Page 26

THE PERFECT COUPLE

Dean

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shit show of such epic proportions.

Unless you count that time during my rookie year when the entire Redwoods defense got smashed on Four Lokos and decided to play human bumper cars at that club in Vegas,” Luke leans over to mutter in my ear, and I fake a cough to cover up the snort that comes out of me from that image.

It’s a completely accurate description of the show happening in front of us.

It’s the end of Lemmie and Mellie’s weekly ballet class, and like always, the instructor, Miss Michelle, has given the kids freestyle dance time for the last ten minutes.

Watching a handful of four and five year old kids in leotards and leggings bounce around to Kidz Bop versions of classic pop songs after half an hour of age appropriate ballet instruction is very much like being the only sober friend at two in the morning when your buddies are all hammered.

It’s awkward, adorable, and all around hilarious. Freestyle dance time has quickly become my favorite ten minutes of the week.

Luke and I are sitting in the parent’s corner of the studio, where there are chairs set up for those of us who have the privilege of sticking around to watch the kids dance.

Sometimes there are more parents than others who hang out for the full forty minutes, but Luke and I are both lucky enough to be here every week.

The best part about ballet class? The fact that I get to hold Luke’s hand the whole damn time.

News of our marriage broke a few days after our ceremony at City Hall, courtesy of someone in the commissioners office leaking a photo of us in our suits.

Our teams were on it immediately, and we were able to keep things pretty low key, though.

Luke briefly addressed our relationship on the podcast, telling his co-hosts and the Bay Area listeners exactly what we had discussed—we’ve been together for awhile but kept our relationship out of the spotlight, but once we said ‘I do’, neither of us felt like keeping quiet anymore.

Apparently, the internet has totally jumped on board with our relationship.

My social media accounts are run by my team since I decided a long time ago that I was too old to care about keeping up with people online.

But my agent made sure to let me know that me and Luke are the it couple of the sports world at the moment.

I wasn’t surprised that the public cares about us.

I grew up with a famous athlete for a father; having your life scrutinized in the court of public opinion comes with the territory.

What did shock me is that no one seems surprised that Luke and I ended up together. I guess there has been a whole “will they, won’t they” aspect to our friendship amongst sports fans that I never knew about.

The other day, I fell down an internet-sleuthing-video rabbit hole and discovered a fan theory that Luke and I had been dating for years, with photographic evidence to back it up.

An hour of watching slideshows of Luke and I sitting just a little too close, hugging just a little too long, and I’ve started to wonder if we’ve actually been a couple this entire time without either of us realizing it.

It’s no wonder the public believes that Luke and I are just like any old, over-the-moon in love and hot for each other newlyweds. We’ve looked like the perfect couple for years.

Despite existing as friends and co-parents who happen to share a bed in private, we decided we should show a little PDA whenever we’re in public—which, admittedly, isn’t often.

Beyond Luke’s desire to keep a low profile outside of the broadcast network, it’s not like we have a ton of time to go out gallivanting about town together.

As it turns out, taking care of three kids under the age of six is incredibly time consuming. Who would’ve thought?

But at ballet class every week? At ballet class, I get to hold my husband’s hand, and I love every second of it.

These moments, where we look and act and feel like a real couple make me feel like that all the risks might be worth the reward.

Maybe I can put my fears aside and tell Luke what I really want.

And what I really want is him.

I bounce Ollie on my knee as I scan the room, looking for Lem and Mel in the mess of littles dancing around, and spot them closest to the mirror holding hands and spinning in a circle with James and Georgie’s kids.

Ethan and Taylor are five-year-old twins, too, and they’ll be attending the same kindergarten as Lem, Mel and Cami in the fall.

“How much do you want to bet that the double dose of twins over there are accidentally performing some kind of voodoo magic with their dance circle?” I ask Luke, nodding my head towards the girls.

“Accidentally? Dean, if Lemmie and Mellie ever start casting spells, I can guarantee that it will be a premeditated choice. Our kids don’t half-ass anything.”

I laugh, then press my nose into Ollie’s hair, inhaling her sweet baby scent as a way to mask the dopey grin that spreads across my face whenever Luke refers to the girls as ours.

Just like the ring on my finger, that word is a reminder of the enormity of our situation and the way that these three little girls have become the single most important things in my life.

Miss Michelle cuts the music and leads the kids through their goodbye song, and Lemmie and Mellie come barreling towards where we sit at top speed.

“Uncle Lukey! Did you see us dance? And did you see how tall I got when I did the relevé?” Lemmie asks, bouncing on her tiptoes in front of us.

“I did!” Luke beams.

“And Dean! Did you see my demi plié?” Mellie pokes my thigh repeatedly as she talks, as if I hadn’t already been giving them both my full attention.

“I did! It was killer, girlie!” I hold out my hand for a high five, and both girls smack my palm simultaneously.

“Do you think our Mommy could see our dance, too?” Lemmie says. She doesn’t sound sad, more curious and contemplative. But Lemmie doesn’t pull her hand away from the high-five, so I gently fold my palm over hers and give it a gentle squeeze.

I look at Luke, whose mouth has pressed into a hard line.

His brown eyes are glistening, and I can see him grappling with what to say.

Every so often, Lemmie and Mellie bring up their mom.

They ask us what Gigi would think about a new toy they got or a picture they drew, and every time, I watch Luke’s heart break all over again.

“Yeah, Lem. I think that your Mommy was watching you dance, and I bet she is so, so proud of you.”

Lemmie and Mellie smile, seemingly satisfied with my answer as they skip away to rejoin their friends at the snack table. Ollie wiggles in my lap, probably wanting to follow her sisters.

“I’ll take the chicken nugget,” Kira says, swooping in to lift Ollie from my arms and heading towards the other kids in one swift motion.

Bless my sister. She might be obnoxious and inappropriate—and I still haven’t forgiven her for the time she ratted me out to our dads when she caught me trying to order porn in a hotel room when we were teenagers—but the woman knows how to read a room.

“You okay?” I ask when Kira is out of earshot, turning slightly so that my knees are brushing up against Luke’s.

He makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh with no humor behind it before looking up at the ceiling and blowing out a long breath.

When he looks back at me, the tears are gone, but the pain is still written all over his face.

“No. I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever really feel okay again.

Some days, all I can think about is how much it hurts me that Gigi is gone.

She was like my mom, you know? On top of being my sister.

She took care of me my whole life, showed me all the love a kid is supposed to get from a parent when she was just a kid herself.

And then I realize how fucking selfish I am because Gigi actually was their mom,” he waves a hand in the direction of the snack table where the kids are all congregated.

“And it’s like…how dare I be sad for myself?

I had thirty-four years with Gigi. They had five.

Ollie only had a few months. Lem and Mel are so much better at managing their grief than I could ever hope to be with mine.

It feels like…it feels like nothing makes sense.

It’s backwards. I’m the adult. I’m supposed to be the strong one, and yet I feel like the kids have me beat by a mile.

They’re supposed to lean on me, not the other way around. ”

“Oh, baby,” I whisper softly, leaning in to take Luke’s shaking hands in mine. “I don’t think grief is supposed to make sense. That’s the bitch of it. ”

Luke snorts, and I press on.

“And for the record, you’re strong as fuck.

You’ve taken on this enormous responsibility of caring for the girls.

You’re going through a career change, you’re living in a new place, and you lost the one person you relied on for everything.

The only reason Lemmie and Mellie are coping with the reality of their situation is because…

well, for one, they’re kids. Kids are resilient as hell.

And two, you’re doing everything you can to guide them.

You’ve kept their daily lives as normal as possible, you answer their questions, you’ve got them in therapy and dance lessons and school.

You help them feel safe. The girls’ strength is a testament to your sister, and it’s also a testament to you, babe. ”

Luke keeps his eyes trained on our hands, where they sit interconnected on my knee, nodding slightly as he lets my words simmer between us.

A long moment passes where it feels like there is no ballet studio, there aren’t fifteen kids and a handful of adults milling about, munching on orange slices.

There’s no one but me and my husband and the hurt in his heart that I’m desperate to soothe.

When he finally looks up at me, his brown eyes swimming in adoration, I find myself overwhelmed with an emotion I don’t quite recognize.

“They’re a testament to you, too. You haven’t been with us long, Dean, but you’ve made an impression. Those kids love you. They idolize you. And when they grow up to be strong, badass, take-no-shit women like their mother was, I want you to feel proud of yourself, too.”

And just like that, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind. I want to throw out the rulebook, forget all the mornings I’ve snuck out of our bed, all the reasons why romance shouldn’t be an option and just beg Luke to kiss me.

Because at this moment, I don’t think I could ever feel more seen and cared for than I do right now.

I press my lips together and bow my head, a silent thank you for Luke’s unnecessary but wholly welcome acknowledgment of my dedication to our kids.

He squeezes my palms three times, and when I look back up, his grief-stricken face is slowly transforming into the soft, cozy smile that I’ve loved since the first day we met.

“Tienes unos ojos preciosos,” I murmur, letting myself get momentarily lost in the warm, whiskey pools of my husband's eyes.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I like the way it sounds.”

“You could always look it up, you know. Your phone has magic translating powers,” I laugh. But I hope he doesn’t. I like being able to speak so freely in this way.

“Nah, I like the mystery. Besides, it’s no wonder you’ve alway been able to nab any date you want. That Spanish switch up must’ve worked like a charm,” he says with a chuckle.

Does it work on you? I wonder, but don’t ask. Instead, I just hit Luke with a cocky smirk.

“So I was thinking,” I say, ready to steer the conversation in a different direction before Luke thinks to ask me to translate my musings. “Since Kira is taking the girls tonight, maybe we should have a husband date night? We can order in Thai food and?—”

I’m about to suggest curling up in bed with a movie with the hopes that an awake Luke might be as interested in cuddling with me as sleeping Luke is, when my sister’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife.

“You need to get the hell out of here.”