Coach looks at us with a pained expression.
Any minute now the shouting will start and I draw soothing circles on Talia’s hand. If this gets out of hand too much, we will leave. I won’t allow him to treat my wife with anything but respect.
Coach gets up from the table. Will he hit me? Will he throw us out?
He walks to a sideboard and opens a cabinet.
Pulls out a bottle of vodka.
Three glasses.
He sets them on the table.
The sound of glass against wood is deliberate.
Measured.
He pours.
The liquid hits crystal with a soft, steady sound.
He slides one glass to Talia.
One to me.
Then he lifts his own.
His eyes lock on mine.
For a second, I think this is going to be a warning disguised as a toast.
Maybe it still is.
“To my daughter,” he says first.
His voice tightens slightly.
“May you never settle for less than you deserve.”
Then his gaze shifts to me.
“And to you, Jake.”
A pause.
“If you hurt her… I will not forgive it.”
Then, finally:
“To the happycouple.”
He drinks.
Talia stares at him like she doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh and sets her glass back down without drinking.
I lift the glass and take a swallow.
The vodka burns all the way down.
