Page 15 of Waiting for Friday Night

They worked through the exercises. When they were done, Quinton got up and went to the side table where snacks and bottles of water were placed while Halle finished writing up their comments. She watched him walk away and admitted she’d misjudged him. One bad situation with a football player and uncaring coach in high school and she’d been judging athletes ever since. Quinton continued to have good insights about the way the district wide changes would affect students and parents in the upcoming school year. Not only that, he’d had thoughtful ideas about ways to overcome them. She’d assumed that he wouldn’t take this seriously or be interested in working on the project. She’d painted Quinton with the wrong brush and that was on her.

Quinton came back to the table and put a bottle of water in front of her. Halle glanced at it and raised a brow. “For me?”

He nodded. “We talked a lot while working on this. My throat is dry so I figured yours may be, too. I got you these.” He slid a package of fruit snacks her way.

“Snacks, too?” She was thirsty, and she did need a sugar pick-me-up.

He slid back into his seat with a grace she wouldn’t have expected from a guy so big. “You eyed them when someone passed by with them while we worked.”

Heat filled her cheeks. He’d been paying that much attention to her? “I was going to get some.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. You want me to present our ideas?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I can do it. I don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.” He opened a pack of peanut butter crackers and took a bite.

“I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“For assuming that you wouldn’t judge Shania fairly. She says you’re not like that.”

He finished chewing then took a sip from his bottled water. “I’m not like that. I remember what it was like to be overlooked in high school just because I wasn’t what the coach or teacher expected I should be. Because I remember that, I don’t want the kids I come in contact with to feel that way. I want them to know that I judge them for what they do, not what they look like or where they come from.”

“You were judged about where you came from?”

Quinton met her eyes. For the briefest moment he appeared uncomfortable, vulnerable. The timer went off, indicating the group exercise was done. In that quick second his calm, confident demeanor returned, and he focused his attention back to Dr. Watts, who’d stood.

Halle hated the interruption. She wanted to finish their conversation. To learn more about Quinton Evans. She had to add thoughtful to the things she’d learned about him. He didn’t have to bring her water and fruit snacks. He was also insightful. He was turning out to be an interesting person, and, heaven help her, Halle was always drawn to learn more about interesting people.

Six

Quinton sighed and shook his head as his mother asked the same question she always asked before they ended a phone call. “When are you going to settle down and give me some grandchildren?”

He’d heard that question consistently since he signed his contract to play professionally. Before that, throughout high school and college, all he’d heard from Laura and Willie Evans was “You better not get anyone pregnant” followed by “We can’t afford to take care of any kids you bring around” and wrapped up with “You know what will land you in jail faster than robbing a bank? Child support!”

After spending most of his life hearing about all the reasons why he couldn’t afford to have a kid and how he better not bring around any babies, you’d think they’d understand his hesitancy to have kids before he was ready. Quinton didn’t have any kids.

That you know of.

The thought crept into his mind as it always did when his mom asked. Thoughts of that one time he’d been desperate for money and had rushed into a decision that may have resulted in him having a child.

“Mom, when I’m ready to settle down you’ll be the first to know.”

“You don’t have to settle down to have kids,” his mom said.

Quinton still couldn’t believe she was uttering those words. She would have slapped him upside the head if he’d even thought those words in high school.

“She’s right, you know,” his dad chimed in.

Quinton scoffed. “Dad, you in on this, too?”

“I’m just saying,” his dad said. “Having some young’uns around would be kind of nice. You and your sister are grown. I missed all the fun stuff when you were kids because we were struggling to make ends meet. It would be nice to spoil a grandbaby.”

“If I do have a kid, I’m not spoiling it,” Quinton said firmly. “My kids will understand that you’ve got to earn things in life.”

His mom sucked her teeth. “Just because you struggled doesn’t mean my grandkids have to struggle. What’s the point of making all that money if you aren’t going to spend it on something worthwhile? Kids deserve to be spoiled.”

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