Playing the Field
Page 18
“You’re being a maniac. Are you sure you’re all right?” If I knew anything about Tonya after our year of living together, it was that she was the most predictable and steady person I’d ever encountered. If she said she would do something, she did it. Her routine was borderline neurotic day by day, and if anything impeded her doing things exactly as she wanted to, well, her face turned redder than it was right now. She always said what she meant. She was a rock in everyone’s life she touched in the best possible way.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember what today is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. She ribbed me constantly about the huge calendar I had hanging from the kitchen wall with every important date, every milestone in our relationship. She let me indulge in my habit, occasionally adding something cheeky to it like ‘first time Ella pooped with the door open,’ but it never seemed to interest her much. I was happy being the historian of the couple. “What did I forget? It’s not our anniversary. It’s not your birthday.”
“Pull into the parking lot,” she said, pointing up ahead to PNC Park. Baseball season was long over, another year gone by where the Pirates did not make the playoffs.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
She opened up the glove compartment and handed me my pierogi glove. She couldn’t even keep a straight face, her lips pursed tight as she tried to contain her laughter.
“Tonya, what in the world?” I asked as I idled in front of the stadium. I’d nearly forgotten about the ridiculous thing, but apparently she hadn’t.
“You gotta take it back,” she said. “It’s only the right thing to do.”
“It’s been like twenty years. Nobody’s looking for this thing anymore. It’s long forgotten.”
“I can’t marry a criminal, Ella. What will the community say if they find out you’ve been sitting on stolen loot for so long? I’ll be an accessory. I’m trying to be a good person, babe.”
My heart began to flutter. I couldn’t tell if she was serious. “This time last year, we were working crazy hours and opposite schedules, and when I came home, you were passed out on the couch. You had the TV turned on to some show about NFL wives, and as I helped you back to bed, I asked you if you were trying to study up on how to be a good football wife,” her voice was wavering, but she was smiling from ear to ear. I vaguely remembered the interaction, but that point in our relationship, we were both killing ourselves every day and I was operating on a diet of three hours of sleep a night and enough coffee to fill up a football stadium every day. What came out of my mouth from half asleep me couldn’t be trusted. “You told me you learned that you can’t be a successful football wife unless you could stand on your own two feet.”
“Well, that seems logical.” I held the glove in my hand.
“I tucked you into bed and you told me in exactly one year you would be the best football wife of all time.” I chuckled, knowing that sounded exactly like something I would say. “I told you you already were. I told you I didn’t want a football wife. I wanted a partner. A friend. Someone I was happy to see every morning when I woke up. I wanted you, and in that moment I had you.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, reaching for her hand.
“You told me in exactly one year you wanted to be married.”
“What?” I stammered. “I did not.” I never wanted to push the issue on her. We never even really talked about it. Things were beyond good. I knew she wasn’t running around on me. I knew we would be together for life. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“I told you you had to get rid of that creepy ass glove. Figured I could buy myself some time to come up with a ring. You didn’t, though. So this is it, babe.”
“Tonya, I don’t remember any of this!” I said shaking my head.
“So you don’t want the ring?” She did a little fake pout and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.
“I will throw this glove out the window right this second if it means I get a ring,” I squealed.
“Please don’t do that,” she said. She grabbed the glove from my hand and pulled it open at the wrist. There was a little jewelry box inside, and she pulled it out and set it on my knee.
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t even need to open it up. “I do. I will. I promise.”
“You sure?” she said with a laugh. “You know, you say a lot of wild stuff in your sleep.” She raised her eyebrows, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Now you can chuck that thing out the window if you want.”
“Or we can keep it… for our kids… it will be a great story someday.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head at me, opening up the jewelry box and handing it to me. While I was distracted, she grabbed the glove and tossed it out of the window. “I love you, Ella. Now let’s go back to the apartment. I want to make sure you mark this day down on the calendar.”
She kissed me and I tried to hold back the tears, but I couldn’t. I was going to marry my best friend. I had my dream life. I finally found my place in this world, and now, I was going to be a football wife, apparently.
A security guard came walking out of the building and she reached for the stick shift. “You better drive woman,” she said. “Punch it.”
I laid on the horn and slowly pulled away, the guard staring at us like we were a couple of maniacs. “I love you Tonya Fields,” I said. “My partner in crime.”
Thanks for Reading Playing the Field
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