Page 55 of Sneaking Around with the Player
“Hey, Beau,” Mrs. Walters says, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” I hand over the tin of cookies my mom forced me to bring. “These are from my family.”
“That’s so nice.” Stella’s dad pops open the top and takes one out. He bites into it with a satisfied smile. “Are you any good at board games?”
“Uh . . .”
“He’s on my team.” Stella tugs me into the dining room. There’s a stack of board games on the floor. Holly and Teddy sit on the far side.
“Hey, Beau,” Holly says. Now, the twin sister I have won over. Maybe even her boyfriend.
“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas.” I extend a hand to Teddy and take a seat across from him. “What are you playing?”
“We just finished Scattergories,” Stella says. “Holly destroyed us.”
“Nice.” I offer her a fist bump, and she grins proudly.
We play Scrabble next, followed by Cranium. Mr. and Mrs. Walters call it a night after that, and the five of us head into the living room to watch a movie.
Holly sets a tray of cookies on the coffee table. “Jingle All the WayorHome Alone?”
“Die Hard,” Felix says.
“We watched that one two nights ago,” Stella says. “Let Beau pick.”
“Uhh . . . I haven’t seen either of them.”
“What?” All four of them look at me with wide eyes.
“The TV at my house is either on football or Hallmark.” I shrug.
Felix grabs a cookie and waves it around as he speaks. “Let’s doJingle All the Waytonight. We don’t have time to watch bothHome Alonemovies. We’ll do that tomorrow.”
“He’s seen the second one,” Stella says, and then blushes. “Or part of it.”
“You guys don’t have to do that. Watch whatever you want.”
Felix kicks back and rests his bare feet on the table. “It’s too late, Ricci. You wanted to date a Walters, well, that requires cramming as much holiday cheer as possible into every day between Christmas and New Year’s.”
I smile as I look around the room and a lump forms in my throat. It’s a peace offering. Not the first, but one that feels a hell of a lot more significant than the others.
“All right, yeah. Let’s do it.”
Stella snuggles up next to me and we watch the movie all the way through. When it’s over, everyone disappears, leaving us alone in front of the TV.
“How was Christmas with your family?” she asks, covering a yawn.
I play with a strand of her hair, curling it around one finger. “It was good.”
“And things with your dad?”
“That’s good too. He’s barely said a word about football since I’ve been home. It’s almost freaky.”
“You miss talking about it with him, don’t you?”
“Kind of.” I chuckle.
Last summer, about two years later than I should have, I finally talked to my parents about the pressure I was feeling with football and how it was impacting my love of the game. My dad barely spoke to me for a week. I was sure we’d never see our way through it, but slowly, we’re finding a path forward. One where we communicate a little better. It hasn’t been one big conversation; it’s been a bunch of small ones. We’re both more comfortable tossing a football around than talking about our feelings, but I’m glad I said something.
