That Girl (That Girl, #1)(50)
After a few moments of awkward silence, Elaine asks, “So, what are you majoring in, Oakley?”
She’s relentless.
“Why don’t you ask about your son and leave her alone?” Lincoln shouts, leaning forward in his seat.
“I have no idea why you always have to be so stubborn,” Elaine replies.
Silence descends again, and it seems as if we can all eat without any further inquisition. The salad is delightful once I’m able to focus on eating.
“After the break, we’ll be analyzing the number one collegiate defense in the nation and their leader, Lincoln Wilks. This young athlete is set to break records and tear apart any offense he faces. That and much more. Stay tuned.”
The words of the commentator fill the perfectly decorated room. Peeking out the corner of my eye, I notice Lincoln’s locked jaw. I wait a few moments for either his dad or mom to speak up and possibly congratulate their son, but it never comes. They seem to be perfectly happy with their meticulous home, choosing to forgo all emotions dealing with their son. My heart falls out of my chest with the realization of their actions, and everything inside me wants to shake them like ragdolls. How can they not see Lincoln for who he is? In my book, he’s way more precious and valuable than any piece of art or fine china in the house. Yes, house because by no means could this institution ever be classified as a home. Lincoln’s dad excuses himself from the table, making his way to the couch to watch the highlight on ESPN in the comfort of the living room.
“Go,” I whisper to Lincoln, urging him to go sit with his dad.
“Come with me?” he asks.
Standing up and holding Lincoln’s hand, I say to Elaine, “Thank you for the meal. It was delightful. I’m not a college student and don’t have any fancy last name or pedigreed past, but I do love your son. He’s everything to me and has helped me survive some very difficult times.”
I nudge Lincoln to go join his dad while I wait for a response from his mother. She still sits in disbelief, fork poised in midair, and I’m not sure if it’s from my words, Lincoln’s attitude, or the ESPN coverage. I’m guessing it’s a combination of all of it.
The fork hits the lace tablecloth with a muffled clatter. “You’re not good enough for him. I’ll never allow it.” The expression in her eyes is stone cold.
“Too bad you don’t get a say whether it happens or not.” I hold her gaze until she huffs and reaches for her wine.
Instead of engaging the woman any further, I walk away to join Lincoln on the couch. He’s sitting across from his dad, and neither of them are speaking to each other. I want to go slap his dad upside the head and tell him to f*cking be proud of his son.
We continue to sit in silence as the highlight plays out before us on the T.V. So many plays of Lincoln’s are featured. In some of them he’s the star of the play, but several are him assisting. Not once is it mentioned who is father or brother is. They even cut to a clip where he was interviewed after a game. The pride covering his face lights up the room, and I even see his dad crack a smile.
“You’re having a good season, son. We’ll be at the game Thursday. San Diego has an offense, though. Probably the first real one you’ve seen all season. Hope you can keep up.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Lincoln sounds both grateful and suspicious of his father’s faint praise. “We’re gonna head out.” he says as he stands and pulls me up beside him.
“See ya, son. You better tell your mom goodbye,” his dad replies, making no eye contact.
Lincoln walks toward the dining room to find his mom, and I let him know I’ll be waiting in the truck. There’s nothing else I have to say to that woman, and I certainly don’t need to take any more of her snide remarks. Sometimes in life there are situations where silence is best.
Moments later, Lincoln walks out the front door with his mom hot on his heels. I can’t hear what is being said, but she’s enraged and yelling. Lincoln finally throws his hands up in the air and walks away from her.
Slamming his door and peeling out, he screams, “I f*cking hate them! I wish they’d just stay in f*cking Dallas. I don’t need their sympathy visits.”
“She told me I’m not good enough for you, and basically she’ll never allow us.”
“She what?” he roars.
I place a reassuring hand on his thigh. “It’s fine. I stood up for myself. I told her it wasn’t her choice.”
He gives a terse nod and looks straight ahead. “I will not lose you, Oakley.”
“You have four days to get your head on straight to play the game of your life. You’ll have your dad and mom in the stands. Show them. Show them the real you who loves defense and a no name girl, and the you who plays with his whole heart and is always leading his team. It will be your time. So, let the anger go.” I stroke his leg gently and soften my voice. “I love you, Lincoln.”
“I want a pizza. That food was shit. I’ve always hated the gourmet shit Mom likes.”
“That a boy,” I laugh, knowing Lincoln is fighting with all his might to make it.
Lincoln damn near devoured a whole pizza by himself, and is now watching some shoot ‘em up, blow ‘em up movie on T.V. He’s relaxed, clothed only in shorts, with his arm propped back under head.
“Like what you see?” he asks.