“How do you really feel about Miller?”
I shrugged, my answer clear.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought … And between you and me, Lucy’s right … you’re too good for that boy.”
I stared at him, shocked, as he held my gaze and winked. “Didn’t expect that one, did you?”
“No, Coach,” I finally said. “I certainly didn’t.”
I smiled at him and shook my head, touched by his concern but inexplicably embarrassed. After all these years, the hero worship still surfaced at unexpected moments, flustering me.
“Good enough, then.” He gave me a close-lipped smile, then looked back down at his depth chart, signaling that our meeting was over.
I stood up and silently excused myself, not wanting to break his concentration or waste a second more of his time. As I walked past Mrs. Heflin, then back over to my office, I thought about what I should wear to my first real interview. And, more pressing, how exactly I was going to break the news to Miller.
Four
Over the next week or so, I could feel the dissatisfaction with my life mounting, as I became more certain of the changes I needed to make. Yet I kept stalling, feeling stuck. I didn’t call about the job with the Post, and I continued to spend time with Miller. All the while, I did my best to avoid Coach, lest he confront me about my lack of progress.
I don’t know what I was so afraid of—failure, rejection, or being alone—but something was holding me back. Keeping me in limbo.
Then, the following Friday night, Miller and I went to see an action flick, sharing popcorn, Twizzlers, and a jumbo Coke for dinner, a typical date night for us. Afterward, he drove me back to my place, his seat reclined, one hand on the steering wheel, some stoner band blaring on the radio. I hated Miller’s music and silently put it on the list of “Why We Aren’t Good Together” that had been lingering in my head since the indictment in Coach’s office. As I turned down the music, I randomly asked Miller if he was glad he went to Walker. I’m not sure what made me ask the question, other than the hope of baiting him into a wrong answer. If he said anything disloyal about our school, I’d have something else to put on my list. If his answer was too curt or uninteresting, I could put that on my list, too: poor conversationalist.
“Sure,” Miller said, his head bobbing to the bass. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think it was a little small,” I said, leading the witness.
“Maybe,” Miller said noncommittally.
“Was there anything you didn’t like about it?”
“The foreign language requirement,” he said. “That was some real mierda.”
“Mierda?” I said. “I took German.”
“Shit,” he translated, pushing the sleeve up on his plaid flannel shirt, pretty much the staple of his wardrobe, in addition to T-shirts and jeans. To look at him, you’d never know that he once played college ball or currently coached. With shaggy hair to match his grunge clothes, he looked more musician than athlete.
“Well … how did you feel about playing for Coach Carr?” I asked.
“Wait. Are you writing some article about former players?” Miller asked.
Delusions of grandeur, I thought, as I shook my head and said, “No, Miller. I was just … wondering.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, I didn’t like losing my starting spot to Ryan James … But I’d rather play backup QB for Coach than start for some jackass.”
I laughed, realizing that my strategy was backfiring. Miller really did crack me up, even when he wasn’t trying. He was so easy to be around. In over three years, we hadn’t had a single fight, although I knew that said as much about my personality as about his. I avoided conflict at pretty much any cost.
“And I got this,” Miller said, pointing down to his hulking Cotton Bowl ring. He winked. “Works wonders with the ladies.”
I rolled my eyes, and, although I never cared much for jewelry of any kind on a man, I did love how big his hands were and that he could still throw a football fifty yards from his knees.
“What about you?” he asked. “You glad you went to Walker?”
“Yes. Best decision I ever made,” I said, thinking that it might be the only big decision I’d ever made. Everything else just sort of happened to me.
“Better than going out with me?” Miller grinned.
I smiled back at him, but my insides were in knots as we pulled into the lot of my condo, next to my ancient Honda Accord, with a substantial dent on the driver side where I had sideswiped a concrete pillar in a parking garage months before. Miller started to open his door, but, when I didn’t make a move, he looked at me and said, “Wait. Did you want to get a bite to eat or something?”