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JONES
Organic Eats is in the bag. Paleo Pet is rolling out its commercial campaign. The first check has cashed.
I plunked that slip of paper into my bank account faster than I cleared the end zone in Sunday’s game, then I dropped a huge chunk of change into a college fund I set up for my sister’s kids.
I texted her to tell her, and she called me back crying tears of happiness.
I also bought my mom a gift, one she’s been coveting for a long time, and it’s the equivalent of diamonds for her. A top-of-the-line top-loading washer. When we were kids, she’d joked that her greatest guilty pleasure was doing mounds of laundry. The washing machine and the dryer ran constantly, a regular soundtrack of spinning in our home.
She loved it because she listened to romance audiobooks while she sorted the laundry. “Just finished Sophie Kinsella while I folded the whites,” she’d say.
I invested some of the dough, too, thanks to Trevor’shelp researching mutual funds. No risky investments for me at all. But the process of hitting the online transfer button from my bank account to my mutual fund hasn’t made me stop missing Jillian at all.
Imagine that.
Stashing money is great, but it doesn’t pave the way for me to drive to her house on a Tuesday evening after I practice. It doesn’t give me permission to wake up with her on a Thursday morning before I hit the gym. Nor does it make it possible for me to take her to see the nextMission: Impossibleflick when it’s on the big screen.
And damn, do I ever want to share popcorn with her in a darkened theater.
That’s both the truth, and a euphemism.
Mostly, though, I want to hold her hand as we walk into the cinema, searching for the best stadium seats, not giving an ounce of worry that someone might capture a picture of us.
My thoughts snap back to the here and now as the waiter brings me my flank steak and sautéed broccoli, and sets down plates for the rest of the guys. Liam raises his fork and knife to slice his strip steak, casting a glance at me. “How are your parents doing, Jones? I saw them on the TV during a pre-season game. They seemed quite pleased to be watching you.”
I’m grateful for the distraction. “They’re doing great, and Mom loves the new washer that I bought her.”
Trevor cracks up. “She always said it was her dream come true. A new washing machine and a son in the NFL.”
Liam chuckles deeply. “Excellent. Love that you’re close with them. Family is what it’s all about.”
My heart craters a little bit. Liam needs me to be a good boy. He loves the new image we’ve crafted of the reformed playboy.
As I slice my steak, I ask myself what it means to be good—how could falling for a woman like Jillian be anythingbutgood? She’s smart and classy, and so damn caring. I don’t see how she could possibly be bad for me. Isn’t this what Paleo Pet wants? A guy who’s committed to a woman? A guy who treats his girlfriend like a family member?
“I can introduce you to my parents at the game this weekend if you’d like,” I say to Liam, returning to the topic at hand. “They’ll be at the stadium.”
“Fantastic. I’d love to meet them, and you must be busy this week getting ready for the first home game, so thank you again for fitting me in.”
“No problem. Happy to do it, no matter how busy the week is.” I’m about to add that I’m going to make time to go to a wedding tomorrow night to see Jillian, but I swallow those words whole, as if they’re made of dust and they’re choking me. Instead, I push them out in a different formation. “Harlan and I are going to a wedding tomorrow night. Sierra Franklin, a local reporter, is getting married, and she invited the two of us.”
Best to put it out there, right? That way, no one will be surprised to see shots of Harlan, Jillian, Katie, and me hanging out together.
Ford chimes in, “Ah, Sierra Franklin, tying the knoton a Thursday night so she can be on the sidelines on Sunday, reporting on the game.”
I manage a small laugh. “She’s dedicated. That’s for sure.”
Liam spears a piece of steak, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “That’s admirable. That kind of dedication to work and a relationship.”
I want to tell him I can be like that, too. I can be dedicated to football, and Paleo Pet, and Jillian.
My shoulders tighten in frustration because I want to leave this restaurant and tell the guys I’m heading to her place. I want to wander down the street with her during her lunch break tomorrow, and duck into stores or coffee shops if she wants. I want to walk my dog with her.
When dinner ends, Liam, Trevor, Ford, and I weave our way through the restaurant, passing a young dude at the bar, who raises his phone and snaps a shot of me.
Out with the guys. Out with my brother. Out for business.
