Not Perfect(21)

“You didn’t get sick, did you?” Toby prompted her, and she hoped she hadn’t looked dumb, spacing out.

“Oh, no, I’ve been fine, luckily,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

It hadn’t even occurred to her that she might get it. What would the kids have done then? She hadn’t been really sick since Stuart left. Ugh. Something else to worry about.

“So, are you here with people?” Toby asked tentatively. “Or meeting someone?”

She felt her wedding ring, but not by touching it with her other hand. She sensed the weight of it on her finger. Funny how she could go days, weeks, without noticing it—it was like a part of her body, but now she was so aware of it that it took all her energy to not twist it.

“Nope,” she said. “I’m here alone.”

“Oh, okay. So am I. Do you want to try to get a seat?” Toby asked. “I see two in that far corner over there. And we’ll still be able to see the television.”

“Sure,” she said. Why not?

Toby rushed ahead, hurdling the chairs in his way. He made it to the back corner and put a hand on each of the seats, hard, claiming them. Tabitha laughed.

“It’s competitive around here,” he said when she reached him. “And I don’t mean just the game. You have to fight for your chairs.”

“I can see that,” she said, still smiling.

He swung a tattered black backpack off his shoulders and pulled two small banners out, which he attached to the tops of the seats. They were navy-blue and said MICHIGAN. He went back to his backpack and pulled out a bunch of ribbons and decorated what was still showing of the backs of the chairs. Finally, he yanked out a ziplock bag full of maize-and-blue confetti and threw it into the air around their general area. When he finished, he indicated that the seats were ready to be used. She just stared at him.

“I’m glad to see you’re better dressed today,” he said, his tone light.

“Oh, yeah, me too. That was a definite lapse in judgment.”

“This crowd isn’t quite as forgiving as the midweek crowd.”

“Also, a little crazier,” she said, picking up a tiny navy-blue piece of paper and tossing it at him. “Do you always carry decorations and confetti with you?”

“Oh, I should have explained that,” he said. “I have a daughter. She’s very into crafts. I’m always trying to come up with projects for her. Oh, that reminds me. I want to take a picture so she can see I appreciate and displayed her work.”

Still feeling the weight of her own ring, which she realized was so stupid—she wasn’t doing anything—she glanced at his left hand while he snapped the photo. No wedding band, but a very clear white line where it once sat while his hand was getting tan—so it couldn’t have been that long ago that he took it off. But she guessed it wasn’t that morning. She covered her ring with her right hand. She didn’t want Toby to see it. She didn’t want to have to answer more of his questions.

Toby fiddled with his phone, presumably sending his daughter the photo, then he sat and indicated that Tabitha should also sit. Before she had a chance to ask him anything, the head of the alumni association chapter, the same guy from the other night, stood on a tall table, demanding everyone’s attention. Today he was covered from head to toe in maize and blue, with two scarves, one of each color, intertwined meticulously around his neck. Even his face was painted.

“Okay, Wolverines,” he called. People were still talking.

“Okay, Wolverines!” he tried again, so loudly that a few people jumped.

“Before kickoff, I want to sing a rousing round of ‘The Victors,’” he said. “This time I want them to be able to hear us in New York! No, better yet, I want them to be able to hear us in Ann Arbor! One, two, you know what to do . . .”

Once again, Tabitha found herself singing along. She was aware of Toby glancing at her, she assumed to see if she knew the words, to gauge how into it she was.

“Go Blue!” they all shouted at the end, fists in the air. She felt the place reverberate. And once again, she liked being a part of it. She went to a small liberal arts college in Hartford that had no school spirit at all. Well, none that she tapped into, anyway. Why hadn’t she been more interested when Stuart was here? Why did she always fight him about this?

All eyes were on the many television sets around their section of the bar. Toby was quiet as he watched the coin toss, which Michigan won, then he groaned when they chose to kick the ball first.

“They should save it for the second half,” he mumbled to himself.

Michigan kicked, the other team fumbled, and miraculously Michigan brought the ball to the twelve-yard line. The crowd went crazy. Tabitha felt her phone buzz. It was a text from Sarina’s mom.

Hey! I don’t want to alarm you but Fern seems a little off. Can you call me?

Tabitha sighed. She could feel her time here winding down. She hadn’t even begun to think about how to package up some food. She texted back.

Yes—I’ll call in 10! Thank you.

She watched the crowd as Michigan scored the first touchdown. There was another round of “The Victors,” then everyone settled back into their seats.

“So what’s your story?” Toby said at the exact moment she was about to say she had to go. Her story? Ha!