I like the deal very much indeed, and though it’s not something I want to spend the rest of my life doing, it’s still a huge relief for me to have the ranch to come home to between seasons.
So when the second Sunday of February arrives and the Pumas are playing in the Superbowl against Chicago, I’m sad for only about three minutes before I can just sit back and enjoy the game.
Of course I still wish I was there, playing for a chance to hold the Lombardi over my head one more time, but I know I’m always going to feel that way, and I know I’m going to be working harder come August to make sure I can give it my all and we can be crowned the best again.
Still, this year Valentine’s Day is on a Monday—so, tomorrow—which means my sisters and parents have taken advantage of my presence. Sandy and Big T came back for the weekend just so they could leave their munchkins with me, along with Julie’s two boys, and now all three couples are out.
I let the kids run free until kickoff and then I lay down the law.
“It’s time for football,” I announce sagely, and I love how they look up at me with so much energy brimming in their eyes. “Which means I’m going to be sitting here for the next few hours and you will not hurt yourselves or each other. You can eat whatever you want, you can shout as much as you want, but you won’t do anything that makes me have to stop watching the game, all right?”
We already had an epic snow fight on the front lawn,pillow fights in the living room, built forts, played videogames and flag football in the morning, but they’re all still soawake. I know I might’ve overdone it with the sugar, but honestly, it’s not a problem, they always listen to me.
“YES!” they shout in unison, and surprise me by running together to the kitchen and bringing an insane amount of snacks to the TV room. Then they sit down to watch the game with me.
“Can I sit with you?” little Tommy, Julie’s youngest who’s only four, asks.
“’Course, buddy. Come here.” I pat the cushion next to me.
“Can we ask questions?” That comes from Laura, Sandy’s oldest at nine.
“You can always ask questions,” I assure her, and then we all settle in for a fun night of watching football.
They don’t stay sitting for long. Gary and Nick, Sandy’s middle child and Julie’s oldest, are both six and the best of friends, so they begin reenacting plays almost immediately, and I find them some helmets so they don’t hurt each other, but otherwise the rest of us stay in our places and right as the halftime show ends, I realize they’re all asleep in different corners of the big couch.
I take some time during commercials to look at their peaceful faces, and I actually feel proud, not only that I got them all to have a day full of fun, but also because they’re all asleep at a semi-reasonable hour.
My mind turns to Cam, which is something that’s beenhappening more and more whenever I have a second to myself, and I remember what he said in his office two months ago.
Not thinking about it twice, I take my phone from my pocket and dial his number.
“Hey, all good?” he asks after the first ring.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I tell him. He’s always so worried when I call him and it’s not scheduled or expected. “I’m just wondering how you are.”
“Uh . . .” He falters. “I’m . . . fine, why?”
“’Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.” He has to be aware, doesn’t he? It’s not like we as a society are in any way subtle about it. Or shit, if he managed to forget then I probably just royally fucked up.
“So?” he demands, sounding confused.
I think briefly about making a comment on how I’m supposed to be his boyfriend, but I don’t entertain that idea for long. I’m always honest with Cam, and that’s not about to change now.
“You said that little shit broke up with you on Valentine’s Day, right?”
There’s a moment of complete silence where I can’t even hear him breathe, but then he sighs. I can picture him perfectly, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling, so you can think about how I’m drowning in kids in my living room, occasionally feeling sorry for myself for not being in the Super Bowl, how I was left alone to babysit while my sisters andparents all went on all-day dates, and not about that dum dum who I want to...” I have to think about something that fits my level of rage but is okay for the kids to hear—yes, even if they’re asleep. “I want to push him into a muddy puddle.”
The silence lasts less than two seconds that time and then his laugh booms through the speaker of my phone. I have to smile, beyond proud that I got him to smile.
“Thanks, AJ,” he murmurs with that happy laugh still in his voice. “I appreciate it, but please don’t push anyone into muddy puddles.”
“You know I won’t,” I protest. “I’m a good boy.”
He snorts.
