Later, as we sat in the family room in varying catatonic states, Uncle Steve from the half of the family that did care switched on the television. We caught the last quarter of the Leopards playing the Broncos. “See?” I said to Mom, who I snuggled against. “There he is! See, it’s a real thing.”
Mom looked vaguely horrified as we watched two men fall heavily to the ground and flip heels over heads. “I can’t believe you’re dating a jock.”
I watched Ryan skirt a pair of linemen, knocking shoulders with a broad-shouldered man in blue and orange, ball cradled in his arm. He spun and ducked, lunging over the Leopards’ thirty-yard line and launching the ball in the air, releasing it just as a cornerback covered him. It tumbled across the sky as the players below scrambled toward the end zone. Malcolm broke free of the pack, his hand outstretched, leaping high to pluck the ball from the air before being buried in a pile of defensive tackles. “Did you see that?” I pressed Mom once I could breathe again. “Did you see that pass he made?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Hmph.” I crossed my arms, waiting for the announcers to calm down, and the camera to go back to Ryan. “Well, I like him anyways.”
* * *
He arrived at one the next afternoon, pulling into the driveway in his tiny little sportscar. I resisted running out and meeting him, because I liked to maintain the illusion that I was a mature adult. Still, I scrutinized him as he walked up the drive, watching him with my parents’ eyes instead of my own. He’d dressed casually, but still utterly presentably, and his clean cut jaw and short gold hair made him look heart-breakingly beautiful. My parents were going to be baffled.
The doorbell rang, and I heard Mom scream “I’ll get it!” from the kitchen, excited as a child at Christmas.
“Mom!”
She grinned mischievously and pulled the door open, her whole face lighting up. “You must be Ryan.”
I quickly stepped up to join them as Ryan handed my mother a bright bouquet starring orange lilies, white roses, and filled out with green poms. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Maisel. Thanks for having me.”
Astonishment crossed Mom’s face as she took the armful. “Oh, we’re pleased to have you! It’s not often Rachael brings anyone home.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I stepped forward to give Ryan a light kiss. He smiled at me as Mom bustled around, placing the flowers in a crystal cut vase.
Dad came around the corner and beamed a little too effusively. “So! Ryan Carter! It’s good to meet you!”
I tensed. If he started talking about Ryan’s game, I would die of embarrassment.
“That was a great pass to Lindsey you made in the fourth last night—”
“Dad,” I said in a low, warning voice.
Dad looked wounded. “What? I’m just making conversation.”
Ryan, the traitor, grinned. “Rachael sometimes thinks my being a player is a little...awkward.”
“I never said that.”
He gave me a look. I gave him one right back.
Mom came back. “Why don’t you come in, and we can get you settled. Are you hungry? Need anything to drink? We have seltzer, orange juice, beer...”
My parents had never offered me anything other than ceremonial alcohol in my life.
Also, Ryan better not say yes.
“Just seltzer would be perfect, Ms. Maisel.”
I let out a tiny sigh of relief. Ryan took my hand and gave it a light squeeze, as if to say, ?
?I’m not an idiot.”
And also, maybe, “You’re not alone.”
“So,” Mom said, after we had all settled on the living room couches, the flowers beaming up at us. “Rachael has been appalling stingy with details. How did you two meet?”
Ryan smiled, that golden boy smile of his, the one that made him look like every parent’s dream come true. Mom couldn’t seem to help herself. She gave me another baffled, bemused look, like where did he come from? as Ryan spun out a PG rendition of our meet-cute.