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I recognize he’s mirroring mywords from earlier, at the basketball court, giving me a response Ididn’t think I needed, but now know that I did.
I smile as he kisses my sweatycheek.
****
We’re downtown at Lucille’s, theweather perfect for lunch in their outdoor seating area.
“Oh, I’m sure there are a bunch ofvideos of me playing,” I say and take a sip of lemonade. “Dad usedto record me religiously in high school, and for the year andchange while I was a UW Badger. I’m just not sure there are anyclips online.”
“Then I’ll make it my life’smission to uncover them,” says Chris.
“God, I forgot how good it feelsto just move that way, you know? That level of focus, when thewhole world slows down, like there’s nothing but me and the ball. Ifeel the same thing when I’m working, during crunch time before amajor code release, but it was so much easier to hit that flowwhile I played. I forgot how immersive it feels.”
“You should play more. I mean, ifyou don’t think you’ll get injured again.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Seriously, Rox. I’m sure thereare good recreational teams, maybe coed, where you could playregularly.”
“That sounds nice, but it’sdifferent from playing two-on-two with a bunch of kids. My aim isshit.”
Chris shrugs. “So practice.”
“You gonna go to the Y with me soI can get my practice shots in?”
“Of course. I’m crap atbasketball, but I’m happy to go with you. Also, it doesn’t have tobe the Y. We go to the same gym anyway. They have nice basketballcourts.”
“You know,” I say, “I lovedhanging out with those kids, too. I’d always thought I would coachonce I was done playing. But then, when I stopped, all those plansevaporated. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about it untiltoday.”
He smiles. “I think you’d make agreat coach.”
“I don’t know any kids except mynieces and nephews. I might have to wait for Liz and Joe’s kid togrow up.”
He laughs. “Gotta start ‘emyoung.”
“Yeah, I started playing in secondgrade. Almost as early as kids start playing soccer.”
“I’m amazed by folks like you whoare great at team sports. I did some track and field in highschool, but wasn’t a star by any stretch. It was enough to get meto enjoy running, though.”
My phone vibrates. I brieflyglance at the text message and groan.
“Who’s that?” asks Chris.
“Mom. Checking aboutThanksgiving.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. The annual RoxieRoast.”
“You don’t like seeing family forThanksgiving?”
“I do and I don’t. I love them,and I think they mean well, but they always make me feel like sucha disappointment.”
Chris is silent for a momentbefore he speaks. “You know, I could return the favor. I could gowith you. For moral support.”
My eyes open wide. “You’d do thatfor me?”
“Of course. You did it for me.And, besides, I’m dying to see where you came from. Joe’s beentelling me all these horror stories.”
