Out of Bounds Ch. 01

AUTHORS NOTE: Lauren appears in "Can We Never Speak of This Again?" and "Breaking Away," but this is my first story from her perspective. It picks up after the ending of the first. It runs four chapters. An explicit scene is coming (pardon the pun), but first we need some world-building. I could write straight-up smut, but I've always found that things have to be earned and make sense.

I read, appreciate and try to respond to all comments. Feedback is welcome.

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Our daughter Luna is questioning her sexuality. Every time I tell her it's okay to be who she is, I feel guilty. Because if it really is okay, then why have I never told anyone that I am not straight?

Only one person knows. My best friend Bel. She had a baby three weeks ago. I might have done this sooner, but if it goes to shit, and I can't debrief with her, there's no soft place to land.

I figure the best place to start is by telling my husband Nate. I haven't told him about my experiences because there never really seemed to be a reason to. I've only dated men. And I am married to him. Telling anyone I am bi feels like a label that would draw unnecessary attention.

One evening, after the kids have gone to bed, we are preparing to turn in ourselves. He's laying out his work clothes for the next day and I'm in bed, checking emails. He says, "I'm concerned what they're teaching Luna at school."

"Why?" I say, assuming he's talking about her Math grades. She's never been good at it.  

"So many people these days think they're gay," he says. "They're going too far with inclusion."

I put my phone down. Last we had talked about this, he'd been listening to podcasts. I assumed they were the positive parenting kind. "No one gets influenced to be gay," I say. "Just ask Bel and Sam."

We've had dinner with Bel and her wife many times. We've vacationed together.

"Well, Sam's mom is gay, isn't she?"

"She's bi. Why?"

"Well, that might have had an effect on her."

I frown. I don't like where this is going.

"And Bel, her family life, all that trauma. That had an effect on her."

"Are you saying people are queer because of trauma?"

"More or less. I listened to this podcast..."

I listen to him for a little while. The podcast sounds like the ones my Uncle Rob listens to. The MAGA uncle we see only once a year at Thanksgiving. I've never even heard him use the phrase "woke left" until now.

It's concerning. Time to rip the bandaid.  

"Nate," I interrupt. "I am bi."

He laughs. The same way he does to anything I say, no matter how banal, on April Fool's Day. "No, you're not."

"I am."

He puts the shirt he's holding on the dresser. Then he picks it up again and refolds it, even though it was already folded. "I would know if you were by now. We've been married for twelve years."

"I've been with women, Nate. Before you."

"In college." He still isn't looking at me. "All women experiment. That doesn't mean anything."

"But it does to me."

"Who?"

My nostrils flare. "Does it matter?"

I thought he might have questions. I thought he might even want to hear about my specific experiences, but right now I don't feel safe telling him. His face looks sour, like his favorite football team just lost a game.

"I think it's important for you to know, Nate. This isn't something you get influenced into being. You just are. And that's okay."

"Right. Sure." He yanks the charger out of the wall and shoves it back in. "You can't just say that at ten o'clock at night and expect me to..." He doesn't finish.

"Nate."

"Keep your voice down. The kids."

"I am. I'm not the one who's-"

"You're getting worked up."

"I'm not. You are."

He kills the lamp on his side. In the dark, the mattress dips and then goes rigid. He turns to face the wall.

He doesn't kiss me goodnight.

A couple of afternoons later, I'm on my way to soccer practice with Luna. She has not stopped talking since we left the driveway.

"Alex says Messi's way better than Ronaldo. And I said yeah, obviously, because Messi doesn't even fall over when someone touches him. Ronaldo falls over if a leaf touches him."

"Mm-hm."

"And Alex says Messi's even better than Pelé. But I said that's not fair, because Dad says you can't compare people from different times."

"That's very wise."

"So who do you like better, Mom? Messi or Ronaldo?"

"Messi," I reply, like I have a hundred times before.

Luna lets out a satisfied yes as if she is hearing it for the first time.

I am trying to be present, but my mind is miles away. Maybe Luna senses it too, because she stops talking and stares out the window.

The sky is a sad gray. The weather forecast said it would rain, but not until later. And besides, rain never stopped a soccer practice. I'm wearing a weatherproof jacket in case.

Nate hasn't talked to me since our conversation the other night.

We pull up to the parking lot. I've barely stopped the engine when Luna jumps out and runs over to her best friend Alex.

I get out. I've learned a lot about soccer since my kids started playing. I thought Nate might be a bit more involved, since he loves soccer too, but he often works on the weekends. I'm friends with the other moms. And if I had to sit down and just watch all the time, I'd go crazy.

I walk up to Alex's mom, Kellie. She's saved me a good spot on the bleachers. "The break needed to be shorter," I say. "Luna asked to climb on the roof on Friday."

"Absolutely," Kellie replies. "Alex broke a window panel kicking a ball around."

"Ooph," I say.

Out on the grass, the girls are volleying a ball back and forth while the cones sit in a neat row, waiting for someone in charge. Shin guards on backwards, pretending they aren't waiting to be told what to do. Around us, the usual pre-training noise: the scrape of chairs, a toddler protesting a sunhat, a dad on speakerphone in the parking lot who has clearly never been to training before.

"Is that the new coach?" Kellie says.

I look to where she is looking and see a woman shaking hands with a line of dads. She's tall, brown hair in a ponytail, wearing a sweater and some shorts. Clipboard tucked under one arm, a mesh bag of bibs over her shoulder, whistle around her neck.

"What's her name again?" I ask. "It was in the group chat. Somewhere between the seventeen messages about who's bringing snacks."

"Jules."

"Is that short for Julie or Julia?" I say.

Kellie chuckles. "You should ask her."

"Do you want to come introduce yourself with me?"

"No way! That's a one-way ticket to volunteering to do something. And Brad's already running the fundraiser this year. I can't be the family that runs the whole club."

"You're already the family that runs the whole club."

"Then I've done my time." She holds out an apple slice like a peace offering. "Go on. You're on the roster. You have to make nice with the coach."

"Suit yourself," I say, and walk up to Jules. As I get closer, I can see her thigh muscles are quite defined. She must squat.  

"Hey Jules," I say.

She turns around and smiles. It's crooked and looks like she's up to something. She looks like she's the same age as me.

"I'm Lauren. Luna's mom." I hold out my hand and she shakes it. Her hand feels firm and warm.

"Nice to meet you, Lauren," she says. Her voice sounds deep, like it can carry with little effort. A coach needs a voice like that.  

I notice that her eyes aren't blue or brown or definitely anything. But they're kind. I let go of her hand. "Luna will probably ask you if you like Messi at some point, so be prepared."

"Noted," she smiles, and looks down on her clipboard. "I follow the women's leagues more myself. But I know who Messi is."

I have a feeling Luna is really going to like her new coach.

"I just wanted to introduce myself because I'm one of the parents who score."

"Yeah, I saw your name on the list. Thank you for volunteering. The club wouldn't get far without people like you."

I think her eyes are hazel. That's what not quite brown and not quite green is, right?

"Well, it was really lovely to meet you, Lauren." She flashes that smile again.

I sit on the bleachers with Kellie. "What color is hazel again?" I ask.

"Um, it's like a golden brown."

"Does it have green in it?" I retie my ponytail.

"Maybe a little, but not like yours," Kellie says. "Why are you asking this?"

Because our daughters' new coach has beautiful eyes and I want to know exactly what shade they are, I think, but that will sound weird if I say it out loud.  

"No reason," I say.  

Kellie laughs. "God, you are so random."

We gossip. I don't tell her about Luna questioning her identity. I tell her my best friend has had a baby and I am a godmother now.

"Does that mean you teach them about God?"

"Nate might."

As we chat, I notice Jules squatting down to a player. Even from here, I can see her thigh muscles flexing. Yeah, she's strong. She goes between clasping her hands together and keeping them in her pockets. Probably struggles to sit still and this is how she fidgets.

The weather forecast predicted showers tonight. Anyhow, I packed our windbreakers just in case. Soccer continues wind, rain or shine. But not hail. Which is what happens. Five minutes before the end of training, it begins to pelt down.

Jules blows her whistle three times. That means it's over. Get in your cars and go. I hear her yelling over the hail. It only just carries, but the sound of water pelting down is loud.

We get in the car. "It's hailing, Mom," Luna says, as if I haven't noticed.  

"It certainly is, buddy."

We are halfway home. Traffic is slow as it's very wet. Luna notices she left her ball at training. "Mom, we have to go back," she says.

"I'll message Jules when we get home."

"But Mom-"

"Look at the weather, Luna."

She hates being parted with her ball.

When we get home, the hail has slowed to a gentle rain. I remind Luna to wipe her feet before she gets in. Nate is cooking dinner already and our other child Noah is playing with Lego.  

"Hey, hun," I say to Nate. I lean in for a kiss on the lips, but he gives me one on the cheek.

"Hey," he says back. "Quite a storm out there."

We have dinner and I listen to Nate and Noah talk about their day. We feel like a normal family.  

Nate is being cold. I've never felt this from him before. He keeps himself busy and doesn't look at me.

After dinner, it's the kids' turn to wash the dishes. That's how we teach chores. They bicker a bit but get on with it. I supervise to make sure they don't argue and that they do it properly. Also, if they chat to each other, they end up enjoying it.

Usually Nate hangs around as well. We love our family time. But tonight he disappears into the office.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jules. It's a group text to all the parents. "Three soccer balls left on field. Let me know if one's yours and I'll drop it off."

After the dishes, Nate puts the kids to bed. Noah still likes reading to sleep.

I go into the office to put away something that was left out. Nate has left the browser open. The page says something like "The Myth of Bisexuality." It's gross and homophobic. Something about far-left radical agendas in schools.

Oh no, I think. How am I going to get through to him? I think of my uncle, who loves MAGA. Will Nate be the crazy uncle everyone dreads seeing at Thanksgiving?

I pick up my phone and message Jules. "I can come grab Luna's ball."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm already out."

That's a lie. I just need to get away for a moment.

I stick my head around the door frame. Nate, Luna and Noah are reading about soccer. They're all in bed together.

"I'm just going to pick up your soccer ball," I say.

On the drive over, I decide I'm going to treat myself to an ice cream on the way home. Something sugary. And I'm going to play my music loud. Millennial music. Katy Perry or something like that.

Nobody has to know I'm eating ice cream without them. It's the most rebellious thing I've thought about in a while.

Jules lives in a brick townhouse on a quiet street. She opens the door almost immediately.

She's dressed down. She's in gray sweatpants and an oversized soccer sweatshirt, the sleeves shoved to her elbows, her hair loose around her shoulders. It's longer than I thought and a little damp at the ends. She's wearing pink socks. For some reason, they look odd on her.

"Hey," she says, and smiles. That crooked smile. "Welcome to my pad."

"Thanks for letting me come get the ball. Luna will finally stop pestering about it." 

"I still felt bad." She steps back and gestures with her arm. "Come in. I've got them in the laundry."

We walk down the hall. Photos of teammates, of family, a few trophies. Her style is minimalist.

"I noticed you're the only mom on the scoring roster, by the way," she says, glancing over her shoulder. "I don't think I said that earlier. It's mostly dads."

"Yeah, well," I say, following. "My husband works Saturdays. So it's all me with the soccer."

"Oh, that must be tough."

"Sort of," I say. I wish Nate tried a bit harder. "But Luna loves it. And my son Noah, too."

She turns around at the laundry entrance. Her eyebrows lift. "You have another child?"

"Yeah, he trains on Wednesdays. I've learned a lot about soccer by being a parent of two children obsessed with it."

"You've never played?"

"God, no." I laugh. "Have you seen my SUV? I'm a soccer mom. Not a soccer player."

She opens the door. "We'd be nowhere without our soccer moms." 

There are three soccer balls inside. One is the right size, roughly, the right kind of scuffed. I pick it up and turn it in my hands. The initials LP are printed on it. "This one's Luna's."

As we walk back, I pass a lot of boxes. "Did you just move here?"

"Yeah. My wife and I have separated." She looks a little sad.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be." She shrugs. "It is what it is." But her eyes look worried. "She wanted kids. I don't."

I touch her arm to comfort her. "Fair enough. Children crack you open and bleed you dry. They're not for everyone." 

"Thanks," Jules replies. "I wish everyone saw it that way." 

"My friend Bel and her wife Sam had a baby recently. They've been together ages now. I know how much thought and planning went into it." 

I hear myself and don't stop. Bel's story was all over the news, and she tells it herself now. She decided a long time ago that saying it out loud is safer than hiding it. At one point Bel told me, just tell people if they ask.

"Oh, yeah. It's not a decision to make lightly."

"Bel and Sam sometimes come to the games. You'll probably meet them this season." 

Jules nods. I realize I am talking a lot but can't seem to help myself.

"If I'm ever chewing your ear off, just interrupt me."

"That's what this is for." She points to her whistle hanging up next to her coach hat by the front door.

"Blow your whistle as loud as you can and I'll get the hint. Thanks again for grabbing these. Luna will be able to sleep tonight."

As I step out the door, I turn around. "One more thing. What's Jules short for?" 

She smiles, "Take a guess."

"Julia," I say. "But Kellie thinks Julie." She doesn't but I don't want to seem like I've been thinking about it alone.

Jules laughs. "You're both wrong. It's short for Juliet."

I laugh. "That didn't even cross my mind."

"But please never call me that." 

"Don't worry, I won't. Lots of people call me Loz, by the way. So, feel free."

As she closes the door she says, "See you around, Loz."

On the way home, I go through drive-through for my ice cream. The clerk asks me what toppings I want. While I wait for them to prepare my order, Jules drifts into my head. Jules, who is not to be called Juliet. Such a pretty name for a woman with such incredible thigh muscles. I drive off singing "apple bottom jeans, boots with the furrrr" and I take the long way home.