I got out of my car and walked inside the house, finding Ryan in the foyer, handing Mary Ann a bottle of wine as she gushed about how thrilled she was to see him, how wonderfully he had been playing, how proud we all were of him. As they both spotted me and turned to say hello, I managed to change my attitude, shifting into grateful mode. I might not like this sort of thing, but it was really nice of everyone, Ryan included. He walked the few steps over to me, slid his arm around my waist, and kissed me on the lips, leaving little doubt about the nature of our relationship, while Mary Ann complimented my teal dress.
“I got it at Lucy’s. Thank you. And thank you so much for tonight,” I said as the three of us moved toward the living room, which was already filled with voices and laughter.
“Surprised?” Ryan whispered to me in the hall, his arm now casually draped across my shoulder.
“Yes. Very. Thank you for coming,” I said, smiling up at him, bracing myself for our grand entrance.
“Of course, babe. I wouldn’t have missed it,” he said. Then he kissed me once more, this time in plain view of Scott Street, our head trainer, and Tim Seymour, the academic counselor whom Coach jokingly referred to as “the grim reaper” because he only came knocking with bad news. Scott and Tim both looked surprised to see Ryan, and it occurred to me that my relationship would trump my new job, the former being the more impressive accomplishment in most everyone’s eyes.
Trying to act as natural as possible, I began my round of hellos and hugs, observing, as I frequently did at such gatherings, how eclectic the group was, just about as diverse as it could be given that we all worked at a small private college in Texas. Gay and straight, black and white, young and old. It was one of the things I loved about sports: all the built-in diversity and intense bonding that came with having one huge thing in common. We really were like a tight-knit family, as Mrs. Carr had always said. Although our patriarch had not yet arrived, Lucy was already working the room, with Neil at her side. Wearing a gorgeous coral pantsuit with several long strands of pearls, she glowed. Even her hair had been freshly highlighted with wide streaks of golden blond. She rushed over to give me a big hug. Her mood was infectious, and I instantly absolved her from her ensuing admission that she and Ryan were indeed in cahoots.
“I know you don’t like surprises, but …”
“But what?” I said, smiling but trying to prove a point.
“But … sur-prise!” she said, high-fiving Ryan as if they’d just completed a tactical military invasion. Meanwhile, Coach Carr made his understated but still grand entrance, in a polo and khakis, strolling over to us just as Ryan headed to the makeshift bar to get me a glass of champagne.
“Hello, girls. You both look so pretty,” he said, reminding me of how he talked to us when we were teenagers, before a dance or party.
“Hi, Daddy,” Lucy said, kissing her father’s cheek.
“Hi, Coach,” I said, feeling the warmth of being near him, while doing my best to push away my recent unsettling epiphany. “How was practice?”
“Other than the fact that our o-line is as useless as a screen door on a submarine?”
I burst out laughing, then recalled another recent colorful colloquialism slamming our linemen. “Slightly less damning than being an ashtray on a motorcycle?”
He raised his brow and said, “Maybe not. Least smoking on a bike won’t kill you.”
I smiled as Ryan returned with two glasses of champagne. He handed me one, then gave Coach a hearty, manly hug and told him it was great to see him.
Coach smiled and said, “You, too, son. Hell of a game last Monday night.”
“Yes, I heard you watched with Shea. And Miller,” Ryan said, with a calculated grimace.
Fortunately I had told Lucy about the odd Miller exchange with Ryan, so she was quick to defend me. “Yeah. Shea said it was annoying the way he just showed up out of the blue and glommed on to her conversation with Daddy.”
I looked at her, thinking that hadn’t been what I’d said at all, but I knew what she was doing and appreciated her effort on my behalf. I still felt compelled to throw Miller a bone, though. “He means well,” I said, glancing at Coach, who nodded his agreement.
Ryan wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “He’s a mess.”
Lucy nodded. “ ‘Mess’ is an understatement.”
I changed the subject back to football, as Coach covertly checked his watch, confirming my suspicion that he had only shown up to be nice and was biding his time until he could leave. Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, after we’d both drifted into different conversations, he found me again, tapped me on the shoulder, and said he really needed to go prep for the next game.