Page 34 of Spectacular Things
Own the Win
“Big day,” Corinne says at the cash register, eyeing Mia’s purchase as she rings herup.
“Big day,” Mia grins in agreement.
So pleased is Mia with her purchase, so empowered with the knowledge that comes from having already YouTubed the installation process, that when she swings open the glass door to leave, she doesn’t notice the man to her right until he calls her name through his Covid mask.
Even then, she doesn’t recognize him until he asks if Cricket is with her.
“She’s at school—on Zoom,” Mia says, finally identifying him as Coach. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than royal blue Stallions gear.
“Oh, right, Zoom,” Coach says. “Yikes.” As he talks about how well Cricket played in the game last weekend, Mia notes his faded jeans and gray zip-up hoodie over a white T-shirt.
Mia judges him for the flip-flops—it’s only in the mid-forties—and then registers the gigantic bag of kibble tucked under his arm.
“You have a dog?”
“My neighbor,” Coach says. “She’s gotta be close to eighty, so between Covid protocols and Trevor still being a puppy and—”
“Trevor!” Mia shouts. “Your neighbor is Bitsy Beedy?”
Coach cocks his head. “You know Miss Bits?”
They laugh with a shared appreciation for the diva-and-dog duo, and Coach sets down the heavy yellow bag of kibble on the sidewalk. Mia fights the urge to check her watch; she doesn’t want to be late for work. And then she remembers what she’s holding at the same moment Coach spotsit.
“Nice,” he says, nodding at the toilet seat.
“I know!” Mia agrees, holding it up for him to admire. If Coach were her own age, she would be mortified, but he’s an adult. She can only assume he gets it. “Who knew you could just buy a toilet seat?” Mia says. “I feel like such a grown-up.”
Coach takes a step back. “You are the legal guardian of a teenager,” he says with a raised eyebrow. “I’d say you’re definitely a grown-up.”
“How old are you?” Mia asks. Her mind is still trying to negotiate the shaggy man in front of her with the clean-shaven Coach on the sidelines of her sister’s games.
“Twenty-nine,” he answers. “But in guy years.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m not ready to have my own dog,” he says. “And I’ve never experienced the joy of purchasing my own throne.”
Mia laughs uneasily, surprised by the heat pooling in her cheeks. “It was Cricket’s idea.”
“No, no, don’t do that,” Coach teases, taking two steps closer and wagging a finger.
He is tall. Mia didn’t realize just how tall until now, as he looms over her, a glint of mischief pulling at the corners of his green eyes.
“You picked this baby all on your own,” he says, patting the seat. “Own the win.”
“My win is a literal toilet seat,” Mia says, staring down at her purchase. “That’s embarrassing.”
Coach picks up the bag of dog food. “Mia,” he says. “Adulthood is constantly embarrassing.” Under her mask, she smiles at the sound of her name in his voice, and from his squint Mia can tell he’s grinning underneath his, too. “Same time next month?” he asks.
Mia makes a note of the date and wonders if Coach is serious, if he really does come here on the first of every month. But no, of course he doesn’t, so Mia feels free to joke back, “You’re on, Coach.”
“Right,” he says, shifting the gigantic bag of kibble to one arm.
“About that.” He clears his throat as if he’s about to deliver a verdict, but what he says instead hits Mia like her new favorite song.
“I’m Oliver,” he says, adjusting his weight and sticking out his hand to properly introduce himself seven years after they first stood on opposite sidelines. “Please call me Oliver.”