Page 127 of Falling Offsides

Oh. No. No… no…

I can’t.

Nope.

No.

“Umm…”Say no.“Sure.”

Fuck.

“Sure?” Auguste’s eyes bug.

“I mean, if you want me to…”

Say no.“Yeah. I do. Obviously. Of course.”

“Great.” Sabrina is glowing as Auguste starts to walk her out. She pauses to pick up her purse on the kitchen island. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Is Dad waiting for you?”

“Yeah, he and Sabine went for a stroll on the beach.” Her fingers twist through his curly mop defining a few of his frizzy curls. “You’re washing your hair too much and not moisturizing it enough. It would be so much better if you braided it.”

“Do you remember when the other kids used to think I had nits because I couldn’t stop itching the braids when I got sweaty?”

“They were kids, Auggie. White kids that knew nothing about black hair.” Sabrina rolls her eyes at him while she scrunches the tight curls at the front.

“I like my black hair like this,” Auguste says softly, taking her hand.

“It suits your handsome face.”

A bright flush glows on his face at her compliment. I’ve never seen him so self-conscious as when he walks her to the hallway. With another hug of her son, Sabrina waves goodbye to me.

It’s stupid, I know—but the way he watches her go makes something old and empty in me twist hard. The visible care and concern he has for Sabrina and that she demonstrates toward him is beautiful. I wish I had that with my mom.

Instead, I have unanswered calls and ignored messages. It’s okay, one of these days she’ll reach out again. When she’s not mad at me.

I focus on shaking up the egg whites while I attempt to get my emotions in check again. I start pouring them into the bowl when I realize there’s no hand mixer. No stand mixer.

I’ve never made meringues by hand.

“What’s wrong?” Auguste asks when I start panicking.

I know it’s not about the mixer. It’s just what’s tipped me over the edge. It’s so ridiculous to be triggered by a healthy relationship between a parent and child. I can’t admit that to him—that I’m jealous of his relationship with his mom. The admission sounds awful even in my head.

“Court, if you’re freaking out about tonight, you don’t have to go with me. You don’t… like… you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know,” I say, allowing him to lift my face to his. “It’s not that. I totally forgot about a mixer.”

“I can get you one.”

“Oh my God, no, Auguste.”

He looks at me confused. “Why not? If you need one…”

“I can do it by hand. It’s fine.”

“Also…” He pulls away tensing his arms to show me his bulging biceps. “You got me, Princess. I’ll help.”