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“Look, I agree he needs to take accountability for his actions. And yes, there need to be consequences.” He turns a bit, so he’s facing Graham now. “But I think there’s more going on here, too, that we should probably look at more closely.” He sighs. “It worries me that these ideas consume him to the point of not being able to internalize anything else once he gets one in his head.”
So, I guess they’re going to continue this conversation like I’m not sitting three feet away from them both? Which, okay, is annoying—but also totally awkward.
Graham leans back on his heels and pierces Dale with an icy look. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Making more excuses for him? When what we need to do is actually play hard ball for once, instead of giving him these half-ass consequences all the time.”
“I disagree,” Dale says. Still calm and totally in control. A harsh contrast to Graham, who is basically losing his shit all over the fancy-ass campus gazebo. Bandstand… Whatever.
“If we just hammer down some punishment,” Dale continues, “we’re ignoring what might—”
“Why am I the only one willing to lay down the law with him, Dale? Why can’t you side with me on this for once? Agree that there needs to be a serious consequence when he pulls this crap?”
“Guys, I’m really sorry.” I try to intervene. “I swear I—”
But Dale cuts me off. He’s totally turned away from me now. Looking right at red-faced Graham. And for once, he doesn’t look all too calm himself.
“You want to give him serious consequences? Something hewon’tthink is a joke?” His voice is still quiet, but you can tell he’s really working to rein it in. “Then pull him from the team for a couple of weeks! Because that’s the most important thing to him. That’s what we should do, if you really want to follow through on serious consequences.”
“You can’t pull me from the team,” I say at the same time as Graham says, “You know that’s not an option,”
He says it through gritted teeth and crap crapcrap, this is taking a really bad turn.
“Actually, itisan option,” Dale argues, still only talking to Graham. “Just not to you. Becauseyoudon’t want to have to tell your dad that you pulled your son—the star quarterback—off the football team! When you know that Seb getting drafted for college ball is the one thing that will make up for the disappointment you were to your father.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “And I get that, hon… But you need to accept that it’s your dad’s issue to deal with. Not yours. And certainly not Seb’s.”
Graham makes a weird sound from the back of his throat. A kind of shocked exhale or annoyed cough sound. Or some combo of the two.
I can’t believe Dale just said that. And yeah, I know he’s right. I’ve been able to see it since I was a little kid—the way Graham loves how proud my Grandfather is of me, and being able to brag about my football stats and articles in the paper and stuff. And how it makes them not so distant with each other. But honestly, I’ve always kind of liked being the one to bring them closer. Until recently, anyway. Lately, it’s just one more thing I’m aware of ruining if I can’t keep this whole juggling act in the air.
No way I would ever say that to Graham, though. Or even back Dale up on this right now. Just—no. No freakin’ way. Graham would be so hurt. Probably ashamed, too, even though he’d never admit it. I know I wouldn’t want to talk to my kid about stuff like that.
“Not pulling him from the team has nothing to do with me. Or with my father.” Graham’s tone is clipped. He’s even more livid than before.
Dale, too. It’s weird seeing him like this. I hate it.
He nods slowly. “Alright, then give me one good reason why we can’t pull him from the team for two weeks.”
“Because he made a commitment!” Graham practically yells. “To his team! To his coach! Hell, to the entire school! A school that is counting on him to lead the team to the state finals!”
“Andwemade a commitment to do what’s best for our son!” Dale shouts. “Only you can’t accept that maybe football isn’t what’s best for him right now! That maybe he’s—”
“Fine, Dale. You want to pull him from the team? Go ahead and—”
“I didn’t say Iwantto pull him. I’m saying that—”
“Guys,” I cut in. “I don’t want to be pulled from the team.” I swallow, my throat suddenly really dry. “Please… Can we just… Can you stop fighting?” I drop my head in my hands. “Fuck.”
I finally have their attention, at least. Nothing like a well-placed F-bomb to snap your parents to attention. But man, I really hate seeing them go at each other like this.
“I’m really sorry…” I look up at them again. “Honest to God, I get it. Okay? I get why you’re pissed. And that you don’t know how to handle… This—Me.”My thumb starts tapping double-time against my thigh. “I’m sorry.”
They both keep watching me for a second… then two… three. Then they turn from me at the same time, their gazes making contact, totally in sync again. And I can see something pass between them. It’s this look they share sometimes, where I can tell they’re saying a million things without having to say a word. It’s the kind of thing I hope I’ll have with somebody some day. Because it seems like a hell of a cool thing: to be able to ‘get’ each other like that, with just a look.
“I’m sorry. I was out of line,” Dale finally says.
“We both were.” Graham folds himself onto the bench beside me. He looks wiped. “That wasn’t okay. We shouldn’t be talking back and forth like that about you.”
“It’s all good.” I mumble, slumped so low in the seat now I may as well be in a recliner. The thumb’s still going, though. TapTapTapping like I’m tweaking out on coke or something.
“It’s not,” Graham says. He glances over at Dale. “And Dale might be right. I might put a lot of pressure on you with the football thing because of your grandfather. He and I…” He tips his head from side to side a few times. “We have a… complicated relationship.”
