The thought of sitting at a table with her and Mitch is enough to make me crazy. “My folks are coming up to take me out to dinner. But thanks.”

I turn to go, but Nina stops me. “Did I get implicated in something here?”

I shake my head. “No.” I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn’t. “It’s just that the past week has been really hard. And Mitch is his best friend so…”

“So now we can’t be friends?”

“I just…” I’m surprised when tears fill my eyes so I wipe them away quickly. “I just can’t stand to see him. I’m afraid I’m going to run into him when just thinking about him or seeing his picture near about kills me.”

Nina puts one hand on my arm. “Then why not talk to him?”

“Because he lied to me. About everything—about his family, about who he was…I can’t trust anything that comes out of his mouth.”

Nina shrugs. “Okay, he did tell you that his mom was dead. Which was wrong. But did he really lie to you about any of the rest of it? Or did you just assume something that turned out not to be right?”

Her words twist the knife that’s been thrust in my insides all week. Ty never actually said that his parents were white. Because why would he? I just looked at him and figured they were.

Nina squints at me. “I almost think it’s harder for folks like Ty, being asked ‘what are you’ over and over again their whole lives. Me? Everybody knows I’m black. No surprises there. But Ty’s both, with one foot in each world and sometimes I suspect it’s not enough for either of them.” Nina leans forward. “How much of this is the fact that Ty lied to you, and how much is the fact that he’s not who you thought he was? That he’s not a hot, lily-white baseball player anymore?”

“It’s not that!” I say quickly. Too quickly. Because this is the thought that’s been running through my head since I first answered the door. It was hard to get my head around the fact that this beautiful, obviously successful black woman was Ty’s mother. It still is. And I don’t like that fact. I’m not like Gramps. I just wish I was totally convinced of that. “I just don’t want to feel like shit anymore.”

“I know,” Nina says, grabbing me in a big hug. It feels good to have arms around me after feeling so alone these past few days. “Just don’t shut me out too, okay? Lets hang out this weekend?”

“Okay,” I say, grateful that she pushed this conversation. “I’ll call you. I promise.”


                    
 

There’s a knock on our front door, so I check my lipstick in the mirror and turn to Courtney, who’s been sworn to silence. Mom knows that I broke up with Ty. But she has no idea why and I want to keep it that way. “Let’s do this.”

“Happy birthday darlin’,” Gramps says, picking me up and twirling me around like I’m still five years old.

“Hi Gramps. Hi Mom,” I say, kissing her on the cheek. The hallway is empty behind them. “Where’s Gram?”

“Her arthritis has been acting up,” Mom says. “So she didn’t want to take such a long car trip. But she sends her love.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Gramps says walking further into the room.

“Gramps, you remember Courtney?” He’s met her several times, but with him you never know.

“Of course I do. You’re coming to dinner with us tonight, aren’t you little lady?”

“Yes sir,” Courtney says. “Thanks for inviting me.”

The fact that he doesn’t mention Ty means that Mom has drilled it into his head the entire way up here not to say anything.

“Happy Birthday baby!” Mom says, pressing a small gift into my hands. She pulls back and looks at me. “So hard to believe that twenty years ago I was in the hospital holding a tiny, perfect baby girl.”

“Seriously, Mom.” But I don’t mean it, because she basically says a version of this every year.

“Are you going to open it?” She’s practically bouncing with excitement, which is weird. She always gives me a gift certificate to H&M because she says she has no idea what I like.

“I guess,” I say. I pull off the tiny ribbon and lift the lid on the box to see a folded piece of paper. I glance at her and then unfold the paper to see that it’s a printout of an email. “What is this?”

“Two tickets to New Orleans on May 15th,” she says. “Surprise!”

“Okay…” I say, still not understanding what she’s up to. “I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “And what else have you always wanted to do?”

My mind’s a blank. “I don’t know…dance at the Met?”

Mom sighs. “Audition for American Dance! Which is happening in New Orleans on May 17th! Surprise!”

I look back at the email. “You got me tickets to get to the American Dance auditions?” I fling myself at her in a hug. “That’s amazing! I can’t believe it!”