Page 141 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“You're twenty-one.”
“I'm a long-term planner.”
As the celebration continued around us, as reporters tried to get Isak back, as our family took approximately seven thousand photos, I found myself standing with Artie at the edge of it all, watching the chaos.
“Full circle,” she said, looking around the stadium. “First game you ever brought me to was in a stadium like this.”
“You complained about the lack of proper tea options.”
“It's a valid complaint. Earl Grey in a paper cup is a crime against humanity.”
“You loved it though.”
“I loved watching you love it,” she corrected. “The way you explained every play, every tradition. You made me love it too.”
“And now?”
She turned to face me fully, and there was something in her eyes that made my chest tight. “Now I get why these moments matter. The game, the family, all of it. It's not just about winning.”
“What's it about?”
“It's about...” she gestured at the field, where Isak was being carried on his teammates' shoulders while Bay State players congratulated our guys, where families were taking pictures and strangers were hugging. “It's about becoming who you're supposed to be, surrounded by people who see you get there.”
“Very philosophical for someone who once called football 'organized chaos with occasional hugging.'”
“It's both things.” She went up on her toes and kissed me, right there on the field with the California sun setting behind the mountains and my family definitely taking pictures. “That's what makes it perfect.”
When she pulled back, she was smiling that smile that made me forget about everything else.
“Hey, Gryff?”
“Yeah?”
“I love this. Every tailgate, every game, every moment of Kingman chaos. I choose us.”
I knew what she meant. After everything with her dad, with choosing Team USA over Team GB, with building our life together in LA, she was choosing our future.
“Even if it means learning what a bowl game actually is?”
“Even then. Though I maintain the naming convention makes no sense and there should at least be fancy bowls for cereal or chips or something given out as parting gifts.”
We were both laughing now, standing in the middle of the Flower Bowl field, surrounded by celebration and possibility.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.”
“KINGMAN! KINGMAN!” The crowd was chanting now, and we turned to watch my little brother accepting the game MVP trophy.
“We should probably tell him to enjoy it,” Artie said. “This might be the last time a Kingman quarterback gets to be the family hero.”
“Why's that?”
She grinned, that mischievous look that still made my heart skip. “Because when our hypothetical future children are watching Uncle Isak play, they're going to ask why he needs all those pads and helmets and think they're tougher than him since they play rugby.”
I nearly choked. “Our hypothetical future children?”
“Eventual. Theoretical. Potential children who will definitely be raised around goats.”
