by S. J. Bishop
Erin stared at the carpet.
“So, can we forget about all of this?” I asked, hopeful. “Can we forget about Lucy Sharpe and all that dumb-ass history that you can’t even remember anyway? The past is the past, Erin. Can’t we leave it there?”
Erin shook her head.
“Why not?” I demanded, feeling anger start to rise up again. Cool it, Schneider, I coached myself. Anger wouldn’t do me any good.
“Because I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you in high school that you couldn’t give me what I wanted,” said Erin. “You still can’t.”
“Goddamn it, Erin, what do you want?” I asked.
Erin was quiet so long I didn’t think she was going to answer. Then she spoke. “You derive value from your fans, from women who want you. I’d say that means you have a self-confidence problem. And yet, whenever I needed help with mine, when all you had to say to me then – shit, when all you have to say to me now – is ‘Erin, you look beautiful’ or ‘Erin, I like you because…,’ you tell me I have a confidence problem and that you’re not going to bother to deal with it. Every time I felt worthless, all you had to say was ‘Erin, you’re not worthless.’ But you wouldn’t say that to me. Instead, you took it personally. How dare I question Ted Schneider? Shouldn’t my actions speak for me? You always demanded.”
She shook her head. “You were a hypocrite, then, Ted, and you’re a hypocrite now. And I know it’s some weird self-preservation thing. And I know you’ve found a way to deal with your insecurities, but your way made me more insecure. I had to accept your insecurities, but you refused to accept mine. And it made things worse.”
She sighed. “Even my mother knew it. I was good for you. I was a safe space. I worshipped you. I made you feel good. But you weren’t good for me.”
“Erin…” I wanted to deny everything she’d said. I wanted to tell her that she was absolutely, totally wrong. But she wasn’t.
“Go ahead, Ted,” she said. “What do you have to say to that?”
I took a deep breath in and then out. I tried several times to come up with a response. Something that might work, that might make it all better. I tried to find a way to blame Lucy again.
Erin waited for my response for over ten minutes. In the end, I just shook my head. I’d practiced a speech on my way over here, and I found myself returning to it. “We’re playing the Cowboys this Sunday, which means I’m going back to Dallas, and my family will be in the stands. I’d really like you to come with me.” I paused, and when she didn’t respond, I continued. “I think being home, with all the sights and the smells, might help with the memory loss. I thought we might visit The Mansion for dinner one night – since we used to talk about it so much when we were younger. But really, I can’t fathom making that trip without you. I’ve always hated returning home. You are the only thing that might make it bearable. And more than anything, I want you with me.”
Now, it was Erin’s turn to be silent. She sat there, wringing her hands and staring at the floor. I wished she’d say out-loud whatever she was wrestling with internally, then, at least, I might be able to respond to it.
Finally, she looked up and said, “Okay.”
I barely dared to breath. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
I didn’t dare push it further. Instead, I stood. “I’ll arrange everything,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she said. She was still upset, but I couldn’t think of anything I could do to help her.
“I’ll go. Can I call on you this week?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s best if we cool it for now. Just take a break. I need to figure all this shit out.” She waved her hand, and though I wasn’t sure what shit she was talking about, I said, “Okay.”
31
Erin
I spent the week trying to sort everything out, trying to come to grips with Lucy’s betrayal and with Ted’s strange plea. I met with my lawyer in the accident case, and he told me we weren’t likely to see it settled until the driver’s DUI prosecution went through. At Beezeness, I begged off my article writing for a while, and my boss allowed me to do some work blogging about ‘love languages,’ our new platform.
I forced myself to not think about Ted, but when I went to Casey’s on Thursday for dinner (we were leaving for Dallas on Friday morning), she made me account for everything.
“I don’t know, Erin,” said Casey when I’d finished my story. “What is your heart telling you?”
“That’s the thing,” I said to Casey. “My heart is the same heart that loved Damon with every fiber of its being. And Damon wasn’t worth the time or the energy I spent on him. What I’ve learned about my heart is that I can’t follow it.”
“Bullshit,” said James, with a mouthful of chicken. “You have to follow your heart.”
Casey and I stared at him. “Listen,” he said after he’d finished swallowing. “Love hard, Erin. Continue to love your ass off because you’re going to find someone who loves you back just as hard.”
“And what if that’s not Ted?” I demanded.
James shrugs. “Then it’s not Ted. Then we find some other way to get great Patriots seat. Don’t worry about it. The point is that yes, heartbreak sucks, but don’t let it keep you from seeing something through. I mean, don’t go make yourself miserable or anything. But listen, you’re done pining over Damon, right?”
“Fuck, yes.” I’d been done that night we danced while his wife was out of town. I’d been really done when I’d seen those texts between him and Lucy.
“When you’re done, you’re done,” said James, as if it were that simple. “You’re not done with Ted yet. Trust me, if he keeps fucking up, you’ll be done soon enough.”
Ted had secured me a seat on the Patriot’s plane, which meant that there were tons of reporters on hand to see ‘Prince Charming’ and ‘Sleeping Beauty’ board the plane together.
We didn’t dare say much beyond pleasantries during the flight to Dallas. Ted held my hand, and I found myself gripping his back. Though he’d introduced me to a few of the players in the beginning (and yes, Dash Barnes is as beautiful in person as he is on TV), most of Ted’s teammates put on their headphones and zoned out.
I was surprised, when we landed in Dallas, at how familiar the airport was. And I was even more surprised to find out that we wouldn’t be staying with the Patriots in the Marriott that night.
“Are we staying with your parents?” I asked.
“No, I thought it might be useful to rent a car, drive up to McKinney, and stay in the Radisson, near our old stomping grounds.”
That was thoughtful. On the drive to McKinney, Ted took the back roads, regaling me with high school stories about what had happened at this place or that place. Where he’d won a game in high school; where my mom used to work.
McKinney was a beautiful suburb, all green and rolling, with more than one country club. There were little pocket developments and tons of apartment complexes. It was bigger than I remembered.
“It’s familiar, but it’s not,” I said, staring out the window.
“They’ve built it up over the last few years,” Ted explained. “There are some tech companies who’ve moved into Science Park, and there are little markets and malls that have popped up around there.”
Gone was sarcastic Ted. The Ted I was driving with was trying. Really trying.
When we parked at the Radisson and got out of the car, Ted grabbed our suitcases and checked us in. I was surprised at how nice the hotel was. But I suppose if there were a lot of companies headquartered out here, there would be a nice hotel for people travelling on business.
We didn’t stay long. Instead, Ted took me over to the high school. We didn’t go on campus because school was still in session, but we walked around the perimeter, and I asked Ted questions about all of the memories that were resurfacing.
Most of them weren’t even about Ted. They were strange, unimportant moments of memory: That ti
me I’d scraped Andrew Gleason’s car when I was first learning how to drive; how my sophomore year history teacher Mr. Hawkins used to keep so many things in his pockets that they puckered out like clown pants. I remembered going to the football games my freshman year and feeling strangely out of sync with everyone else. I only went again toward the end of junior year and senior year, when I’d begun dating Ted.
Toward the end of our walk, I began to hear the repetitive, annoying refrain of one of the cheerleaders’ cheers.
“Wow,” I said as we headed back toward the car.
“Trippy?” asked Ted.
“For me, yeah,” I acknowledged. “How is it for you? Good to be back?”
Ted smiled, but it was mocking. “Would you believe that I didn’t really like high school?”
“Not for a second.”
“It’s true. I hated it. The only thing I liked about it was football. I wasn’t a great student, living at home was terrible, and the girls I knew were too competitive and needy as all get out… I just kept thinking about all the things I would do when I left.”
“Have you done them?”
“Not all of them. I’m working on it,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulder and walking me back to the car.
After visiting the high school, he asked if there was anything I remembered from my childhood or places I might want to go.
I described a park I kept seeing, and he seemed to know where that was. We went there next, and he let me wander through it. It wasn’t the park I remembered. They’d replaced all of the equipment with newer, shinier things.
I knew it was going to be painful, but I had him drive me to my mother’s house. He let me compose myself in the car while he rang the doorbell and asked the new tenant if she minded us wandering through the back.
The woman was polite and let us through, but she didn’t accompany us. I stopped in the backyard when I saw that the swing set was still there, and the large log that had been in the picture Ted had of us – the one my mom must have taken.
“Do you remember the story of that log?” asked Ted. I shook my head. I was just excited I remembered the log, remembered sitting there not only with Ted, but also with my mom. She used to love bird watching, and there were always birds flying in and out of the wetlands.
Ted led me over to the log. “Apparently, beavers took it down when your dad and mom first moved in here,” Ted said, rubbing at his head. “Shit, I hope I’m remembering this right. Anyway, your dad couldn’t move it and didn’t feel like calling a company to come out and take care of it, so he sawed all of the branches off and turned it into a bench for him and your mom. Yeah, look.” He pointed at where a set of initials were carved into the side. BD + LD. My parents’ initials.
Suddenly, a memory snaked its way to forefront of my mind, and I walked around the log toward the far end. There: TS + ED. “That’s us,” I said, running my fingers over the deep scratches. “You made that with one of my mom’s dinner knives.”
Ted looked at the log, his eyes widening. “So I did,” he said. “Shit. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Wow. You mean I just remembered something that you’d forgotten?”
Ted laughed. “Will wonders never cease, huh?”
Ted had made us reservations at the mansion for the following evening. That night, we went out for burgers at the local Fuddruckers, which was overrun with high school kids.
We got our burgers and sat outside, and when we were done eating them, we went back to the hotel because Ted had to go in to the city early tomorrow to practice a few runs for Sunday’s game.
He didn’t try anything. Getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth side by side, it was the most intimate I’d ever been with him. And it just felt…right.
After he’d slid under the covers and turned out the light, I made the first move. I rolled toward him, sliding a silent hand under his shirt and outlining each muscled ridge on his abdomen, traveling lower and lower.
When Ted’s lips found mine, the kiss was sweet but quickly turned into something more intense, more desperate.
His arms snaked around me, and I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back while our mouths feasted on each other.
I don’t know how long we stayed there and just kissed before he rolled me over, pulled our clothes off, and worked his way into me.
He took his time. Each thrust was slow and lingering, torching every nerve and making me gasp and writhe and moan.
When I was nearly sobbing with need, he picked up the pace, holding my hips tight and thrusting upward at just the right angle until I screamed his name again and again.
32
Ted
I wasn’t worried about practice the next day. Since Erin had agreed to come to Dallas with me, I was able to refocus on my playing. Erin mattered, but so did my Super Bowl win.
We woke up early the next day and packed (we were staying in Dallas that night since I had the game). I drove us to the Marriott, where we checked in. I asked if Erin wanted to come to the workouts with me, but she passed. She wanted to explore Dallas a bit, re-familiarize herself with the city.
Practice itself was a breeze. The Cowboys had a killer defense this year, and Coach wanted to make sure we were ready to run contingency plays on the fly. I wasn’t worried about the game tomorrow. I’d be on my shit. Since our conversation that night in Erin’s apartment, I’d had to sit down and get real with myself about what it was I wanted. The one thing I knew I wanted was a Super Bowl win. So I was going to do my utmost to get us there.
What I was worried about was the dinner with my parents. Because I was bringing Erin and I had no idea if my dad would behave himself.
Erin met me back at the hotel, and we dressed for dinner. While I put on a suit, she got dressed in a dark green, sleeveless, lace dress that made her narrow waist look even tinier than it was.
When she was finished getting ready and was standing in the bathroom, putting on lipstick, I let myself say out loud what I’d been thinking. “You look so incredibly beautiful.”
33
Erin
Had I heard him correctly? I turned. Ted was leaning against the wall and appraising me from head to toe. He was smiling, but it wasn’t lascivious or sardonic. I knew my mouth was hanging open.
“Thank you,” I said. And because I had heard him when he’d criticized my self-confidence, “I feel beautiful.”
Ted’s grin widened, and he offered me an arm and led me out of the hotel. We’d returned the rental car, so he called a limo to take us to the restaurant. I had no memories of us talking about the mansion when we were kids, but I could appreciate that we might have. It was by far the best restaurant in Dallas and was decorated on the inside in rich, European velvets and silks.
Ted’s parents weren’t yet there when we arrived, so I was able to take a minute to appreciate the richness of the décor and the lush, fragrant roses that sat in the center of the table. As the waiter handed us the menus and Ted ordered a bottle of Chardonnay (his mother’s drink of choice), I took a peek at the menu and my heart stopped. Peeky toe crab with blood orange and avocado. Black grouper with chanterelle. My mouth began to water.
Ted had been quiet on our drive over, and he was conspicuously quiet now. “You know,” I said to Ted, setting down the menu. “I think I remember your dad a little. He’s a big guy? Big chest, bit of a belly?”
“Losing his hair on top,” said Ted dryly. “Yup. That’s him.” He stood up, and I realized that Ted’s parents had just entered the restaurant.
Bruce Schneider was, indeed, a big man. Ted was at least two inches over six feet, but his father was a few inches taller than that. He seemed to take up even more space than his clothes allowed for. His wife, on the other hand, was smaller, more petite, a cliché version of the Dallas housewife. Her blonde hair was swept into a perfect updo. She wore pearls and a gray Chanel suit that would have looked at home in any decade.
I smiled at them both when they approach
ed, but I didn’t fail to notice that Mr. Schneider’s expression froze when it landed on me.
“Teddie,” said his mother, moving forward and wrapping her son up in a hug. “You didn’t tell us you were bringing company.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been avoiding the tabloids, Mom,” said Ted. “Surely, you recognize Erin Duvall of Sleeping Beauty fame?”
“Oh, well, of course!” said Ted’s mom, but I wasn’t so sure she did recognize me.
“Erin, it’s nice to meet you.” I didn’t tell her we’d met a few times before. Ted didn’t either. In fact, upon seeing Ted’s parents, memories of my visits to his house were coming back. I could see his kitchen, with its large granite island and breakfast nook. His dad had always been so brusque, his mom a bit spacy.
“Dad, this is…”
“I remember Erin,” his father said, though he didn’t sound happy about it. He managed to squeeze past both of us without a handshake or a welcome. Ted took it in stride, holding out his mother’s seat while his father and I sat ourselves.
“Per usual, Ted,” said his father, “I see you haven’t listened to a word I said?”
“Per usual,” Ted responded. Then he turned to his mother. “How was the Donahue’s fundraiser, Mom?”
“Bee outdid herself,” said Mrs. Schneider, waving her hand for emphasis. “And I think they raised over a hundred thousand dollars for leukemia. Do you remember Bee’s husband?”
“Of course,” Ted said, but I knew he was lying.
“He’s still fighting. And he looks wonderful for someone who’s terminal.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Will your coach let you on the playing field again after that shit-show you put on last week?” Ted’s father interrupted.
I stared at him, shocked. Ted blinked and inclined his head. “We’ll see tomorrow, I guess.”
