Page 57 of Lessons in Lemonade

No, I’ve never had a real long-term relationship. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I’m trying with her and getting nowhere. I’ve given her time. I’ve tried to be what she needs. I’m certain she knows how good things could be between us, but for whatever reason she has indefinitely friend-zoned me, and I’m not sure what else I can do.

The question is . . . why?

All week I have watched her, much closer than I did before, to try to figure out what is going on in her head, and what I’ve realized is she keeps everything surface level. I’m not surprised I didn’t pick up on this before; in many ways, I guess I am the same way, but with her it just seems like so much more. Or should I say less?

Yes, she is happy all the time, and one of the things I adore about her is how she finds the beautiful even in the ugly, but that’s it. Other than the incident over the flowers, in the last nine months, I’ve never seen any other emotion from her. She’s calm, easygoing, and never lets things ruffle her feathers or get her riled up. Things just tend to be smooth around her all the time. There’s never any conflict, she diffuses anything that could potentially be uncomfortable, and she’s just sailing through day by day.

Is it that she thinks something will change? I mean from my standpoint, things would only get better, so is she afraid of being hurt? Was she hurt before? She’s never alluded to anything happening in the past, but maybe she just hasn’t told me. I know she cares for me; I’ve had plenty of female friends over the years, and none of them have ever looked at me like she does. There’s also the fact of how she was with me on Sunday night. She didn’t act or look like she was just trying to get it out of her system. She clung to me as tightly as I did to her, so what is it?

It can’t be the distance when I rejoin the Tampa team. That’s just a tiny hiccup in the grand scheme of things, and we would figure it out, like we did before. Only this time, I would know she’s mine versus wondering if she ever would be, and it’s not like it would be forever. I only have maybe a few more years left in the league.

So, I’m back to my original question of why.

“I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to scowl harder than you are right now. What gives?” Eddie asks as he comes to stand next to me.

“Nothing,” I mumble.

Looking away from him, I stare down at the pool of ice water I’m sitting in and frown. The timer reads five more minutes.

Since the day I arrived and we changed the brace I’m wearing, my knee has had swelling. In fact, I’m certain it’s had swelling since the minute it was hit, and it just won’t go away. Sometimes in the mornings, it’s a little less, but by bedtime it’s so angry at me I find I’m having to take prescription medication to reduce the inflammation.

I know it’s related to mechanical stress, but my quadriceps and other related muscles are weakening to the point where I’m off balance from one leg to the other. I feel off, and it sucks. From gait and range of motion to strength and stability, none of it feels right, and it has me worried. I’m too old for this to be happening in my career. Rationally I know it’s only been two months and the healing is going to take a substantial amount of time, but even I know if I can only get back to eighty percent, odds are I’m going to be replaced. Younger, faster, eager—if I were a coach, that’s what I would be looking for. The team is a business, and they have to run it as one.

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing. Besides, you’ve been quiet and stuck in your head. Look, I know you hate this, but I promise there has been gradual improvement in the stability of your knee. You know it takes time.”

I know it does, but it’s taking a lot of time, and I’ve never been one to sit still. Patience is hard for me, and between this, the possibility of losing my job, and Meg, I’m losing my mind. I don’t like how any of it feels, physically, emotionally, or mentally. It’s making me restless in my own skin, and I want to feel settled. Right now, I can only handle one thing at a time, and it feels like all aspects are precarious.

I don’t answer him, and he accepts the silence as he claps me on the shoulder and just stands next to me.

“Damn, what did she do to these to make them so good?” He holds up one of the brownies Meg made for him.

“I think it’s just the pecans, but who knows. For some reason, all her food tastes better than normal. She likes to cook for people she cares about. After the all-night flower escapade, you’re officially in the inner circle. Get used to it.”

“No wonder you’re wanting to be in the hydrotherapy tank all the time—need to burn off all the extra calories she’s been filling you with.” He chuckles and takes another bite.

“Meg says we should count memories, not calories.” I recite her mantra, remembering her face when we were outside a couple of weeks ago eating in the back yard. She had made us a blackened shrimp and alfredo pasta dish, and I was staring down at the plate like it was offensive when she laughed next to me. She was so relaxed, so carefree, and so beautiful. She slurped up the noodles, grinning, and I remember thinking I could do this with her forever. I guess she’s right—that dish will always be associated with a memory, a memory I want more of.

“Does she now?” He smirks, thinking all is well at home with us. If only he knew, but then again knew what? That she doesn’t want me the way I want her?

I flip him off, and he laughs, attracting the attention of others in the training room, including the head football coach Brick Meyers.

“Jack.” He wanders over and glances at the brownie Eddie is eating.

“My office,” he mumbles between bites, tilting his head. “Meg made them.” Over the last week, Meg has become a legend with her goodies. Now, when people see me, they look for a plate, too.

Coach’s eyes flare a bit in excitement then turn back to me. “You got a few minutes before you head out today?” he asks.

“Of course,” I answer him.

They’ve been so welcoming and accommodating to me, and I immediately offered to help in any way I could while I was here. Coach has taken me up on this, and we’ve spent a lot of time reviewing their playbook, going over ideas on how to teach different technical and strategic aspects of offensive football to his players, and looking at talent videos of potential players as they head into their senior year of high school.

To tell the truth, it’s been fun. When I left Tampa, I felt disconnected from my team, but here I’ve been absorbed into theirs, not only by the staff but also by the players, who now feel comfortable enough to come up and say hello. It’s noise, and I like the noise.

“Great. Whenever you’re ready, you know where to find me,” he says as he turns for Eddie’s office to snatch a brownie.

“Three more minutes,” Eddie tells me as he glances down at the timer.

“Got it.” I nod as he wanders off to see to a kid who’s been dealing with a tight hamstring.