Should Have Known Better

“Joe Johnson left you a ticket for tonight’s game?” Reginald let the refrigerator door swing closed without getting a beer.

“Floor seats,” Sasha said.

“And you’re not going?”

“Well, it’s three tickets and I don’t have anyone to take, plus I’m here with you guys, so I’ll miss this go ’round.”

“Are you pulling my leg?” Reginald pleaded. “You can’t just not go. It’s the damn play-offs. You have to go.”

“But I don’t have anybody to go with,” Sasha said helplessl

y. She perked up and her eyes widened on Reginald and me. “Wait, would you guys like to go?”

At the same time, Reginald and I gave two different answers.

Me: “No. I’m too tired and I have too much to do around here.”

Reginald: “Of course. I haven’t been to a game in years.”

“Honey, we can’t,” I said to Reginald.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s Sunday . . . and we have to get ready for the week.” Suddenly, I sounded like I was ninety years old.

“Oh, no,” Sasha said. “That’s too bad. It’s fine though. Bad timing. We’d have to be there in like two hours anyway to make tip-off.”

“We could still use the tickets,” Reginald said. “It will only take two hours to get to Atlanta from here—less than that if I drive. I can be ready in ten minutes and—”

“I could go with you,” Sasha volunteered. “And then I wouldn’t need to call a driver. You could just drop me off at home.”

“Well, OK!” Reginald nodded along like this was the best plan he’d ever heard.

I could feel myself frowning at the scene.

“OK,” Sasha said. “But what about the third ticket?” She looked off as if she was thinking. “Wait, didn’t you say you haven’t been to a game in a while? Has R. J. ever been to one? We could take him.”

“No, there’s no way he could handle all of those people,” I said. “It would be overwhelming and he has school—and Cheyenne will be crushed, too.” I turned to Reginald. “You know she likes watching basketball with you just as much as R. J. does.”

“I know she does, but maybe it’s time for me to spend some time with just R. J. for a change. He should come with me,” Reginald said, like this had been his idea. “Spend some time with his old dad. I remember when my father used to take me to games when I was a kid. I loved it. Cheyenne will be OK.”

I so didn’t want Reginald to go all the way into Atlanta—with Sasha, and with R. J.—but no reason I could gather made any sense after Reginald brought up his father. And now the idea of him doing anything constructive with R. J. was a little attractive. There was just the thing about Sasha going. But, I felt some relief knowing he was dropping Sasha off. Then I could get things back to normal. I felt bad thinking about the only company I’d had from undergrad in years that way, but something was just bothering me.

Reginald forgot all about the beer. Within what seemed like minutes, he was outside on the front steps in his Hawks jersey with R. J. at his side in a smaller one. I stood in the doorway holding a bag of cut-up squares of lasagna.

“Eat these,” I said. “No sense spending money on those vendors at the game.”

Reginald took the bag.

“Tell Cheyenne I said I’ll bring her something nice,” he said.

“I will.”

“See you in a bit.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek before running to the car like the roads to Atlanta would evaporate at any moment. He’d already packed all of Sasha’s bags into the trunk. The plan was to drop her off after the game and be home by midnight.

R. J. waved from the window and I blew him a kiss.

“Let’s not make this our last good-bye,” Sasha whined. She tossed her big, heavy designer purse over her arm. She was also wearing a Hawks jersey. Later, as I lay in bed and watched the news alone, I’d think of how odd it was for her to have the jersey in her bag not knowing she’d be going to a game and all. She hugged me tightly. “I want to see you more.”