“I do?”
“You do now.”
Ray herded everyone out.
Leo was last.
Chris looked at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Leo gave a small nod and followed the others.
“Come on, people. Captain’s got a family meeting.”
The door closed.
Now it was just us.
Ethan sat on the couch with the tabletop game beside him.
Chris pulled a chair closer.
I sat on Ethan’s other side.
“Captain,” I said, “what exactly did you tell Ray?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
“Captain, what exactly did you tell Ray?”
Chris pointed toward the door.
“Nothing? Ray traveled all the way here carrying a dozen plastic football players and one goalpost that hasn’t stood straight since February.”
“They’re players, Dad.”
“Fine. Athletes.”
Ethan tried not to smile.
I waited.
He picked at a loose thread on his jersey.
“They’re players, Dad.”
Finally, I asked, “Why was it so important that they be part of today?”
He shrugged. “Because…”
“Ethan.”
His eyes met mine.
Then moved to my phone, still sitting in my hand.
He said gently, “They’re people from the hospital who still act normal around me.”
Chris blinked. “Weird?”
“Why was it so important that they be part of today?”
Ethan immediately looked sorry he’d said it.
“I didn’t mean bad weird, Dad.”
“What kind of weird, Captain?” I asked.
He stared at the tabletop field.
“Dad pauses games to check if I’m tired.”
Chris started to answer.
Ethan kept going.
“And you take pictures when I’m eating cereal, Mom.”
“Dad pauses games to check if I’m tired.”
I looked down at my phone.
Ethan added, “You saved that hospital bracelet from when I threw up on your shoe.”
“That was a memorable evening, sweetie.”
“Mom.”
“Sorry.”
He rubbed one thumb over the plastic scoreboard.
Then he looked at Chris.
“Dad used to yell at football.”
“That was a memorable evening, sweetie.”
“I still yell at football, buddy,” Chris cut in.
