My dad has always been a huge baseball fan. I remember when I was really little, maybe three or four, he would sit with me on his lap and explain all the positions to me. For my fifth birthday, he bought me my first real glove and signed me up for T-ball. I was so excited. My dad came home every day after work and we played catch in the yard until Mom made us come inside for dinner.
My mom wasn’t a huge baseball fan, but when the Minnesota Twins played she went all out and made sure we had hot dogs, popcorn, and soda pop. Well, I had soda pop and Dad had beer. She made sure my lucky shirt was washed and left Dad and me alone for our “man time” during the game. I think she secretly liked getting away from us and used her dislike of baseball as an excuse. Regardless, I was in heaven. When I started Little League, my dad was an assistant coach and I thought there was nothing cooler than having my dad calling me into home from the third base line.
Then, my mom left. Dad didn’t want to watch games anymore and he stopped coaching. At first, he still came to the games and still wanted to put on the façade that Mom was just gone for a few days. Then days turned to weeks then months and finally years. Baseball wasn’t something that came naturally to me but I loved the game and the bond I shared with my dad. I did everything in my power to hold his attention and mistakenly thought baseball was the best way.
By the time I reached high school and made the junior varsity team, he’d completely given up on putting up any fronts and baseball became more about being included in something than a sport I cared about. High school was when the foursome of myself, Landon, Jameson, and Bentley solidified. As teammates we became friends but, over time, those friendships grew and they became my brothers. Those three guys and their families became my family and I hate to think of where my life would have been had it not been for them.
Now, each time the Twins play, I grab a pizza and head to my dad’s house. I’ve given up hoping we get back to where we were before Mom left, but he’s still my dad and we still love the Twins. Tonight, I ordered the meat lovers special plus one half with anchovies for Dad. Clearly, he has no romantic life if he’s eating half a pizza with anchovies.
Two knocks and I walk in the door to the home I grew up. Dad’s sitting in his recliner, remote in one hand, and a beer in the other. He refuses to drink any of my brew and insists his same light domestic beer is just fine. Sure, it is, if you’re at a cookout or the lake. But, hanging out eating a pizza and watching your favorite team play on television is not light domestic beer time.
“Hey,” I say as I pass through the living room into the kitchen. I go through the motions of pulling out two plates and placing them on top of the pizza box with a few napkins before grabbing a beer for myself and returning to the living room. Dad has yet to acknowledge I’m here. This is how it is with us. I say some informal and quick greeting, he grunts, I pass him a plate of pizza, and we watch the game in virtual silence with the only commentary coming from one of us if there’s a great play or a really shitty call. That’s it. Father and son bonding at its finest.
During a commercial break, Dad goes to the kitchen and grabs a fresh beer. When he sits down in his recliner again, I try, as I always do, to engage a conversation. “That was a great double play.”
The sound of the can opening and a grunt are his response.
“So, I was thinking of finally calling that realtor lady and seeing about looking at some houses.” Dad pauses, bringing the can to his lips. It’s a slight pause but a pause nonetheless. “If I find a place and it doesn’t require much work, I should be able to finally get my system out of your basement.”
“Whatever you need to do.”
“I just figured, it’s been years and you’re probably sick of seeing it all.”
“Doesn’t bother me none. Do what you have to.”
And there you have it. Do what I have to, not what I need, or what I want. But, what I have to. We sit like that for another forty minutes before my phone signals a text message. I pull my phone from my pocket and see it’s Jameson.
Jameson: Yo, you busy?
Me: Nah, what’s up?
Jameson: Minnie called and is having a problem with her door. I’d go help her but I’m not around. Can you swing by?
Me: Sure. This game’s about over anyway.
Jameson: Ah shit, man. I forgot the Twins were playing. I can call Landon.
Me: It’s okay, the conversation here is riveting as always.
Jameson: If you’re sure.
Me: No problem. Shoot me her address.
I tell my dad I need to leave and his response is yet another grunt and the sound of a can opening. I clean up our plates and empty the half-drank bottle of my personal brew down the sink. What a waste. Before I leave, I run down to the basement and check the temperatures on my current batch.
Jameson sent me Minnie’s address and told me it was near his house. After I plug her address into my GPS I confirm she lives just a few blocks from Jameson, which is only a short distance from my dad’s house.
I pull up in front of a small bungalow that is common in this neighborhood. The front door is closed and I don’t see anyone standing around outside so I assume Minnie didn’t have a problem getting inside the house. As I approach the covered porch, I note a few toys scattered around the steps and a small little pink bike with a basket laying on the grass. Before I can knock, the door flies open and I stop in my tracks.
Standing before me is Minnie. She looks flustered and absolutely breathtaking. Breathtaking? Who the fuck talks like that? Not me, that’s for sure.
Wearing a pair of tight black workout pants and a fitted bright-pink tank top, Minnie has her long hair piled on top of her head in some sort of messy up-do. Her face is void of makeup and, by the expression on her face and the way her eyes have doubled in size, I can tell Jameson didn’t give her a head’s up I was coming.
“Oh. Hey, Owen. What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” Her eyes aren’t quite as big as she gathers herself before attempting to look nonchalant, leaning on the door. Unfortunately for her, the door isn’t sedentary and moves slightly, causing her to stumble. I let out a little chuckle and the look she shoots me is anything but welcoming.
“Jameson isn’t around and asked me to come by and help you with your door,” I say with my best smile.
“Oh.” She brushes a stray lock of hair from her face with her free hand while the other grips the door handle. “That’s okay, it’ll be fine until I can get someone out here tomorrow,” she stammers.
“That’s not how this works, Minnesota. You work for the best damn construction company in town. Which is why I’m here. I’m the best and we take care of our own.” Flirtatious? Maybe. What can I say, I’m a man?
Before Minnie can respond, a little naked baby crawls behind her and smacks her leg.
“What are you doing, little miss?” Minnie scoops down to pick up the naked baby, who I think she called Cari or Cassie? Something with a C, I know that.
“Looks like you have your hands full.”
“What?” I nod in the direction of the baby she’s holding. “Oh, yeah. It’s bath time. Do you mind hanging out for like ten minutes while I get them washed up? I’ll be right back.”
“Sure. Mind if I come inside?”
“Oh, my goodness! I’m such an asshole! Yes, come in.”
Minnie steps aside as the little squirt from the cookout comes around the corner. Instead of being naked like her little sister, she’s standing there in a towel.
“I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home,” she says, walking down the hall, shooing the little towel-covered one. I can hear Minnie hushing her as she asks a million questions about “that man.” I walk around the living room and notice a few pictures of the kids and one of a young family. I don’t see any photos of Minnie though. Slowly, I make my way into the kitchen and open the fridge to find bottles of water. She said to make myself at home so I grab one and return to the living room. It’s a smaller house, but seems just right for Minnie and the girls.
As promised, about ten minutes after she disappeared, Minnie returns with a clothed baby and a little shadow behind her. “Sorry, if I don’t keep them on some sort of schedule, all hell breaks loose. As it is they missed their call with their mom because of the door.”
“No biggie. I helped myself to a water, I hope you don’t mind,” I say, gesturing to the bottle on the table.
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m glad you found it. Let me show you what happened with the door.” Minnie sets the baby down on the floor with a few toys and starts toward the front door. I follow behind her and allow myself the opportunity to appreciate the maker of these black pants. Seriously, I have never seen a pair of legs like this girl has.
“So, when I got home today I put the key in the door to unlock it. I must have been really distracted, or it’s the exhaustion from three hours of sleep last night, but regardless I kind of broke the key off in the door.”
I bend down and, sure enough, the key is broken off in the lock. “How’d you get in if you broke the key?”
“Uh, well. It’s kind of … promise not to turn me in?”
“Sure?” It’s a question because I’m not certain who I would turn her in to.
“I had left the bathroom window open a little this morning so I just opened it and set Arizona inside. After much coercion, I finally got her to unlock the back door.”
“Why would I turn you in for that? That’s pretty smart of you.” I offer her a smile which seems to offer her some sort of relief. Minnie lets out a huge breath. Which, of course, make her tits swell and move, forcing me to remind my dick it needs to calm the fuck down. To distract myself, I turn toward the squirt, who is standing just to the left of Minnie in a very protective stance.
“Did you help your aunt with the door, squirt?”
“Yep, we do stuff twickadee sile,” she says adamantly. I have no idea what she said but I can tell by her tone she is serious. I look to Minnie and she smiles.
“Yep, we handled it chickadee style.” Minnie’s clarification saves me from having to figure out what the kid said.
“Ah, yes. Well, well done. But, sorry to say I’m going to have to change this lock. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one laying around, would ya?”
“What? Oh, gosh no I don’t think …”
“I’m kidding. I doubt you would. How about I run down to the hardware store? It doesn’t close for another thirty minutes. I’ll grab you one and be back to change it.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure it’ll be fine overnight. Nobody will even notice.”
“That’s true and you are in a safe neighborhood. It’ll just give me peace of mind knowing your door locks. Unless,” I pause for effect, “you want me to spend the night.” I’m teasing her, but if she said yes, I’d make sure it was the best decision of her life. The look on her face says she can’t tell if I’m teasing.
“Relax. I’m joking. I’ll go and be right back.”
I don’t allow her an opportunity to respond before I’m running down the steps toward my Jeep. As I put the key in the ignition, I look over to the house and see Minnie shooing in the squirt and closing the door. Before the door completely closes, she turns to look at me and smiles. I may not be spending the night, but maybe I’ll figure out a little bit about Minnesota Walker, and not just how she fills out a pair of tight pants.