Page 59 of Game Day

The food comes, and our guests resume their conversations in little groups. People from basketball and outside blend together. Tonight, everyone is family.

My mom leans over my dad toward me. "We're happy for you. Both of you. This is beautiful.” She nods to the paintings.

My lips curve as I take in my wife.

Before dessert, I feel Nova squeeze my hand. "Something’s on your mind. Please tell me you’re not already strategizing for the home opener." Her eyes glint with happiness and humor.

"No," I say.

"Then what?"

I lean toward her, my mouth brushing her ear as I exhale."I can't wait to take you home."

"Really?" Her lips curve. "Haven't we already done everything?"

"Now that you're my wife, we've got to do it all over again."

* * *

By eleven, the dancing is in full swing.

A familiar form who didn't get an invitation appears, flanked by aides in suits.

"Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I have a business dinner here in town and stopped on the way to say I'm sorry for causing you grief,” the mayor says, holding a wrapped gift.

“This place matters to me. I’ll continue to help out where I can,” I promise.

She smiles and nods, setting the gift with a pile on the other side of the room before heading back to the doors, aides in tow.

Across the room, my wife is acting something out, her arms gesturing in sweeping circles while the guys laugh.I head her way, and the crowd parts for me.

She's telling a story, her gestures getting wilder. I bite my cheek in amusement. My hands land on her waist, and I draw her back against me.

"Excuse us," I say to the group.

She's light under my hands as I turn her in my grasp, adjusting my grip to pull her close. We move to the music.

"But I was just getting to the good part!" she chides lightly as she tips her face up toward me.

I think about the rest of our lives together. Tonight, the next year, the decades it come.

"You're right about that."

EPILOGUE

NOVA

“Call security.”

Clay's voice at my back has me spinning toward him.

"What’s wrong?" I demand. He appears to be fine, but he's staring at the wall with an expression of confusion.

We’re at the Louvre, looking at expressionist paintings.

"It’s upside down," he declares."It has to be. These are feet, and this is a head. Get a guard over here to fix this, stat.”

I giggle and tug Clay’s arm. “It’s abstract. You’re more of a concrete guy.”

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