Page 59 of The Americana Playbook

He takes one hand off the wheel and taps his temple.

“Not a great feeling to have in the off-season,” Fitz continues. “Heard yesterday we’re losing our top defender. I can’t get him to stay. I can’t convince Foller to try to convince him?—”

“Foller?” I interrupt. “Why wouldn’t he want the guy?”

Fitz sighs. “Todd and Foller clash a lot. It happens, but you know, usually everyone takes a breath. But after the Super Bowl…I guess I can’t blame Todd.”

“What happened at the Super Bowl?”

By the time Fitz tells me the story, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dropped my jaw. “Well, I’m with Todd. I’d walk away too.”

“Would you?” Fitz slows at a light.

“You wouldn’t?”

Fitz shrugs, turning to me. “It’s football. Things get heated.”

“Yeah, betweenplayers.” I watch as he folds his bottom lip in. “What kind of coach gets in his guy’s face like that?”

“One that won a Super Bowl.”

I lean toward Fitz. “Youwon a Super Bowl.”

Fitz looks away, and I can tell he doesn’t want to keep talking about it. Under normal circumstances, I’d press him a bit. But he did want to decompress and I’m sure this isn’t helping.

I straighten in my seat. “It’s hard having so much downtime.”

It’s not that I anticipated my help on the campaign being a full time job in any way. But my mother made it clear that where she went on the trail, I would follow. And that would kick off next week during a visit to New Hampshire. So apart from going to the barn, I don’t have a lot—or enough—on my plate.

I sigh. “I wouldn’t mind working.”

Fitz drums his hands against the steering wheel. “I know you already know this, but if you’re thinking about waitressing”—he pauses when I whip my head to face him—“I’mnotsaying there’s anything wrong with that, alright? I don’t have the patience or endurance to work in hospitality. What I’m saying is it definitely won’t fly with your family.”

“My family?” I ask. “Oryou?”

When the light changes, Fitz pulls into the intersection. “Well, it doesn’t exactly go well with our brand.”

Both of my eyebrows escape north. “We have a brand?”

“Kind of. If you consider how people on the internet are referring to us as Captain and Mrs. America, we sort of have something to go off of.”

“It’s kind of cringy,” I say.

“Maybe a little,” he agrees, but I watch a smile take hold of his face. “But we could be called worse.”

I snort. “Yeah. Like frauds.”

Fitz laughs. “I was thinking more of Barbie and Ken.”

“I’m no Barbie.” I warn him. “That would be Madeline. The perfect one.”

No one sends Barbie off to prison,I think to myself. But the truth is, I never needed anyone to see me asperfect. I just needed to be seen, to be heard, to beheld. After Honey died, life turned upside down. It was like suddenly, I woke up, and someone was there telling me,This is your life now,Parker. These are your parents. Really, they felt like total strangers. And I was right. Family wouldn’t do what they did. No way in hell.

Fitz cuts through my thoughts. “Perfect is relative.”

I lean against the seat and turn my head to him. “Are you saying I’m perfect for you?”

He doesn’t answer.

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