Page 50 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Won't even notice. Look, they're completely absorbed in that mime.” I interlaced our fingers properly, the way couples did. “Hand holding in public. Very couple-like. This is exactly the kind of practice you need.”
“Right. Practice.” But her cheeks were pink, and she didn't pull away.
We walked the pier like that, hand in hand. I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles the way I'd wanted to for months. When we passed a cotton candy vendor, I bought her one without asking—pink, because I knew she liked strawberry everything. At the ring toss, I won her a stuffed goat that made her laugh so hard she snorted.
“You're really good at this,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“At ring toss?”
“At the boyfriend stuff. The hand holding, the cotton candy, winning me prizes. Some girl is going to be really lucky.”
The words were a knife between my ribs, but I kept smiling. “Maybe I'm just good with you.”
She laughed like I'd made a joke. “Well, yeah. You know me better than anyone.”
I caught Nana glancing back at us, saw her note our joined hands, the way Artie was pressed against my side. She didn't sayanything, just smiled and turned back to watch Coach argue with the mime about proper juggling technique.
Thursday evening was Artie's rugby scrimmage. She'd mentioned it casually at breakfast, but Nana had immediately demanded to come watch.
“Your grandparents want to come watch? Really?” Artie seemed genuinely delighted.
“They've adopted you,” I said. “Resistance is futile.”
At the facility, I barely had time to warn Artie before my grandparents became THOSE grandparents.
The second Artie made her first tackle, Coach was on his feet like a human megaphone. “THAT'S OUR ARTIE! SHOW THEM HOW IT'S DONE!”
“GET HER!” Nana bellowed when Artie was running with the ball. “RUN THROUGH THEM!”
Other spectators were turning to stare. Some of the other players' families looked genuinely alarmed by the two seventy-something-year-olds screaming like they were at WrestleMania.
Artie scored a try, and both my grandparents lost their minds.
“THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT!” Coach roared. “DID YOU SEE THAT FOOTWORK?”
“NOBODY CAN STOP OUR GIRL!” Nana added.
Artie was laughing so hard she could barely run back to position. Her face was red, but she was glowing. After a particularly brutal tackle that sent her opponent flying, she immediately looked to the sideline.
I gave her a huge grin and double thumbs up, my chest tight with pride. God, I loved watching her play. She was magnificent, powerful and graceful and completely in her element.
But what got me most was the way she kept looking for my grandparents' reaction, the way she lit up when they cheeredfor her. Like she'd been waiting her whole life for grandparents who'd embarrass her with their enthusiasm.
“She's something special,” Coach said, sitting down next to me during a break.
“Yeah, she is.”
“The way you look at her, sweetheart...” Nana said softly.
“We're practicing. Trust exercises. For her dating confidence.”
Nana's expression said she wasn't buying a word of it, but she just patted my knee and went back to screaming encouragement when play resumed.
That night, after my grandparents had gone to bed, Artie and I were cleaning up the kitchen.
“Your grandparents are wonderful,” she said, drying dishes while I washed. “I can't believe how loud they were at the scrimmage.”
“They love you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I almost added “I love you too,” but caught myself just in time.
