Not Perfect(52)

“For you, madame,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, jumping down off the ridiculously crowded bench. Someone immediately squeezed into the spot she just left. These Michigan people were so spirited. Or maybe it was just some of them. Stuart was a fanatic when it came to Michigan football, but he wasn’t fun, he wasn’t lighthearted.

Toby turned his attention back to his bag and created another chair, basically out of nothing, which he put as close to her as possible. There was very little room, and Tabitha was sure they were breaking fire code. Toby climbed up onto his chair and adjusted it slightly with tiny hops, so that he faced the big screen. He surprised her by patting her knee gently, as if to say everything was okay. It was a gesture Tabitha’s mother used to make when they would get settled somewhere—at the movies, in the car, at a dinner—and it conjured up so many emotions in Tabitha, not to mention the fact that she had not been touched much by an adult for months. She fought back the tears she felt forming in her eyes as they watched the coin toss and the first play of the game.

Immediately, Michigan State was off and running, and the wind was taken out of their small corner of the bar. Justin jumped up and frantically sprinkled maize-and-blue confetti on everyone, possibly under the impression that the green-poop confetti was bad karma. He ran between the chairs and tables with a seemingly endless supply of tiny paper pieces in one hand. Maybe he was magical. When he got to Tabitha and Toby, he actually stopped and looked at them, like for some reason they demanded more attention than everyone else, or else maybe he got the sense she didn’t belong there, or worse, that their chairs were illegal, but he reached into one of his many pockets with his free hand and pulled out small pieces of maize-and-blue ribbon with tiny red hearts among them, which he gently threw at them for a good twenty or thirty seconds. He just stood there and tossed.

“Just a feeling,” he said over his shoulder as he finally walked away and went back to sprinkling heart-free confetti on everyone else.

“What was that about?” Tabitha asked, not sure she liked that but also sort of liking it.

“Sometimes he thinks he spots Michigan couples in the crowd, or should-be couples, I guess. He often gets it wrong.” Toby didn’t say anything else, and Tabitha felt surprisingly unsatisfied. She had that awful response humans have when they think someone isn’t giving them enough, even if they didn’t know that they wanted it in the first place. She wanted more—from him.

“How’s Yo-Adrian?” she asked.

“Wow, you remembered her name,” he said, smiling but not moving his eyes away from the screen. “Nobody ever remembers it.”

“Seriously?” she asked. “Because it’s a pretty easy name to remember.”

“Yeah, well,” he said.

“How is she?”

“Oh, she’s good. Really good,” he said.

“Can I have your number?” she asked, surprising herself. It was always her intention to get his number if she saw him here again, but she had planned to work up to it a little. Ever since she spotted him on the street and realized she had absolutely no way of getting in touch with him other than running into him, she knew she wanted to get it.

“Sure, give me your phone,” he said, still smiling.

She unlocked it and went to the contacts, then she handed it over to him. She watched while he typed, then he handed it back. The contact name was Toby T. and there was a number following it. She pushed on it, and a few seconds later his phone rang. He smiled, reaching for it in his backpack and ending the call.

“Now you have mine,” she said, feeling her cheeks go red.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “And I’m happy to have it.”

“What does the T stand for?”

“Tarrabay,” he said. “Toby Tarrabay.”

“No way!” she said. “You had parents who liked the T-T sound, too! What are the chances? Growing up I was Tabitha Taylor, or Tabby Taylor.”

“Guess what my daughter’s name is?”

She was quiet for a second. Somehow, learning his daughter’s name seemed like a big step.

“What?” she finally asked.

“Tara Tarrabay.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” she said.

“So, are you still Tabitha Taylor?” he asked.

“No, I changed it, and at first I was glad to, it always seemed so perky. But lately, well, lately I miss it.”

Now he looked at her.

“What did you change it to?”

“Brewer,” she said. “When I got married.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you more about your, I don’t know, your situation,” Toby said, but the crowd was going crazy, and they both turned their heads to the screen in time to watch Michigan score the first touchdown of the game. It took a few minutes to get through the cheering and another round of “The Victors,” and Tabitha wasn’t sure if she hoped Toby would remember what they were talking about before, or if she hoped he’d forget.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he continued, when the immediate excitement was over. Tabitha knew she should help him, but she wasn’t even sure what her answer was going to be. “I guess what I’m asking is, are you, I’m not sure how to put this, are you happily married?”