Happenstance

No one, not even Brady, called me Easter. If they addressed me, they called me Erin. For the first time in nine years, no one said a single negative word to me or even shot me a dirty look. I still expected it, waiting for someone, anyone to taunt me, but it never happened; not once all day. The rest of the week went that way, too, and by Friday, the tension I felt every time I walked into a classroom was gone, and I no longer waited for someone to throw insults or wads of paper at me. My thoughts were consumed by Weston, and Sam and Julianne. They had come over every night that week for dinner, and were coming over for dinner again after I left work Saturday evening. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but this time it felt important.

On Saturday, Weston gave me a ride to work, and then drove across the street to warm up at the ball fields. He had a home game in a few hours that I wasn’t happy about missing, but thankfully the scoreboard was visible over the wall. I tied the apron strings behind my back, and walked to the front, greeting Frankie with a smile.

“I thought you had a closet full of designer clothes to choose from,” Frankie said.

“I don’t want to wear that stuff to work. I don’t want to ruin it.” Lila had been washing and drying one of my two pairs of jeans every evening before she left for the day so I could pack them in my book bag and change into them for work. A lot of Whitney’s clothes were very feminine and very expensive. Her shoes were a half size too big, but I didn’t complain. This was the first time I’d worn brand name anything, much less designer clothes, but at work, I wore my worn, secondhand jeans and shirts.

We were slow for a Saturday, and Frankie and I passed the time discussing her kids, but mostly we talked about my new living arrangements, and what my life was like now. She grinned at me a lot when I talked, and I know that she was happy for me, but there was a sadness in her eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think so. More than I have been before.”

Her eyes softened. “Good. Did you get the rest of your things from Gina?”

“We stopped by Gina’s on Tuesday. I wasn’t sure about just walking in, so I knocked. She didn’t answer, so I walked in.”

“Did you get everything you needed?”

I nodded. I didn’t mention to Frankie that Soul Asylum was playing loudly when I walked in, so I rushed through my room and the bathroom, grabbing anything I thought I’d need—my other pair of jeans, my toothbrush, a razor, the little bit of makeup that I owned, underwear, bras, and a sketch pad. I left behind everything else.

“What did Gina have to say to you? Anything?”

I looked over at the score board. The game had just started.

“Why don’t you go over there and watch him? We’re not busy.”

“I need the hours.”

Frankie winked. “No you don’t. You’re an Alderman now. They’re going to take care of you, Erin. You can finally be a teenager for once.”

I thought about that for a moment then smiled. Tossing my apron on the hook, I jogged across the street and walked into the stadium. I’d never been to a baseball game before. Not many people were sitting in the bleachers besides a handful of students and the families of the players.

“Erin!” Weston was standing on the other side of the fence in his uniform and ball cap, his shaggy brown hair sticking out the bottom. He slipped his fingers through the wires of the fence, beaming.

I approached the fence. “Frankie let me off to watch your game.”

“I’m going to have to step it up a notch then.” He winked and jogged back to the dugout.

I spent my Saturday afternoon sitting on the bleachers, baking in the direct sun. It felt glorious. Weston made it to third base once, and the next time hit a home run. He played first base and got three players on the opposite team out. Once he even caught the ball right as it careened off the bat. The popping sound the ball made when it hit Weston’s glove made my hand hurt, but he was all smiles, and they all ran in off the field.

When they got their things together and listened to the coach speak, Weston made his way up to the bleachers and gave me a peck, sitting next to me. It was the first time he’d kissed me in public, and I didn’t miss the stares it garnered.

“What?”

“People are looking at us.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to go back and help Frankie. It’ll get busy since the game is over.

Weston kissed me goodbye, and I walked across the street, bursting into the back door and tying on my apron with a big grin.

“Was it fun?” Frankie asked.

“It was amazing. They won! Weston was great.”

Frankie nodded, and we worked without a break until close. We cleaned up quickly, because I would have to hurry and change and make it downstairs by the time Sam and Julianne brought over dinner at seven. I encouraged Weston to hurry as soon as I climbed up into the truck, and the second Weston pulled into the garage, I let go of his hand and darted up the stairs.

Thirty minutes later, I emerged, showered, shaven, and lotioned. Weston was sitting on the top stair, waiting for me. He stood when I walked out of Whitney’s room. I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, finally forcing a smile. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, and then we walked downstairs together. Peter and Veronica were setting the table while Sam and Julianne were uncovering dishes and setting them in the center.

Julianne and Sam’s eyes lit up when they saw me, and they both came over to give me a hug. We sat down to eat, and Weston and I chatted about our day. The adults asked us more specific questions about our assignments, and how we felt about certain school policies, which brought us to Weston’s art project. It could have been small talk, but Sam and Julianne seemed genuinely interested and hung on to my every word.

“I would love to see it sometime,” Julianne said.

“It’s up in my room.”

“The one you had framed?” Veronica said, a little surprised.

“Yeah,” Weston said.

“But you’d been working on that for months, hadn’t you?” his mother asked.

Weston looked over at me. “Yes.”

Recognition lit Veronica’s eyes, and she stifled a grin. She seemed to want to ask more, but didn’t. We were all stuck in this strange situation. Weston’s ex-girlfriend was Sam and Julianne’s faux-daughter, who also happened to be recently deceased. It was hard to know what appropriate conversation was.