Remy

There was a knock on the door.

Remy looked through the peephole. It was Coach Troy. What the hell was he doing here? Oh shit.

Dammit, her car was in the driveway so she could not pretend to not be home, like she did with the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

She considered just not answering and later pretending she had not heard the doorbell because she had been taking a shower, but she had a feeling Troy would not buy that story. She also had a feeling he was the kind of guy who would just keep knocking and ringing until she was finished with her pretend shower. Remy sighed and opened the door. Troy stepped inside without even being invited.

“Rude,” she said.

He looked upset. “I’m rude?” At least I do what I say I’m going to do.”

She folded her arms and kept her distance. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard your friend Rodney yelling at you on the phone in the grocery store, and I could tell by the conversation that you caved. You promised me yesterday you were going to cut back. What’s going on here, you don’t have the balls to stand up to him?”

“I didn’t promise, I said I would think about cutting back.”

“And did you even think about it?”

She was feeling extra defensive. This was the second male to shout at her today and she was pretty well fucking done with that noise.

“I’m not accountable to you.”

“Actually, you are. You say one thing and then you don’t follow through. This has an effect on your son, which has an effect on my team and on me. I’m benching him for the practice game.”

“He can handle it.”

“Can he? He’s thirteen. Where is your brain?”

“Get out of my house!”

He had her by the shoulders. “When are you going to give this kid a break?”

“I took him to the doctor and there’s no damage!” She was telling the truth. “Just muscle fatigue. So, when are you going to let him pitch?”

“Maybe I should make you pitch.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“No, really, come on. Outside, right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

But his face said otherwise. And she did feel guilty. Rodney had threatened not to just cut back but to fire them as clients completely if she cut back to two lesson a week.

She was nearly in tears, having been caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Outside.” Troy was dead serious.

Remy didn’t know what he had planned. He looked scary and pissed.

He raised his eyebrows like he was talking to an insolent child. “You come to my job and harass me? I come to your house and harass you. Let’s make this even.”

She grudgingly followed him outside to the backyard, where Troy grabbed a ball and two mitts, one of them a catcher’s mitt, out of the bed of his truck.

He wordlessly led her to the backyard and planted himself in the middle of the yard. He pointed for her to stand there next to him. She did, and he handed her the ball and a fielding mitt. Then he took the catcher’s mitt and trotted about 50 feet away, turned around, and squatted, facing her.

“Let’s see that arm.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Probably. Let’s see that arm, I said.”

“I don’t know how to pitch.”

“I’ll teach you.”

He walked her through a set of instructions on form, and she sent the ball flying at him. “That was a mile out of the zone, but try again. Harder.”

“Why are we doing this? You do realize I do not play youth league ball.”

“Just do it. Again.”

So she threw the ball again. He threw it back, harder.

This went on for several minutes.

“You’re getting closer to my ZIP code, at least. Try again. Put all your weight into it.”

“What the hell are you trying to prove?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m trying to prove when we’re done here.”

And then, about five pitches later, she knew. Her shoulder was starting to hurt.

“Can we stop now? Let’s go inside and talk.”

“No. We’re still practicing. Come on, mama.”

After about five more pitches, her shoulder and forearm were very sore and she complained.

“Aw, come on. You’re young, Remy, you can take it.”

“I can’t. It hurts. I want to go inside and talk now. You made your point, asshole.”

“Nope. No time for talk, time to practice.”

“I said, you’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

“Yes, you’re trying to make me see how hard it is to pitch again and again, and how I’m ruining Elliot’s shoulder and that I’m robbing him of developing his skills elsewhere on the field. Blah, blah blah. You’re trying to show me what a terrible mother I am. And I am! I’m a real Mommie Dearest and you are Coach of the Year! And every other man in his life is simply the best, and I’m the bad cop. I’m the one that has to say no to everything for the sake of helping him do better, and I’m the one everybody hates.”

Remy couldn’t stop the words flowing out of her, and then pretty soon, the tears came. The words kept pouring out of her mouth. Everything she’d ever felt about Ryan being the fun parent, everything related to her worries about Elliot hating her. About all the other moms hating her for whatever reason.

“I get it, OK? I’m a horrible mother and a horrible person…”

Remy could barely see a foot in front of her and she hurled the ball with all her might, rage expelling out of her with a wild grunt. The ball bounced off the ground and popped off Troy’s shoulder. “Hey!” he shouted.

She sat down on the ground and put her head in her hands. Her face was hot as the tears melted her mascara. Remy didn’t care that Troy was witnessing this intense moment of self-hate and shame. Isn’t that what he meant to do?

Besides, she had bigger things to deal with at the moment. Such as signing her kid up for a lifetime supply of counseling.