Carrie hated soccer.
Even as a child she’d hated it. Her mother had forced her onto the team last-minute, none of the other kids really liked her, and she thought that the uniform was the ugliest shade of puke green. Her team had never won in the four years she’d played, and she’d just never really shaken all of the negative feelings attached to the sport. It always made her think of how much she always hated her mom for making her do stuff “for her own good”. Stuff that she’d “thank her for later”.
And yet, here she was on the bleachers, doing her best to cheer as loud as she could.
Quality parenting, right? As much resentment as she felt towards her mother and this stupid European excuse for football, she’d gone and enrolled her own daughter on the team only to be met with just as much enthusiasm.
Katie hadn’t been taking the move well. Divorce was always hardest on the kids, or so she’d heard, but Carrie couldn’t help but worry about her daughter. Starting a new school had especially rough—the new job meant that she had to move poor Katie to an entirely new school district, and during the middle of middle school no less. She’d more or less spent all of eighth grade in her room, talking on her phone or playing her games. She hadn’t made any friends the previous year, and she’d spent practically all Summer stuck inside being a slug. Sure, her grades had improved, but for how long? It wasn’t healthy to stay cooped up all the time playing Overwatch, and Carrie sure didn’t want her bright, bubbly daughter to find herself ostracized during high school. The last thing Carrie wanted to deal with was a full-on teenaged rebellion, complete with Satan stars and black lipstick, in the middle of her already gripping with a nasty case of becoming suddenly single.
So, without much idea as to what else to do, Carrie decided that Katie was going to play Soccer.
It was for her own good.
(ugh)
God, she hated this.
As alone as Katie must have felt down there, she felt even more alone up in the stands. She knew nobody. It was so much easier when Katie went to the same school district she had growing up. All the moms and dads were just people she went to high school with. She didn’t even have a husband to barnacle herself to anymore—she might have even taken him over the crowd of strangers, if just for the length of these stupid soccer matches.
At least, she thought to herself, that from the stands she could enjoy a good chili dog.
And maybe, in another life, that would have been the highlight of her daughter’s soccer matches. The sewer pipe that was her life might have a little crack that led to the sunshine that was “wow my daughter might hate this as much as I do, but boy how about them chili dogs?” and life would have just been grand.
Instead, right after the kickoff of the second quarter, that was when she saw them.
How could she not have seen them before? The three of them had been talking throughout the entire game; laughing, taking pictures, having such a good time. They were all dressed in the same golden number 9 jersey—SULLIVAN written across all their backs in solidarity. They seemed so… together. Like they knew what they were doing with their lives. Even with the whistle blowing down on the field and the stands clamoring around them, Carrie’s attention was drawn intrinsically towards the conversation that she couldn’t really hear but so desperately wanted to be a part of. The three of them just seemed so… so cool.
And somehow, in some way, Carrie knew that that was what she needed in her shambled life. A group of friends, just like that. Ones who would come to soccer matches and make it fun for her. Friends that she could talk to and who could show her around the town. Friends who she could bitch about her cheating ex-husband to.
She’d spent so much time worrying about Katie being moved clear across the state, having no friends and nothing to do, that she’d totally missed that she was in the exact same situation as her daughter.
It was so obvious; how could she have not seen it before?
“H-Hi!” Carrie said with a small wave as the name on the back of their jerseys evaporated from her mind, “Are you, uh… players’ moms? Moms of players?”
“Guilty as charged.” The redheaded one in the middle said with a little laugh and a dismissive wave, her pretty voice lilting in the Autumn heat, “I’m Summer’s mom—you know, the co-captain? Its only her second year and she’s already pretty much in charge.”
“Oh wow.” Carrie was practically starstruck by these women, fuck the kid, “So, are you all…?”
“Oh no, we’re just here to watch the game—we go to Shelby’s girl’s games, she comes to our girls’ things.” The blonde on the end furthest to Carrie laughed, “’Are we all’! Us, all together like that, can you imagine?”
The three of them tittered at the insinuation, Carrie laughing along dumbly and for a little too long. The other mothers stared at her for the briefest of moments before carrying on.
“Are your girls on the team, darlin’?” the tall brunette asked with a piqued eyebrow
“Girls? No, just girl. One girl. Number, uh…” crap crap crap what was her daughter’s number? “Katie. Her name’s Katie.”
“Ohhhh so you’re…” the same one winced slightly, “Katie’s mom… riiiight.”
“Number 5!” Carrie blurted out, “Katie’s number 5.”
And, all at once, the other mothers peered down into the soccer field for what had to have been the first time since the game started. They scrutinized each of the golden little specks before one of them—the one furthest from Carrie—pointed her out.
“Ohhh!” the one in the middle said, “She’s… well, she’s definitely… a player!”
“A little… slow, huh?”
“She’s… a kind of big for her age, isn’t she?”
Carrie’s blood ran cold. What was the protocol here? It wasn’t like she really cared how good her daughter was at soccer. It wasn’t like Katie even cared about how good she was at soccer. Was this something to get offended about? If she got offended, did that mean she couldn’t hang out with these cool moms who totally had their lives together? This was the kind of thing that someone really needed to explain to newly single parents…
“Yeah, she’s still learning.” Carrie laughed it off, “Not really into Soccer yet… but she will be!”
“Well, my name’s Shelby.” The redheaded one continued in an almost bored sort of voice, “Shelby Sullivan.”
“Florence Folly.” The blonde one smiled piteously, “Call me Flo.”
“Dillon Duncan, charmed.” The taller brunette said in a curt sort of voice
“Uh, C-Carrie.” the only woman not in a jersey said with a smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, hun.” Shelby broached dismissively, “Well we’re here at every soccer game—
“Or Football game.” Dillon interjected, “Go Cougars!”
“Art Club events too.” Flo wriggled her fingers, “It was so nice to meet you, sweetie!”
“Don’t be afraid to stop by and say hi.”
And just like that, the three of them turned inward, back unto themselves. Carrie stood there for just a few seconds, trying to think of some clever sign off, before eventually just doing that awkward bleacher shuffle back to her seat. It wasn’t until she was seated that she realized she’d been talking with all those other women with a giant chili stain on her flannel shirt.
“That went well.”
Carrie groaned, sinking her head deep into her hands. Moments like this called for another chili dog.
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