“Thank you, Allie,” Margie says with an almost worshipful expression.
“Are you two going out on a date?” Leah wants to know.
“What? No,” Allie tells her. “We’re having a coaching meeting.”
“You look pretty nice to be having a meeting,” Decan tells her.
“It’s fun to wear something other than my teaching clothes,” she tells him. And while I’m sure that’s true, I do hope that I’m at least part of the reason she looks so good.
“What about me?” I ask the kids. Spokesmodeling my own attire of a fresh pair of jeans and a pullover, I inform them, “I changed too.”
“You’re a regular stud, Coach,” Decan tells me.
“Very nice,” Margie contributes.
Their praise isn’t exactly what I’d call effusive, but it’s better than nothing. What makes the biggest impact is the look of appreciation on Allie’s face. “You look like you’re trying to impress someone,” she tells me.
“It’s Friday night.” Then I tease, “You never know who we might see out there that I want to dazzle.” I accompany this statement with a little shimmy, which makes the kids laugh.
Allie walks toward the front door while telling her guests, “I won’t be late.”
“Leah and I have to leave at nine,” Decan replies. “That’ll give us each two hours with our friends so that we won’t be totally lying to our parents about where we’ve been.”
“Do you need a ride?” Allie asks.
“Decan is driving our mom’s car,” Leah answers. “He’ll drop me on his way.”
With a wave, we leave the apartment. As soon as we’re outside, I tell Allie, “It’s nice that you’re letting Margie have Decan and Leah over. They must miss each other.”
She smiles at me in such a way my heart skips like a perfectly flat rock frisbeed across Elk Lake. “It’s good for all of them to stay close. I know Margie really misses her siblings.”
Once we’re down the stairs and into my car, I ask, “So, pizza or should we go somewhere nicer?”
“What else do you have in mind?”
“We could go to the country club.” Allie doesn’t answer right away which I take to mean she’s worried that will make this a real date. I quickly explain, “As friends.”
“I do love their beet and goat cheese salad,” she responds.
I take the next left which takes us in the direction of the club. We drive silently while Noah Kahn serenades us from the car’s speakers. It’s rare to find someone you can be quiet around without feeling the need to fill the space with chatter.
Instead of pulling up to the valet, I park in the lot. It’s a beautiful night and I wouldn’t mind walking next to Allie. After getting out of the car, I go around to the passenger side and open the door for her. I offer her my hand to help her out.
As soon as she gets out of the car, she makes a motion to reclaim her hand, but I just hold on more firmly. “We shouldn’t be holding hands,” she says. “That might send the wrong message to people.”
“What message might that be?”
Allie stops walking and turns to face me. “That we’re more than friends.”
“Or,” I tell her, “they might just think we’re good friends. Personally, I don’t care what they think.” I hold eye contact for long enough that she gets nervous and breaks our staring contest first.
“Good friends don’t hold hands,” she says primly, before successfully pulling hers away. The truth is that I don’t fight her very hard. If and when Allie holds my hand, I want it to be because she wants to.
Trying to lighten the mood, I ask, “But good friends do go out to dinner, right?”
“They do when a delicious beet salad is waiting.” And just like that we’re back on track.
Walking into the country club is like old home week. I haven’t been here since moving back to Elk Lake. Why my parents keep their membership, living in Florida most of the year as they do, is anyone’s guess, but who am I to complain?
