Friday morning, a Lexus SUV pulls in front of our house. Renata follows me out the front door. The corners of her mouth are down-turned. She says, “You are getting too old, Adam.”
“No,” I say.
She stares at me like she’s expecting more.
“I’m just right,” I say. “I’m the age I am.”
She laughs a little, more than when I make my new jokes. We are almost to the Lexus. “I’ve been a good mom to you, right?” she asks.
“Uh,” I say. I stop, because Coach Anderson has gotten out of the car and I don’t want him to hear this odd conversation. “You are my mom. That’s good.”
She nods. “I wish we had gotten you that cell phone.”
I nod.
“You all ready, buddy?” Coach Anderson says.
Renata hugs me. “Kick butt, or whatever you jocks like to say.”
And then I am scared. I’ve never been away from Renata overnight, not since she finally managed to adopt me in Poland nearly five years ago. I did not let myself think about this moment before.
Coach Anderson stands behind the SUV with the back door open. “Throw your bag in here,” he says.
“I call shotgun, dude!” Carli says from up front.
“Shotgun?” I ask.
“Front seat!” she says.
Renata is forgotten.
“I like back seats,” I say, smiling big. I throw my bag in back, then climb into the door behind Carli. She twists and gives me a smile.
“I love camp,” she says. “It’s so fun.”
Coach Anderson climbs in the driver-side door. “Don’t you even think about playing, Carls. You’re here to coach. Your knee is not remotely ready.”
“Whatever. I’m just a baller,” she says.
“Baller,” I repeat.
“My gosh, I hate that word,” Coach Anderson says, but he laughs.
He pulls from the curb, and we roll past the college. Maybe Renata stayed in the cold yard and watched me leave? Maybe she waved? I don’t know.
We drive through a glowing Minnesota morning. Spring snow that fell earlier is almost gone and the ditches turn green. Carli sings terribly with the radio until Coach Anderson says, “Good lord, Carls. Please put a sock in it.”
I don’t want her to put in a sock, because I like her bad music so much.
We drive far past the exit for Chaska High School. Soon we are on a road of many lanes, filled with cars, getting closer to Minneapolis. Finally, after going so close to the airport I thought two airplanes would land on the SUV (I ducked, which made Carli laugh, because if a plane really landed on the car my ducking would not help), we take an exit. Then we turn into a neighborhood with nice big houses that overlook a river as big as the Vistula River in Warsaw. I know this must be the Mississippi. What else? It’s the biggest river in Minnesota. Actually, it’s the biggest river in all of America.
“We could live here, Dad, if you’d get a job at one of the Twin Cities colleges,” Carli says.
“No way. I’m happy where I am,” Coach Anderson says.
“Blah. Northrup,” Carli says. “I want the city, man!”