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“You could have scored at least two more goals.”
“Next time,” I agreed, hugging him back.
My mom was next.
“You’re not leaving yourself open as much. Good job.”
Finally after my mom let me go, Kulti stepped forward before Marc or Simon could. He put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes holding mine steady and only the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth.
“Yes, oh wise one? What words of advice do you have for me?”
That small smile blossomed. “Your parents said it all.”
“Buenas noches, amores,” my mom said goodnight to both my dad and I before disappearing into my bedroom. My parents were spending the night.
Dad leaned back against the couch and sipped the beer he’d bought on our way home. Our group of six had all gone out to eat immediately following the game. He waited until the bedroom door clicked shut before saying, “Now can you tell me why Kulti wasn’t coaching tonight?”
The fact he’d made it almost five hours until finally breaking down and asking why the German had sat in the stands was amazing. I had to give him credit for holding onto the question so long when it had to be eating him up inside. “Yes.”
He exhaled, and I had to fight the urge to take the bottle from him and take a swig.
“He sat out today so that I could play. He’s sitting out the final so I can play then too,” I explained slowly. “The other girls have been complaining about how he’s playing favorites, so…” The last month of my life suddenly came down on my shoulders again, and all I could do was shrug helplessly.
Dad stared and then stared a little more. One of his eyelids started fluttering a little. “Tell me what happened.”
I did. I told him about how I’d been cleared to play, but how they’d initially said I was going to be benched.
Dad gulped down half the bottle in response. He looked about ready to pop. If anyone understood the magnitude of what Kulti’s actions meant, he did. “Sal…”
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
He gave me a look. “You know what you need to do.”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
God, was this what talking to me was like? “Dad… I… I don’t know. I don’t even know what to think about all of it. We’re in completely different leagues. I’m me; he’s him. It would never work.”
He nodded, seriously. “I know. You’re too good for him, but I’ve taught you better than to be so conceited.”
Oh God. Why did I bother? I started cracking up. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Jeez.”
He smiled over and pressed the cool glass of the beer bottle to my knee. “Does he know about your little obsession?”
I gave him an ‘are you kidding me’ look that had him chuckling in response.
“I want to see them.”
“See what?”
“Your chicken wings,” he deadpanned.
I groaned.
