“What’s wrong with watching it on TV?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “My dads are going to love you.”
I blinked at his affirmation and whispered, “What?”
“They love sports. Baseball may reign supreme in the Statler-Matthewson household, but they love all sports.”
“Yeah, but do you know what you just said?”
His brow furrowed. “That they’ll love you?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed.
“Oh.” He grimaced.
“It’s not that I don’t want to meet them.” I reached over and grabbed his hand. “Just surprised you said that.”
“They’ve only met the guy I dated in high school.”
“Really?”
Tyler nodded. “They never got the chance to meet the other two before we broke up.”
“I get that.” We turned our attention back to the game, but then I said, “You know I would want to meet them under different circumstances, right?” I didn’t need to elaborate. We knew when they came for the softball game that he wasn’t going to introduce me as his boyfriend—or at all.
“Yeah, but maybe after graduation you can come to dinner with us while they’re in town,” he suggested.
“You want them to know about me that fast?”
“You won’t be my professor anymore.”
I wouldn’t be his professor after he turned in his final portfolio and I issued his grade, either. So, was there harm in meeting them at graduation?
“Okay. Tell them you’re bringing your boyfriend to dinner then.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I met a boyfriend’s parents, but it had been a while. I never got to meet Jonah’s family before he died, and I didn’t know how to introduce myself at his funeral, so meeting Tyler’s parents wasn’t something I was recently familiar with. What if they didn’t like me because of our age difference? What if they didn’t like me because they thought I wasn’t good enough for their son? What if they didn’t like me because I had been his professor? His father was a teacher after all, and I would think he would frown upon a student/teacher relationship, but they would have to meet me eventually, right? Could we omit some of the details and just tell them we met at Chrome, and let that be that?
We returned to watching Coop’s last game of the season. He scored his 304thgoal, and the Bruins won, but it didn’t matter because they didn’t make the playoffs. The next day, I sent Coop a text asking to meet for a drink.
* * *
Coop wantedto meet at the same speakeasy-inspired eatery we’d had drinks at before. I got the impression it was his favorite place to hang out, given the bar was secluded in the back, giving high-profile patrons a sense of privacy.
When I made it to the back where Coop was waiting alone, I smiled and gave a brief wave before walking to his table in the corner. He stood, and we shared a bro hug.
“Good to see you,” he said.
“You too. Can I get you another?” I pointed at his half-empty beer.
“Yeah, but just add ours to my tab.” He slid back into his seat.
“You know you don’t need to do that.” I felt as though we’d had the same conversation the time before when I’d met him for drinks.
“It’s not a problem. Just tell the bartender I said it was cool.”
“All right.” I went to the bar and got us each a pint of beer before returning to his table. “Sorry about the playoffs.”
“Always next season, right?” He grabbed the amber lager from me.
