really comes down to winning big games,” then had the audacity to suggest that maybe even Brees should be put before Ryan. “That guy can execute like nobody else,” he said.
“You think Ryan doesn’t execute? Really? He’s a total executioner,” I began, then strategically added, “Of course, I’m biased.”
“Everyone in this state is biased,” Gordon said. “Especially you Walker alums.”
“Yes,” I said. “But I’m really biased … We’re actually … kind of … dating.”
Gordon laughed and kept on typing.
“No. We are. I didn’t want to say anything at first … Because you work on that beat … And I don’t know,” I blathered, “it still sort of feels like name-dropping. And for all I know Smiley has some kind of policy against it … Since Ryan went to Walker and all.” I glanced in Smiley’s direction, then returned my gaze to Gordon. I had his attention, finally, but he looked incredulous, waiting for the punch line.
“You serious?”
“Yeah. We’re dating. We have been for a couple of months …”
Gordon nodded, finally believing me, then said, “Well, cool. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah. I guess,” I said. And then, “I really like him.”
Gordon laughed and said, “Well, I guess you do. Damn. What’s not to like? And I say that as a very straight dude.”
I smiled and said, “Well, I’ll be sure to tell him that, if you were gay, you’d go for Brees, Brady, Rodgers, and Manning over him.”
Gordon grinned and said, “No. If I were gay, I’d actually go for Ryan. Better hair. And you can tell him I said that.”
My dry run completed, I called my dad that night and, after some awkward small talk, used the same “Who’s the best NFL quarterback?” line as my opener.
“Oh, Ryan James. For sure,” my dad said, following the sweetest of scripts. Even better, Astrid was chattering in the background as usual. It was one of my biggest pet peeves—she was always right there in his ear, chiming in on our conversations. If I ever wrote a book on divorces, one of my first suggestions to parents would be: Get rid of the second (or third) wife in the background when you’re talking to your child—at least some of the time. And good Lord, don’t put her on the phone. As in “Here, Shea. Say hello to Astrid.”
But this time, I loved it.
“What about Ryan James?” I heard her ask.
My father repeated the question verbatim, and Astrid agreed that Ryan was the best, then added that she loved Tom Brady, too. I would bet my earrings that those were the only two football players she could name.
“Tell her we’re not talking about who has the most tabloid press,” I said with as much disdain as I could without being outright rude.
My dad laughed, then asked about my job. “I’ve been reading some of your stuff here and there. It’s really good.”
I made a face at the phone, thinking that these were the first and only three words of feedback or praise my father had offered on my fledgling career in journalism.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “It’s been fun.”
“I bet,” he said. “Like a dream job for you.”
“Like a dream job?” I said. “It is my dream job.”
“Right, right,” he said. “That’s what I meant.”
“And speaking of dreams,” I said, making an awkward but still satisfying transition. “I’m sort of dating the dream guy, too.”
“Oh?” my dad said as I heard Astrid clamoring in the background: What’d she say? What’d she say?
My father didn’t even try to mute the phone or cover the receiver. She said she’s dating her dream guy.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m actually dating the best quarterback in the NFL.”
“Come again?” my dad said.
“Ryan James,” I said, smirking to myself. I could practically hear the drum roll. “I’m dating Ryan James.”
Silence.
“He wants to meet you when you come down. He invited us to sit in his box with his parents for the game. On Thanksgiving.”
More silence except for Astrid, peppering him with questions.
“Dad? Did you hear me?”
“Are you joking?”
“No, Dad. It’s not a joke. He’s my boyfriend. He gave me diamond earrings. Big ones. We’re pretty serious.”
By now, I was fist-pumping, and Astrid was frenzied. I heard him relay everything to her, down to the size of my studs. Big diamonds.
Astrid suddenly was speaking directly in my ear, obviously having ripped the phone away from my dad. “Are you really dating Ryan James?” she said.
“Yes, Astrid. I am, in fact.”
Her voice became higher, more stilted than usual. “Well, tell us! How did this happen? Where