Page 49 of False Start
“Congratulations to you both,” Tombs says.
We thank him and then follow him out to the field where he turns into a typical football coach as he addresses the media. “If one of you asks me about these two, the interview is over.” And then he starts practice.
— 17 —
Now
It’s been a long time since I’ve reached for someone on the other side of the bed. It’s been even longer since I reached and found nothing but an empty pillow. I look up to see if I somehow missed Bryant on the edge, but there’s nobody there. I sniff the air, hoping for coffee or bacon, and find nothing. I throw the covers back, climb from the bed, and grab my robe as I search for him in my home only to come up empty.
Perhaps, he went for beignets and coffee as he loves to do anytime we’re in the Quarter. I open my phone and pull his name up to call, but it goes straight to voicemail. I frown at the screen and send a text.
Zhanna: Where did you go?
I must stare at my phone for twenty minutes willing it to ding with a message from him before I take the hint. Still, for the next half hour, I reserve a tiny piece of hope he’ll return with pastries. But with each minute that ticks by, I know he left in the middle of the night. He’s never left our bed in the middle of the night without waking me first and telling me what’s going on. I guess it isn’tourbed, and I shouldn’t expect things from him I don’t intend on returning.
I climb into the shower and have a steamy, cry session. I need to get it out of my system before I’m forced to face him at work. I can’t believe I softened toward him last night and let him in. I laid myself bare for him, and he snuck out in the middle of the night. I can’t win for losing with him.
On the drive to work to the other side of New Orleans, Bryant messages me back.
Bryant: Can we talk after practice?
I ignore his message.
Zina: Why is Bryant moping?
I wait until I’m inside my office to text her back.
Zhanna: How the fuck would I know? He snuck out of my house this morning.
Zina: Ouch. You okay?
Zhanna: I’m already ready for the day to be over with. I don’t know why he left, but he should’ve left a note or woke me to let me know he was leaving.
Zina: I’m giving him the evil eye.
Zhanna: I’ll be on the field in a minute.
I steel myself to remain strong when I’m out on the field with him, and pull on my big girl panties. Once I’m outside, I take in a deep humid breath of Louisiana air, and release some of my tension. Throughout the day, I ignore the many attempts Bryant makes to engage me in small talk.
“Did you need something?” I tersely ask him before lunch.
“Baby, we need to talk after practice. I’ll leave you alone until then.”
I don’t reply, and instead, take an early lunch to get away from him. He doesn’t try to talk to me in the last half of practice, and I leave the facility while he’s showering in the locker room. I don’t know if my heart can stand hearing why he left me in bed this morning. I expect Bryant to chase me home after he cleans up, but I don’t hear from him until after nine.
He shows up at the front door with a bouquet of flowers and a sympathetic smile. I stand aside and open the door wider for him to come inside. “I’m sorry it’s late. It took me a minute to find a florist who would open and also had lilies and orchids in stock.”
“You’ve been looking for lilies and orchids all afternoon?”
“You hate roses.”
“I don’t hate roses.”
“They’re not your favorite flower. You had lilies and orchids the day we married. I remember you smelled like them all day.”
Why does he make it so hard to dislike him? Why can’t I just stop loving him and gain immunity to his kindness and dimples? He spent hours looking for the perfect flowers to give me, because it’s the kind of person he is–thoughtful and kind.
I start to cry, or perhaps, it’s more like a sob that escapes me.
