Chapter 5 Reeve
FIVE
reeve
Saturday dawns with a crisp breeze in the air, the kind that tells me even though it’s technically still summer, Mother Nature is pumped for football season.
It’s our first home game, we’re up against one of the few teams that beat us last season, and I feel phenomenal as we step out onto the field.
I can’t say I’ve ever forgotten how much I love football Saturdays, but if I had, the walk over to the stadium would have been all the reminder I needed.
All over campus, the air is thick with the scent of cigarettes and smoked meats, drunk fans with painted faces are shouting and celebrating and spilling beer, and bass-heavy music blares from the trucks and RVs decked out in Shafer red and white.
Maybe it’s that particular concoction working its way into all of us that makes our win feel so damn easy. My passes are flawless, we’re manhandling them all over the field, and even with Lorenzo—one of our best linebackers—still out, our defense makes theirs look like a bunch of chumps.
After a shower and a brief press conference, I head for the expansive parking lot south of the stadium for the family tailgate.
Plenty of football parents tailgate for every home game—and even some out of town for the diehards—but since I was a freshman, they’ve had a tradition of gathering for the home opener and putting together the most impressive spread possible.
I catch sight of Cam’s mom, Minnie, right at the front of the parking lot under the shade of a row of honey locust trees.
As usual, her setup looks like something out of a magazine—a long table covered in a red tablecloth; neatly stacked plates and cups; napkins printed with our Red Phantom logo; and an array of hot pans and matching white ceramic dishes filled with food, all of it catered but some of which—crowd favorites like buffalo chicken sliders, pimiento cheese spread, and bourbon pecan brownies—she pretends she made herself.
Cam and I know the truth, but we don’t dare spill the secret and dampen her spirit.
She absolutely lives for football season and all the traditions that go with it.
“Oh, Reeve’s here! Hi, sunshine!” Minnie waves but waits for me to come to her as she holds court between her red table and her sparkling white SUV.
When I reach her, she wraps me in a hug that envelops me in her familiar flowery perfume.
“How are you feeling, hon? You’re feeling okay?
” She pats her way down my arm like she’s checking for damage.
“Real good. Perfect.”
“Of course.” She smiles proudly. “You looked wonderful out there. Oh, I just can’t tell you how thrilled I am that the season is finally here! I have to say, I have a good feeling about what you boys are going to accomplish this year.”
Minnie always has a good feeling about Cam’s and my football careers.
If you ask her, we’re the greatest athletes to ever grace Shafer Field, not to mention the most polite, generous, handsome, and intelligent.
Not that I have any reason to argue. “I think so too. You just make sure that ring stays where it belongs.” I squeeze her hand, the one with the delicate ruby ring on her middle finger, the one she wears every game day and that she swears up and down is our good-luck charm.
“Always,” she pledges with a demure smile.
Behind her, a group of girls in Shafer hats and T-shirts approaches.
I spot Lenni among them, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m searching the group for Jade’s green eyes while a jolt of anticipation hits me.
I don’t know why—I don’t even want the girl here.
I can’t stand Jade or her holier-than-thou attitude or her world-class grudge-holding skills. Lucky for me, she’s nowhere in sight.
Minnie glances over her shoulder before turning back to me with a knowing smile. “You go off and find your friends and sample the food. And then come back and tell me how much better mine is.” She winks and pushes me out into the parking lot.
I make my way down the line, chatting with teammates and their parents, listening to predictions about our season and our conference, sampling food here and there.
Nobody asks about my parents. By now, all the families present know better than to ask if my mom and dad are here—there’s never been a yes to that question.
Lorenzo catches up with me, and we head over to his parents’ car, where his mom, Gina, gives me an enthusiastic hug and walks me through the options on her table: ricotta meatballs, stromboli, eggplant caponata, and Italian rainbow cookies, to name a few.
If anyone asks, Gina’s is the second-best spread at any tailgate, but secretly she’s neck and neck with Minnie.
After tasting a little bit of everything, I find Cash and Maisy arguing over where to do family dinner tonight as they linger behind their dad’s pickup truck.
Mr. and Mrs. Hartnell don’t bother with a table like most parents.
They just open the tailgate of the truck, set out some beers and bags of chips, and call it a day, more interested in making the rounds and chatting than fussing over food.
Mr. Hartnell has me by the arm and is lobbing questions at me about my thoughts on the draft next year when I glance over at the bearded man clad in a stark-white button-down walking behind a row of cars.
I recognize him instantly: the reporter who interviewed me a few weeks back and who I can tell from today’s postgame press conference has taken a liking to me.
I’m blanking on his name but he’s exactly the kind of guy who’s likely to be voting for a Heisman Trophy winner in a few months.
I excuse myself from Cash’s dad and cut between two cars to reach the press guy. As soon as he sees me, he stops and grins. “Mr. Atkins,” I greet him after a quick glance at his press pass. “Nice to see you in these parts. Can’t resist the call of pork cooked over a portable grill, can you?”
He chuckles. “You’ve got me there. Hey, great game today.”
“Thanks. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“Oh, I wish, but I couldn’t. I’m still on the job.”
“You sure? You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Mrs. Forrester’s lemon sheet cake.”
“Don’t tempt me!” he says affably. “One of these days when I’m off the clock.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll save you a piece.” I knew he’d say no, but a quick, friendly one-on-one with a guy like Brian Atkins could mean the difference between winning and losing the Heisman. And there’s nothing I want more this year than to take home the most prestigious award in college sports.
After saying goodbye to Brian, I head back to the tailgate, wanting to hang out with Minnie a little longer before I go home for a nap and some solo time. But she and Cam are alone by her SUV, Minnie holding him at arm’s length and smiling up at him as he talks, pride radiating from her.
Hanging back, I busy myself by grabbing a sparkling water from Gina’s cooler and asking Lorenzo’s dad about his summer.
I know I’m welcome to interrupt Minnie and Cam anytime.
I never question that I’m part of their family.
But maybe Cam wants a few minutes alone with his mother sometimes; I know I would.
Lorenzo and Cash join me, and we shoot the shit for a while, recapping the highlights of the game, but suddenly I don’t feel so chatty.
Something about thinking ahead to the Heisman ceremony in December after our regular season ends and looking around the parking lot at my teammates and their families brings on a wave of nostalgia.
It’s the last time we’ll ever do something like this.
There will be tailgates at every game and I’ll probably see all these faces again at one point or another, but this is the last time we’ll celebrate a home opener.
Next year, our team will be spread across the country.
Actually, we won’t even be a team anymore, except in our own minds.
Only a small percentage of us will even be playing football by then.
I probably have the best shot at it, and I know that makes some of the guys a little envious, but they don’t get that it doesn’t fill me with pride or even a sense of security to know I’m the most likely to go pro; it sends fear running through me.
Yeah, it would be a dream come true, but it’s also all I have.
Literally. My grades suck, I have no internship experience, and my résumé is blank.
My degree will get me nowhere. And I don’t have the family business—or family, period—to fall back on like the other guys. I don’t have choices.
This right here is my family. And next year? All I know I can count on is football.