AR - Better weather

Finally, Florida’s weather is feeling normal again. That little cold snap was awful.

Now it’s merely chilly, which makes practicing outside much more pleasant. You’re with the parents while Adella is on the field with the girls, directing them. You’ve distributed all the Cowgirls merch, and everyone was very impressed, which is gratifying. Adella seemed embarrassed by it, which you didn’t think about, so you’ll have to smooth that over.

But things are going OK, except for the gossip you’re hearing as you sip black coffee from a thermos that one of the dads brought.

“Here she is,” a stout, blonde mom in a red sweater says, passing her phone. You lean over discreetly to look with the other parents. The photo doesn’t tell you much about the girl in question, but these parents have been doing some sleuthing. Some mom in an adjacent county posted something about her kid participating in Gurlberg’s Winter Soccer. This confirms your suspicions. You did a quick online search. The private school should have enough girls to support this team. If they’re pulling girls from outside, it can only be because Ellen’s stacking the team to win.

Adella blows her whistle to signal a water break, and Valeria trots over to you. The small, dark-haired girl is always grave and serious.

“What are they talking about?” she asks you, peering suspiciously at the cluster of parents.

“Grownup stuff,” you reply.

“I’m ten, not five,” she says.

“They’re scrolling Facebook.”

Valeria makes a face. “They look worried. Are you and Coach Adella both moms?”

You spit out your coffee. “What? What?” you ask, appalled by the question and the sudden way that she asked it. “No. We don’t have kids.”

“But you’re two moms?”

“Two moms,” you echo, trying to understand. Then you get it. Valeria’s a child. She’s probably heard about kids having two moms. She’s asking if you and Adella are a couple. “OK, yes. We don’t have kids, but we’re a couple. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

The child stares up at you, unreadable.

“Uh,” you say, trying to think. “We’ve been dating since… May. So, now that I think about it, it’s almost our six-month anniversary.”

“Congrats,” Valeria says, deadly serious.

“Thanks.”

“Do I get to stay late tonight?”

“If you and your dad are OK with it,” you reply. You want to teach her a Messi fake. You aren’t sure she’s ready, but you feel like you need to teach her something cool. It might make her feel better about this extra time she spends practicing.

But you’re distracted, now that you’ve thought about it: you do kind of have an anniversary coming up. You should do something to celebrate it.