The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County (7 page)

C
heater
, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

“
C
an I ask you something
?” I turned toward Moira.

She’d been working at the funeral home as long as I had, on the taxidermy side, and as the only other woman besides my mother-in-law, we were forced into being friends.

It also helped in having someone to walk to the kids’ soccer games with, that wasn’t Blanche giving one of us the stink eye.

“Unless you want me to massage your tits again like that last time you had that breastfeeding problem, the answer is yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Get mastitis one time and ask a friend for help at work, and it hangs with you for life.”

Oleander stirred in my Moby wrap as if the kid got hungry just from hearing the word “tit”.

“Okay, spill,” Moira said, flicking something off her shoulder.

It was nine in the freaking morning and the woman was in sky-high heels with her hair blown out and makeup airbrushed on. This was rec league soccer, not the club, and there was no way in hell I’d be able to get the two-month-old off my tit long enough to even put on mascara.

Glancing behind us, I saw that Saige, and Moira’s son, Harry, were kicking the soccer ball in the grass and having some kind of little kid conversation. In front of us, Willow kept shoving Cypress and trying to get him not to eat his boogers.

“I think Brady might be cheating on me,” I whispered.

“WHAT?” Moira yelled and all of the kids turned toward us.

I smiled politely between all of the kids. “Miss Moira just has a little hearing problem, kids.”

The kids shrugged and went back to what they were doing.

“How is that even possible?” Moira asked, finally lowering her voice.

“I didn’t think he was at first, but this morning he shut the computer as soon as I came into the room, so of course I opened it when he left and found the Pottery Barn website open!”

Moira put her hands on her cheeks in mock shock. “Not Pottery Barn!”

I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously, do I have anything Pottery Barn in my house? He was looking at furniture. Furniture he is probably buying for his mistress!”

Moira rolled her eyes. “That’s why you think he’s cheating?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s more than that. He’s always had these crazy business plans, none of them have ever made it, but he’s always been so excited to talk about them. This time, whatever he was doing, he didn’t want me to know. And get this, today he took the minivan! He usually takes the hearse when he’s running errands in town, so whatever S-L-U-T he’s shacking up with, has to live somewhere other than Beaver Falls.”

“You do know the kids can spell now, right Luna?”

I sighed, walking in step with Moira and turning off Main toward the high school where the soccer fields were set up behind the rusty bus garages. “Yeah, but I still can’t bring myself to say the words.”

Moira squeezed my shoulder. “Brady loves you. He’s loved you since grade school. He wouldn’t cheat.”

“I hope you’re right. But don’t tell the other moms, okay? The last thing I need is Queenie gossiping to the other hair dressers, or Blanche telling her brother or my mother-in-law.”

Moira practically keeled over laughing. “Yeah, I think you’d have better luck with me telling your husband than talking to Blanche.”

Saige and Henry ran ahead of us, kicking their balls down the small hill until they met up with their team.

Blanche and Queenie were camped out in folding chairs near the bleachers. Queenie waved when we approached, but Blanche looked down at her manicured nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Hey, ladies,” Queenie exclaimed as we unfolded our chairs next to his. Moira made sure to be on the other side of me and as far away from Blanche as she could be.

This was getting ridiculous. These girls were older than me and acting like we were all still in high school.

But I had more important things to worry about than their petty shit. Like Oleander crying just as soon as I sat down.

Unhooking the strap on my dress, I popped my boob in his mouth and he happily sucked instead of screamed.

“Did you seriously just whip your boob out at a soccer game?” Queenie stared down at Oleander’s little head.

“You want my kid to scream the entire time?”

Queenie sat back in his seat and kept his face forward.

Blanche finally looked away from her fingernails and gasped. “Luna, put your titties away or at least cover up!”

She threw a scarf at me, hitting my shoulder and bouncing off on the ground next to Queenie.

Queenie stood up, turning away from me and waving into the bleachers. “Oh, look, there’s Kathy from the salon!”

A woman with short, spiky black hair, a very deep tan, and a black shirt reading ‘17’ in big bedazzled letters, stood up and climbed over the bleachers. “Quinn, what are you doing here?”

Queenie laughed, walking toward her. “Annie’s playing for the Little Beaver’s”

Kathy offered him a tight-lipped smile. “Cute. Which one is she?”

Queenie pointed toward Anna, who was sitting on the ground and picking a dandelion as the ball went right past her. “What about yours?”

Kathy pointed toward the goal where a kid that looked much older than eight, stood in a striped shirt, blocking ball after ball. “That’s my little Greggy.”

“Little my ass, that kid’s about six five and has more hair on his face than Brady,” I muttered and Moira smacked my arm.

“It looks like the Little Beavers are going to have some competition today.” Queenie laughed.

Saige ran over to the sidelines, grabbing his water bottle from the diaper bag and slugging it back.

I glanced between the two laughing hairdressers to my little boy. He may have only been eight, but I did not pass down my high metabolism and killer left kick for him to embarrass me on the field. If I couldn’t sit and talk about Brady cheating with some Pottery Barn-loving whore, then I was going to put my energy into the game.

Grabbing the front of Saige’s shirt, I pulled him closer as water dribbled down his chin. “Now you listen to me, Saige, you know you’re the best player on the team. You don’t need to hold back just because your friends aren’t playing. Today you’re going to go out there and you’re going to kick some Dollywood Doll butt!”

“Momma, did you just say the ‘b’ word?” Saige asked, his tongue getting caught between his missing two front teeth and causing him to lisp.

I groaned. “Just go out there and win, okay, baby?”

Saige nodded before turning and running out toward the field where their coach has them gathered in a circle.

“Do you think Coach Miles is hot? Like in a geeky sexy way?” Moira asked.

Oleander fell asleep on my boob, so I pulled up my shirt and let him snore against my chest. I looked over in the direction of all of the kids squatting with Miles in the middle.

He was tall, kind of lanky, and had this hair that swept to the side like some kind of teen pop star with a chiseled jaw. If I was into twenty-five-year-old guys who talked about things like teamwork, maybe I’d find him sexy.

Maybe Brady found that sexy too.

“Luna, you’re doing that thing were you scrunch your face too hard. Are you thinking or constipated?” Moira asked.

“I am not,” I pouted and tried to smile a bit. “I just don’t see the appeal in a guy that has absolutely no idea what he’s doing as a coach.”

“Just because you’re pissy, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on Miles.”

I rolled my eyes. “And just because you want to fuck the kids coach, doesn’t mean you need to call me pissy.”

Before Moira could respond, the referee came onto the field. Of. Fucking. Course.

Douchey Doug just had to be the ref again for this game.

Blanche and Moira both straightened in their seats, their jaws clenched.

At one time, Doug was sex on a stick. Captain of the football team, dating the head cheerleader, Blanche, and had a body that didn’t stop.

Sometime after he knocked up Moira, and Blanche ran to L.A., I guess he decided to eat his feelings. Not saying being overweight was a bad thing, but when you combined that with a pornstache, a mop of curly, possibly unwashed hair, and an attitude like you’re still the shit: Douchey Doug would always be Douchey Doug.

The girls and boys all scurried over to their spots in the grass.

“All right, let’s go Little Beavers!” I yelled, cupping my hands together like a microphone.

“I just can’t bring myself to cheer for beavers,” Queenie mused, taking a long drink from his mug that smelled like turpentine.

I sprang to my feet, watching Harry take the ball, then of course lose it when he kicked it in the other direction of the goal and right to the other team. Seriously, the coach only played him because he likes to stare at Moira’s cleavage on the sidelines.

Saige barreled in, running and kicking faster than I’d ever seen those chicken legs of his move.

“Go Saige!” I clapped, running down the sideline. Oleander stirred in my Moby, whining against my boobs before he started rooting.

“Seriously kid, you just ate,” I muttered, bouncing in place to quiet him while following Saige with my eyes.

He dribbled right then faked like he’s moving left, before dribbling right around the defenders.

Then the he-man came out of the goal: Kathy’s freaking ginormous son that makes Saige look like a toddler.

“Come on, baby, you can take him!” I yelled, much louder than I intended to. Something about the adrenaline from Brady’s possible cheating and the game, had me all hopped up.

Saige slid, his cleats coming in contact with the goalie’s legs instead of the ball like a regulation slide tackle would, not that one should do that to the goalie, but I was still proud of my baby’s first slide tackle. Too bad the goalie didn’t fair so well.

The giant fell face first into the grass and when he stood up, blood was dripping from his chin while he sobbed.

The coaches ran over to the crying behemoth and before I could get to the field, I was spun around and staring into the wide eyes of Kathy.

She pointed her long ass nails in my face. “What the fuck did your son just do? You never touch the goalie!”

“Maybe if your son was playing with his correct age group he wouldn’t be such a p-u-s-s-y.”

Kathy cocked her head to the side and curled her lip. “Did you just seriously call my son a pussy and spell it out?”

“And what if I did?” I put my hands out to the side.

I’d only been in one fight in my entire life and that was probably twenty years earlier. I also didn’t have a baby strapped to me at the time, and I just pulled a girl’s hair on the playground then ran like hell.

“Oh, you’re asking for it, you hippie bitch!” Kathy lunged forward, but Coach Miles was between us, pushing us both back.

But of course the bean pole could only block so much, because the corner of Kathy’s giant ass bedazzled ring hit my jaw before the other coach could hold her back.

I grabbed on to my cheek and Moira ran over with a red drink in her hand. “Here, honey put this on to take away the sting.”

I glanced down at the plastic, non-BPA, free bottle in her hand. “I am not taking that high fructose corn syrup knock off electrolyte! Spend the extra dollar on the real stuff, Moira!”

Moira frowned and pulled back the drink. Miles looked at me. “Hey, Saige’s mom, you’re going to have to cool it. This is rec soccer. There’s no reason to get in fights with other moms.”

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN A REAL COACH,” I spat, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

With that, as if on cue, Oleander started wailing and head butting my chest. Then Willow and Cyprus came running from under the bleachers, with Cyprus picking his nose and Willow crying about something.

Miles eyed me seriously. “I think it may be time for you and your family to go home. Maybe take a break.”

I wanted to argue, but with the heat of everyone’s eyes on me, I decided it was better that I get out before another bedazzled ring hits my face.

M
omma’s Got A Brand New Do

T
he kids ended
up going straight to the funeral home and up the stairs to grandma and grandpa’s.

They had cable and that always got picked over hanging out at the guest house.

Oleander fell asleep again in the Moby wrap just as we got home. I sat down on the tiny pull-out coach, letting out a deep breath.

I knew I’d have to wake Ole up soon to eat again, but all I can think about was what the hell Brady was doing.

I couldn’t even go looking for him since his phone was too old for a tracker. Damn the iPhone updates.

Without remembering I fell asleep, my eyes snap open as a knock comes at the side door.

Thinking it was probably Blanche or Moira, I closed my eyes again, only to have Oleander start wailing.

“Dammit. Can’t a mom get some sleep?” I grumbled, pulling my boob out for Ole, before I stood up and walked to the door.

Instead of my sister-in-law or either of my friends standing there, I come face-to-face with a wide-eyed Queenie.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know it was lunch or dinner or snack time?” He looked everywhere but my boobs.

“What do you want, Queenie? Did you guys have to do rock, paper, scissors to see who dealt with crazy, hormonal Luna and you got the short straw?”

“Sort of…”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got a lot on my plate, okay? I just freaked out at the game and it’s not totally my fault. Your hairdresser friend was out of line too!”

Sitting back on the couch, I adjusted Oleander while he happily gummed down my boob.

Queenie shut the door, shaking his head. “I could tell at the game that you’re stressed, which is why I stopped by. I thought maybe we could book an appointment. Maybe get your roots done?”

He took the seat next to me and ran his hand through the hair on my side that wasn’t touching my boob.

“What’s wrong with my roots?” I snapped.

Queenie backed to the other side of the couch, the rusty springs squeaking underneath him. He held his hands up before he spoke. “Okay, honey, your roots are fine. I just thought you might want some relaxation.”

“I want to relax, but I can’t. I have to go back to work at the funeral home tomorrow, still keep Ole on the boob, get all of the kids in school and soccer, and where is Brady? Probably out screwing some chick on a Pottery Barn bedspread,” I sobbed, the tears freely falling from my eyes in big, ugly drops.

Queenie gasped beside me and scooted closer, patting my shoulder. We’d never been close. The only time we really communicated was at soccer practice, or when we’d call him in to do the hair or makeup for the deceased. “Kitten, why the hell would you think that Brady would be with another woman? You two have been together since grade school and no one else wanted the boy who lives for all things dead people.”

“Are you saying I was the only girl he could get?” I sobbed even harder.

“No! I didn’t mean that.” Queenie sighed. “But, Kitten, there is no way he would be with another woman. He loves you and all your damn kids. Where are they anyway?”

I sniffled. “They’re next door at the funeral parlor, but I think the Hooper funeral is at one so I’ll have to pick them up soon.”

Queenie stood up, putting his hand out to me. “Well then, Momma, I think you have time to get those highlights in.”