“Yes. This way, you get to watch him perform,” she says dreamily. “You’ll see what he’s really about.”
“Ah, now I understand. He’s a rugby player that’s so shallow he’s nothing more than the sport he plays?”
“Mom, please!” She sounds frustrated. “Stop. Just please, stop. Okay?”
She doesn’t get my sarcasm. If anyone else said these things, she’d laugh it off.
“This isn’t like you. We don’t argue like this. Why are you so uptight?”
She tilts her head and looks at the field with her eyes glazed over, like she’s envisioning it covered in diamonds. “I think he might be the one.”
I sigh. “Honey, you’re twenty years old.”
“What does that have to do with anything? I love him. I want to start a life with him, and I don’t want it to start with secrets.”
“Trust me.” I wrap my arm around my daughter’s shoulder and wait until she drags her eyes away from the game and meets my stare with her own “don’t touch me” stare. I see her father’s stubbornness peering back at me. “You don’t need to rush things. If he is the one, it’ll be fine for you to see what happens. If the time comes and you do make it to the altar, you’ll have my blessing to tell him all of our secrets.”
“Why? Are there more?” She asks, her eyes open wide and her face animated with excitement. I think Gemma would love to actually throw open a closet door and see those skeletons march with top hats and canes straight through town.
“Aren’t we here to watch a game?”
My daughter rolls her eyes, pulls away, and turns back to the field. After the national anthem, I watch the game with disinterest, focused more on my daughter’s pigheadedness than on the match happening in front of us.
Honestly, if she’d told me we were going to a rugby game to meet her boyfriend, I would have passed. I hate sports. She knows that. And rugby? I have no idea what’s going on, nor do I care. Rugby is as foreign to me as space organisms. To pass the time, I silently plan dinner for the week while doing my best to smile every now and then so it looks like I’m interested.
“What is that boy wearing on his head?” I point to a player from Gemma’s school, hoping it’s not Teddy but not caring if it is. “Is there a reason he’s wearing it and no one else is? Is it to protect him from a concussion?”
She looks annoyed that I asked. No sweat off my back; she’s the one that brought me. I can be as disinterested as she’d like.
“That’s a scrum cap.” I turn to the rude man eavesdropping on our conversation, ready to tear him a new one, and find myself face-to-face with a set of large golden-brown eyes that momentarily leave me speechless.
I stare a moment too long at the stranger sitting two rows back, noticing his model looks; high cheekbones, solid jaw covered in dark scruff, dark hair poking out of a beanie hat. His nose isn’t big, not exactly. But it isn’t perfect either. He looks like it might have been broken a time or two. On anyoneelse, it would look out of place. On him, it’s just right.
A strange warmth comes over me. Do I know him? Doubtful. A man with sex appeal that has me half-convinced we’re on the set of a blockbuster movie? I wouldn’t forget someone as alluring as him. I narrow my eyes, trying to place him, but come up blank. In that case, he should mind his business.
Putting his looks aside, I confront him. “Excuse me?” I hope he realizes he crossed a line. “I don’t believe we were speaking to you.”
“Mom!” Gemma uses one hand to cover the half of her face that’s visible to him.
“You asked about the cap.” The man fires back. “I answered.”
“I didn’t askyou.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted the information. If you’re having a private conversation, you might want to keep your voice down. If you still want to know, it’s a scrum cap so his face and head don’t get cut and scraped up.”
The nerve of him taking such a tone with me! “Again, I didn’t ask you.” I turn my back on him and lean over toward my daughter. “Okay, now which one is Freddy?”
“Teddy, Mom!” Gemma snaps. “My boyfriend’s name is Teddy.”
