FIVE YEARS EARLIER
“How’s that homework going?” Dad asks me late Sunday afternoon.
I glance up from my desk, my legs numb with pins and needles from sitting cross-legged on my chair for so long and my hand beginning to cramp. Dad is at my door, leaning back against the frame with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and flannel shirt, and he hasn’t shaved. He never does on Sundays. That’s why I love the weekend, because Dad is always much more relaxed and easygoing without the stress of work looming over him. It’s like the weekend rolls around and suddenly the pressure to be perfect, both him and I, disappears for a short while.
“Um,” I mumble, swallowing as I look down again and run my eyes over the work in front of me. I’ve spent the afternoon working on an assignment for History class, but even when I wrapped it all up, I was too scared to take a break. “I finished it an hour ago. I’ve just been going over the notes I took in class.”
“Good job,” Dad says. His mouth transforms into a smile and he gives me a nod of approval, then he quickly straightens up, removes his hands from his pockets and rubs them together. “Alright, put down that pen. You’re done for the day. Come on, there’s something I want to show you outside.”
I stare blankly at him, mostly wondering if I’ve heard him right. Did he just say I was done for the day? No more studying? I’ve only done a couple hours. It doesn’t seem like enough.
“C’mon!” Dad says, clapping his hands together, urging me to hurry up.
I don’t dare challenge him, so I throw my pen down onto my desk and scramble off my chair, feeling lightheaded as I stand up too fast. Despite the numbness in my limbs, I make my way toward him and he throws his arm over the back of my shoulders, pulling me in closer against him as he guides me downstairs.
“What’s outside?” I ask quietly. Maybe I shouldn’t question it, but I’m curious. And besides, Dad is in a good mood, so I don’t think he’ll mind me asking questions.
“You’ll see!” he answers, and when I steal a glance up at him out of the corner of my eye, he’s beaming down at me with a wide grin. It’s definitely not a first, but it’s still a rare occasion.
We head outside through the front door. The sun is shining from clear blue skies, and our neighborhood is busy with other kids riding down the street on their bikes and Mr. Perez next door is out mowing his lawn. It’s a typical Californian day. On our own drive, however, Jamie is fighting to snatch a basketball out of Chase’s arms as he hugs it tight to his body. I didn’t even know we owned a basketball. I squint at the two of them through the sunlight, then at the basketball hoop mounted above the garage door that definitely wasn’t there yesterday.
“What . . . What’s that?” I splutter.
“A basket,” Dad says from beside me, stating the obvious. He moves his arm from over my shoulders and walks across the lawn toward the drive, but then he pauses when he realizes I haven’t followed. He looks back at me as I stand in surprise on the porch, and he rolls his eyes, his grin widening even though that should be impossible. “To shoot at, Tyler. C’mon.”
Still confused, I walk over to join him on the drive, and I linger by his side, chewing my lower lip. “I thought . . . no sports?”
“No football,” he clarifies. “I don’t want you getting hurt. This is much better.” He dives forward and playfully plucks the basketball straight out of Chase’s arms and out of Jamie’s grasp, then dribbles it to the back corner of the drive with a smug smile on his face.
“Hey! I was just about to get that, Dad!” Jamie whines, throwing his hands into the air in defeat as he glowers at Dad.
“No, you weren’t!” Chase protests. “I was about to score!” He places his hands on Jamie’s chest and shoves him back a step, and they begin to argue back and forth.
I stand on the edge of the drive, blinking fast as I watch them, and when I glance at Dad, his features are soft and his gaze is gentle. He smiles again and then hurls the basketball through the air straight to me. I catch it, barely, getting knocked back a couple steps from the force. I hold the weight of the ball in my hands for a minute, staring aimlessly down at it. Dad’s really letting me play ball on the drive instead of studying?
“You’re not supposed to hesitate, Tyler!” Dad calls across to me with a small laugh. He nods up to the basket above the garage door. “Give it a shot.”
I look up at the basket, and I don’t even bother to aim, I just throw the ball up into the air and watch as it bounces off the garage door with a clattering echo. It bounces onto the ground, and both Jamie and Chase race to fetch it.
“Ain’t nothing some practice can’t fix,” Dad comments as he approaches me. Why won’t he stop smiling today? He runs his hand back through my hair, then spins around and joins Chase in blocking Jamie as he attempts to dribble his way down the drive. “Chase, you’re with me,” he says once Jamie shoots the ball straight over their heads and into the basket. He looks at me, smirking. “Tyler, Jay . . . good luck.”
I relax then. Dad is happy. It’s a good day. He’s playing ball with us on a hot Sunday afternoon, and I forgot just how much fun Dad can be sometimes. I grab Jamie’s elbow and pull him over to the side so that we can discuss our game plan, and Dad keeps wiggling his eyebrows at me from across the drive, and I even smile back at him. Game on.
We play for a couple hours. Jamie and I run around, out of breath, dribbling the ball back and forth and attempting to utilize teamwork by occasionally passing the ball to one another. Even Mom comes outside with juice for us all and eventually gives in and joins us after some begging. She’s on mine and Jamie’s team, but she won’t stop kissing our opposition, so she’s utterly useless.
We’re winning, though, but only because I think Dad is letting us. He has Chase on his shoulders as he dribbles the ball with one hand down the drive, then he aims and shoots the ball straight into the basket. Chase is too tired out to take part, but he does throw his hands up into the air with a cheer, then reaches down and high fives Dad. Mom plants a kiss on both of their cheeks.
It’s a good day. One of the best in a while. We’re all laughing. My brothers are competitively trash-talking one another. Mom’s smile is wide and pure, full of love and pride. Dad is just like the man I used to adore, the same man I know he still is deep down. We’re all happy.
This is the family I’m trying so hard to protect.