Page 73 of Roughing the Player
“Okay.”
She’s sitting up on her bed, laptop on her lap, and Butch next to her. “He’s not coming in too, is he?”
“No. He’s watching a football tape to prepare for Sunday’s game.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is that all he can think about?”
“It’s his job, honey. And he’s very good at it precisely because, among other things, he studies game tapes.”
“Oh.”
I drop on the corner of her bed. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss things since Sunday. Anything you want to talk about?”
She doesn’t respond right away. But then, “I was wondering . . .”
“Yes.”
“Well, you and Brock hadn’t seen each other for years, right?”
“Yes.”
“So when did you. I mean, how did you . . .”
She can’t quite figure out how to ask, but having anticipated the question, I’m prepared with a response. “After he arrived in Chicago, we discovered sparks were still there.”
“Ookayyy. But when exactly did you discover this?”
This is the tricky part, but I figured out an answer that should work out. “You remember that dinner he invited me to?”
“Yes.”
“It happened that night.” Since she was at a sleepover, she wouldn’t know I hadn’t spent the night at the hotel with Brock.
“So, why didn’t you tell him about me then?”
There’s no good answer to that, so I can only go with the truth. “Our reconnection was so fragile, it didn’t seem the right time.”
“Aha.”
She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, and who can blame her?
“You want to know what I think?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I do.”
“You’re getting married because it got out he’s my father, and he got into trouble with his football team.”
I can’t disagree. That’s exactly why we’re getting married. Well, that, and the fact I’d probably get canned from my job.
“But—” she adds.
“But what?”
“You’re happy when he’s around.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. Your face lights up, and you smile more.”
