Page 11 of The Wrong Game

Dad took over the conversation then, telling us about his fishing trip with Rod, his best friend from college, that morning. Mom teased him about lying about the size of the fish he caught that somehow “escaped” his hook before anyone could get a picture, and I just smiled, watching the genuine love in both their eyes as they went tit for tat.

My parents were the definition of an all-American love story.

They met when they were in middle school, but it took my dad all the way up until their junior year of high school to get up the courage to ask Mom out. When he finally did, he took her to the homecoming dance, and the rest is history. They were each other’s first everything — and I knew without a doubt they’d be each other’s last, too.

Growing up in a household full of love taught me a few things — like how to treat a woman, how to apologize like a man, and how to communicate when things got tough. My parents never let me bunker down and hide my emotions when I had them. Whether it was a bad day for me out on the football field or just a simple fight with a high school girlfriend, they forced me to talk about it. And through that, I learned how to recognize my feelings, how to dissect them, and how to move forward.

My friends in college always gave me shit, saying I was a chick, but I didn’t see anything wrong with knowing how I felt and talking about it. I’m human, and I learned from one of the strongest men I know — my father — that crying, or hurting, or feeling heartbroken didn’t make you any less of a man. I learned from my mother that crying wasn’t feminine, it was human, and that even if itwasfeminine — that didn’t mean it was less than anything masculine.

That’s right, I was a born and bred feminist and proud of it.

I learned a lot from my parents — and one of the strongest things I learned was that I wanted what my parents had — a lifetime partner — more than anything.

Of course, dating for me had somewhere down the line shifted more into the realm of one-night stands and the occasional two-to-three month flings. Maybe it was because I worked so much, or because I still hadn’t found a woman to spark the same fire in me that my mom did in my dad.

Or maybe it was because I lost myself when I gave up my dream, and I was still trying to find me before I foundher.

Regardless, I was reminded every Saturday evening of what the future could hold, if I ever found the right girl to share my life with. And because of how I was raised, I was a bit of a softie — a romantic, if you will.

Micah loved to tease me over it.

“So, you going to bring this girl some flowers and take her dancing under the stars on this first date, Romeo?” he said after Mom cleared the table and brought dessert over.

“Don’t tease your brother,” Mom hushed him, but she grinned my way. “And if youdiddo those things, I bet you she would think it’s sweet.”

“Totally,” Micah agreed, serving himself a piece of pie. “Or, she’d shove you right into the friend zone box where you usually end up.”

Dad laughed, and Mom thumped Micah again.

“No, no, it’s okay. Rag all you want, little bro. I love when you show how salty you are that I have a girl to take out tomorrow and you’ll be in your room playing video games with one hand in your underwear.”

“More action than you’ll get, I bet.”

I laughed.

“This girl seems like she’s the one calling the shots, from what he told me,” Doc said. “In fact, isn’t itherthat’s takingyouto the football game?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Wait! Football game?!” Micah asked.

“Yep. She’s a season pass holder for the Bears. We’re going to tomorrow’s game together.”

He pouted then, dropping his fork to his plate. “That’s not even fair. Tell her if she really wants to have a good time, she should take me.”

“I can promise you, little brother — I will absolutely not do that.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he chimed. “You’ll be too busy looking into her eyes and telling her how beautiful she is.” He clasped his hands together on a sigh, batting his lashes at me.

I rolled up my napkin and tossed it over the table at him.

“And what exactly wouldyoudo if you were taking a girl on a first date, mister?” Dad asked Micah, pointing his fork. “Because I know we raised you better than to not treat a girl with respect.”

“Oh, I’d respect her, alright.” Micah waggled his brows. “I’d respect her all night long.”

Mom pulled his plate from in front of him as the rest of us laughed. “That’s it, no dessert for you.”

Micah apologized through his laughter, using his classic puppy-dog eyes. Those earned him an eye-roll and kiss on the forehead from Mom before she gave him his pie back. And, thankfully, the conversation turned from me permanently when Micah started talking about his first few weeks as a junior.