The One & Only(9)

Lucy made a scoffing sound.

“He gave me a present … later,” I said, thinking of the bottle of Coco Mademoiselle he’d given me the following day.

Lawton raised his eyebrows. “Ha. I’m sure he did.”

“Perfume, dummy,” I said, my face burning.

“He’s still a pothead gym teacher,” Lucy said.

Knowing how ridiculous I sounded, I mumbled Miller’s standard drug defenses—pot was actually better for you than alcohol and he smoked for his chronic back pain.

“Wow. You’re really going the marijuana-is-medicinal route here?” Lucy asked.

My mom shook her head and said my name in a concerned tone.

Lucy fired again. “Does he use poor grammar to help his back, too?”

“Yeah. Even I know his grammar is for shit,” Lawton said.

“Okay. Now, that … I can’t really defend. He does have a few pronoun problems,” I said. “But we’re working on it.”

“See? You sound like his mother. Do you give him an allowance, too?” Lucy asked. “When he does his chores?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help thinking about how often I picked up the check, and that Miller was usually broke.

“He is cute, though,” my mom said. “Those eyes. That body.”

“C’mon, Mom. Gross,” I whispered. “Don’t be such a cougar.”

“He’s a dumb jock,” Lucy said, turning to look at her father. “Right, Dad? What was his GPA?”

Coach Carr didn’t miss a beat. “I have no idea what the boy’s GPA was.” His eyes were glued to the television, but clearly he was listening to every word of our conversation.

“Ballpark it,” Lucy demanded.

“Well, it wasn’t stellar,” Coach Carr said, flipping channels. “But I think Miller’s getting a bit of a bad rap here. He’s a nice guy. And,” he said, wagging his finger at Lucy, “there’s nothing wrong with teaching physical education.”

“Exactly. His kids love him … He’s a great coach,” I said, realizing that I said it in the awed voice that most people would use to refer to neurosurgeons.

“For junior high football,” Lucy said, taking another long sip of her wine.

“Someone’s gotta coach junior high … Not everyone can be your dad,” I said.

“Yeah. They don’t just magically materialize as college players,” Coach said. “They gotta have good coaches along the way.”

“Shea, honey,” my mother said. “I think Lucy’s right. He’s not marriage material.”

“Who said anything about getting married?” I said, reminding everyone that I was in no hurry for all of that, unlike most of my friends and acquaintances, who had married in their twenties, many straight out of college. It was something I wanted eventually, probably, although I wasn’t sure about children, which took a lot of pressure off the quest. Still, I had to admit that the thought of marrying Miller had crossed my mind recently. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but Coach was right, he was a good guy—and I honestly wasn’t sure that I could do much better in the shrinking pool of eligible men.

“You’re wasting precious time with him,” Lucy said as my phone buzzed again. This time I couldn’t resist checking it.

Sure enough, it was a text from Miller. Left my jacket. U still there? Will swing by.

Before I could text back that I’d deliver it to him, there was a knock at the door and I had no choice but to fess up. “I think it’s Miller,” I said. “He forgot his jacket.”

“ ’Course he did. This will be amusing,” Lucy said, perking up. She stood and headed for the foyer.

“Don’t you dare,” I called after her, but I knew there was nothing that could stop Lucy once she had an idea in her head.

She returned with a crumpled Miller, in dire need of Visine. “Look who it is!” she announced. Then she issued a quick apology for her earlier rant and said, “Sit. Sit. Join us.”

I gave him a look of warning and shook my head. For once, he took the hint. “Thanks, Lucy, but I can’t stay.”

“Why? What do you have to do tonight?”

I answered for him. “Some of the out-of-town guys are crashing at his place. Robert Siler and Myles Savage.”

“Yeah. And … I just came to get my jacket.”

“Your jacket or Shea?” Lucy asked.

Miller smiled and said, “Well, both. If she’s ready.”

“Sure,” I said, standing and hoping to make a getaway. It was better than sticking around for more abuse, or getting a ride and an additional lecture from my mother about how I really needed to seize my thirties lest I end up “forty and alone.” Like Lucy, she believed she only had my best interests at heart, but she couldn’t help making everything about herself. What she wanted for me. Namely, for me to be a pampered stay-at-home mother married to a doctor or lawyer or, in her exact words, “even a vet or a dentist.”