Page 57 of The Off Limits Captain
“You trust rules too much,” I say.
“No. I trust people more when the rules are clear.”
I look at her then, really look.
Fog in the field. Coffee going cold. My mother’s apron folded over the kitchen chair behind the screen door. Peyton sitting close enough that I can see one pale line of flour still caught near the inside of her wrist.
“My mother used to make us say what we meant before dinner,” I say. “If we fought, if we lied, if Dad and I came in from the barn pretending not to be angry. She would point at a chair and say, use the real words or eat outside.”
Peyton’s mouth softens. “Did it work?”
“No. We ate outside a lot.”
This time her laugh comes easy and quiet.
I want to keep it.
“You negotiate everything?”
“Only with difficult men.”
“You know a lot of those?”
“Enough to recognize one in the wild.”
I kill a smile before it forms.
She sees it and looks away first.
By midmorning, Dad texts.
Your mom’s awake. Alert. Asking for you. And for Peyton.
I read it twice.
My mother reads everything written about me. Every recap, every feature, every brutal column from people who think a man can be summarized in twelve inches and a headline.
She knows Peyton Hayes.
She knows what Peyton wrote.
And she wants to meet her anyway.
I find Peyton at the kitchen table with the twins, helping Lily with math homework that looks designed to punish whole families. Emma has drawn a tiny hockey stick in the margin of Peyton’s notebook. Peyton has written, in neat print beside it, excellent form, questionable blade curve.
Something pulls tight behind my ribs.
“My mom wants to meet you.”
Peyton stops moving. “Why?”
“She asked.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Mom knows about her?”
“Apparently.”
Peyton stands slowly, wiping her palms on the apron before she unties it. “Ryan, I don’t have to do this. If it makes things harder…”
