“What the fuh…?”
“Oh, this is interesting,” Colin remarks innocently, grabbing the remote and cranking up the volume. “Is that Rae with Jet? How odd! I wonder what’s happening.”
I shoot him a dirty look from the corner of my eye but keep my attention glued to the action, as the booth announcers pitch it to the sideline reporter, whom we only hear, not see.
“Thanks, Dan and Charlie. We’ll have some post-game remarks from Chiefs quarterback Jet Knox in a moment, but first he’s asked us to help him relay a special message, so… here we go.”
“What the fuh…?” I repeat, only at a higher, Torzi-deafening range as my heart threatens to turn inside out on itself.
Jet flips up a piece of poster board from his lap that says in bold, Chiefs-red letters, Maura, will you marry me?
My hands fly up to cover my nose and mouth.
Rae turns up the white sign in her lap, which reads, Say yes! You know you want to!
I laugh into my hands and muffle, “Oh, my gosh! I’m going to kill all of you.”
Colin wraps his arm around my shoulders as the players in the line behind the bench raise posters that each contain a letter and the punctuation of the question, PLEASE?
Dropping my hands, I nod like an idiot, then mouth into the room, “Yes!”, not clear how the heck this is working or how Jet will get my answer. If there’s a camera in here, I’ll puke. What else has the TV crew seen and heard today from this room?
Before I can panic too much, though, Rae holds up her phone for Jet to see the screen.
“She said yes!” He springs from the bench and pumps his fist next to his body in his touchdown celebration move, which is the signal for the guys behind him to go crazy, rubbing his head, slapping his back and butt, and shouting, “Congrats, man!”
It all took less than fifteen seconds, probably, but it feels like the world is moving in slow motion. I turn to Colin, who holds up his phone, the word Yes in a text bubble on the screen. At the top of the screen is Rae’s name and number.
He hugs me while I wipe my eyes and sniffle. “You guys!” I screech over his shoulder, smacking him, hard, on the back.
He laughs and admits, “I’ve had that typed into my phone all day. I didn’t trust myself to be able to enter it fast enough with shaking fingers.” Holding up his hands, he confirms they’re still trembling. “I didn’t want to be the weak link in the plan.”
Jet’s voice rings out in the room, thanking the sideline reporter for her help, so I turn toward the television again, still squeegeeing tears from my face. He stands in the typical post-game interview stance, bent down slightly to hear the questions and speak into the microphone of the much shorter reporter.
“Jet Knox, that was the gutsiest play call of the day. What was going through your mind when you held up that sign?”
He laughs. “Uh, actually, I was thinking, ‘She’s going to kill me.’ But it was too late to back out, and I love her and really wanted to ask the question, and if she said no, I’d just keep finding other ways to ask.” He flashes his mega-watt grin at the camera. “I’m glad it worked out, though.”
“This was a big game, in general, for you, with your return to the field after your injury in Game One. Were you worried about your post-game plan being a distraction from what you wanted to do here today, get a win against your division foe, the Chargers?”
His hand on his hip, he smiles down at the reporter and shakes his head. “Not at all, Gina. Maura’s not a distraction; she’s an inspiration. I go out there and play my heart out every game, because that’s what I love to do. Nobody loves this team more than she does. Her support only makes me better.” He kisses his fingers and holds them up to the camera.
Gina chuckles. “Well, this is like something out of a movie, something she’ll remember forever. Thanks for talking to us. Congrats on the win… and the engagement.”
“Thanks, Gina.” To the camera, he says, “Love you, Beautiful. GO CHIEFS!” and then jogs out of frame. The shot follows him as he hugs Rae, who’s waiting for him, and disappears with her into the tunnel that leads to the locker room.
Stunned, I stare at the screen for several more minutes, through more sideline interviews and the pitch back to the desk in the studio, where the guys there marvel that “Jet Knox has some serious courage” and say they’d never have the guts to try that. I remain catatonic through most of the following commercial break.
Finally, after giving me my moment to recover, Colin pats my knee and says quietly, “And you said romance only happens in movies.”
Thirty-Five
“So Blassed!”
I still haven’t recovered by the time Jet returns home, slinging his overnight bag onto the entryway floor with a thump and a rustle of nylon against tile.
“Maura? You still here?” he calls, striding into the living room, where I’m sitting in virtually the same spot Colin left me, staring vacantly at the wrap-up analysis after the night game.
Not sure what to do with myself, I rise to my feet and wipe my damp palms on my yoga pants, suddenly wishing I’d thought to change into something nicer than yoga pants and this football jersey. Especially when I see Jet’s still wearing his post-game press conference dress shirt and trousers. Feeling inexplicably shy, I train my eyes on his huge, shiny shoes.
“Hey,” I say, but it comes out in a choked whisper, my voice rusty from disuse.
“Hey, Beautiful.” His strides shorten, and he pulls up,
