In the final days leading up to his surgery, Philip still waffled about whether it was even worth going through with it. It was late January, and football season was over. He acknowledged there was a possibility he was never going to be able to play again anyway, so what was the point? Sara refrained from giving him advice, but she reminded him of what Dr. Garino had said—without the surgery, his life off the field could be impeded, too.
She’d never forget the way he looked at her after she said that, or what he said. They were sitting on the sofa together, and he nodded slowly. His eyes grew watery and she could hear him choking up. “Like that dream I told you about. I want to be able to throw the football around with our kids,” he whispered.
Sara moved closer and hugged him. Philip just verbalized a secret hope of hers, too. When he first told her about his dream, he said he wanted to be able to play with his nephews. But in Sara’s mind, she imagined the child in his dream was their son. Even though they talked about being together for the foreseeable future and threw around the word “forever” plenty of times, this was different. This was the first time either of them had mentioned a life together, a real life, complete with a family of their own. Sometimes, Sara could barely think of anything beyond the next semester. But his statement made her believe that maybe this was it, maybe she and Philip would be in it for keeps. “I want that too,” she whispered back.
»»•««
On the morning of the surgery, Sara was sitting at the little kitchen table in the dorm, mindlessly stirring her cold cereal with a spoon. She had no appetite these days. She was too filled with anxiety over the surgery and Philip’s recovery.
She pushed the cereal bowl aside and navigated to the news on her tablet. After she and Philip had become a couple, she set an alert for articles that mentioned Philip, and somehow she’d missed this one before. It was a couple of weeks old, and it was essentially a roundup in the sports section recapping the college football season. Even though it was only January, there was a lot of speculation about the draft at the end of April. The reporters discussed how Philip would have been a shoe-in had he not spent the majority of the season on the injured list. They commented about the Barracudas’ loss to Alabama in the big championship game. Some analysts blamed the loss on the team’s star quarterback being sidelined. There was lots of conjecture about what would have happened on this play or on that play had Mason been quarterbacking instead of Tony Ramos.
The article went on to say that losing Philip Mason in the quarterback position cost them more than just the game. Mason wasn’t just a leader on the field. He was a leader off the field too, and after he had collapsed during practice a few days before the big game, the team’s collective spirit deflated. Anyone who watched the final game could see that the Barracudas’ motivation to win was missing. They were disorganized and disjointed.
Sara sighed. She hoped Philip hadn’t seen that, but knowing him and his appetite for sports news—especially news about his team—he probably had. She knew he’d take personal responsibility for the loss. Hell, Philip was so quick to feel guilty that he’d probably take personal responsibility for world hunger, too. He already knew the team had lost. Reading these articles would only serve to rub salt in his wound.
Sara quickly closed the cover of her tablet when Philip stepped out of the bedroom, fully dressed. “Ready to go?” she asked. She meant to sound upbeat, but the little waver in her voice likely gave her away.
“Just about.” He pulled out a chair and sat down next to Sara at the kitchen table. He took her hand. “I want to give you something first.” He placed a little blue box on the table. “It’s a present.”
Sara looked at the box and then at Philip. “Philip, you don’t have to give me anything.”
“I know I don’t. But I want to. Here.” He released her hand to open the box and took out a ring. It was a chunky gold-plated ring with blue stones and blue enamel insets. It had the team name and logo emblazoned on the front and the year inscribed inside the band. “This is from my sophomore year, my first championship ring. I want you to have it.”
“Philip, no. This ring is important to you.” Sara’s first thought was that Philip must be thinking he wasn’t going to make it through surgery if he was giving away his prized possessions.
He reached for her hand again and squeezed it, as if he was reading her mind. “That’s right. And so are you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Sara. If I didn’t have you…” His words trailed off and he didn’t finish the sentence.
Joy-filled tears pooled in her eyes. “You
do
have me. For as long as you want.”
“How does forever sound?”
“Like a good start,” she said, laughing.
He leaned closer and kissed her briefly. “That ring is gonna be a little big on you, so…”
Sara reached for the clasp on her neck chain. She slipped the ring onto the chain and refastened it around her neck. Holding her arms out, she said, “Problem solved.”
A half hour later when they arrived at the hospital, Sara was relieved to see Philip’s parents already there. Philip needed their support, and frankly, so did she.
But Sara couldn’t sit still, knowing at that very moment, Philip was in surgery. She walked around the floor to burn off some nervous energy.
She passed an empty examining room and spotted a doctor’s scale inside. That’s when it occurred to her that she hadn’t gotten on a scale in months. She looked around and when she decided no one was paying attention, she went into the room, slipped off her sandals, and stepped on the scale. She fiddled with the sliders until the weights finally balanced.
Her eyes widened. She was about seven pounds lighter than the last time she had weighed herself. Seemed those five pounds that had haunted her for so long were gone. Must be due to a combination of stress and love, she figured, not to mention those frequent workouts, also known as sex.
She returned to Joe and Diane in the waiting room, and she could see they were just as worried as she was. Now she felt guilty about leaving them here alone. She took a seat next to Diane and grasped her hand. She looked at both of Philip’s parents. “I don’t want you guys to worry. Everything’s going to be fine,” Sara reassured them. “Philip is young and strong and I want you to know that I’m going to be by his side to help him through every step of his recovery.”
»»•««
Sara leaned against the wall outside the recovery room, clutching the championship ring on the chain around her neck. Only two people at a time were allowed inside, and right now, those two people were Philip’s parents.
Before letting them go in, the surgeon had briefed the three of them about Philip’s prognosis. He had come through the surgery very well and they were able to repair the tear, but Philip would probably still need reconstructive surgery once the knee healed. Philip was young and healthy, and with rest and rehabilitation, the doctor was confident Philip would regain normal use of his knee. Whether he’d be able to play football at a professional level was something only time would tell.
Sara was lost in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Sara,” a male voice called to her. “Philip is asking for you,” his father told her. She looked at him questioningly for a moment, wondering if it was okay for a non-family member to go in. Just like his son did so many times, Joe must have read her mind because he said, “It’s okay. Go ahead in.”
She rushed to the door and went inside. The recovery room was a huge open space lined with individual patient stations, each one encircled by a curtain. She naively expected to see Philip as soon as she entered the recovery room, but instead of seeing him, the first thing she noticed was the smell of alcohol and bodily fluids, which oddly reminded her of the first time she had entered Philip’s dorm room. The second thing she noticed was the sound of machines beeping softly at regular intervals.
She could shout Philip’s name, but that wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances. She could ask one of the nurses, but it was clear from their intensity that they had better things to do than to play receptionist, so she walked along the floor, hoping to find her guy. It felt like ages since she had entered the room, and her anxiety level was rising with every step.
Suddenly Sara knew exactly where he was. She followed her nose to the faint smell of oranges—the scent of the citrus cologne Diane Mason always wore.
She stepped behind the curtain. As soon as she saw Philip, she breathed a sigh of relief. He looked tired and pale and like a little boy lying in that bed. But his smile told her that he was her Philip.
When he held out his hand, she took it and squeezed a little too hard. She kissed his head and asked, “You okay?”
“Better now that you’re here,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Sara looked at his mother. “Can he have some water?”
“There’s some in the cup,” his mother said, indicating a green plastic cup on a tray next to the bed.
Sara picked up the cup and directed the straw toward Philip’s mouth so he could take a sip. When she put the cup down, she took Philip’s hand again. He was looking at her intently, drinking her in.
Diane put her arm around Sara and squeezed her shoulder. “I was just telling Philip how much I appreciated your strength and support while we were in the waiting room during his surgery.” Looking at her son, she said, “You’re lucky to have her, you know.”
“I know,” he rasped, without taking his eyes off Sara. “I’m more grateful every day.”
“Stop you guys,” Sara said, batting a tear away with her free hand. She felt overwhelmed by the unconditional love she received from Philip’s parents, something she never even got from her own family. “I’m the lucky one.”
Three weeks later, Philip was about halfway through his recuperation period. He was lying on the sofa to keep his leg elevated while reading his economics textbook on his tablet when there was a knock at the door. A lean black man in his forties entered the room. “What are you doing laying around your room all day?” he joked.
Philip smiled broadly. “Coach Williams!” He held out his hand and the coach clasped both his hands around Philip’s.
“How you doing, boy?”
“Eh. Can’t complain. Well…I could, but I know from experience that it does me no good. So, is this a social call?”
“A little social. A little business.” Coach Williams pulled up a chair and sat down next to the sofa. “Your girlfriend—what’s her name?”
That seemed like an odd question. “Um, Sara. Why?”
“Sara! That’s it. She came to see me a few weeks ago, asked if I’d come around and talk to you.”
Philip narrowed his eyes. “About?”
“About your baseball career.”
Philip leaned back. “I don’t have a baseball career.”
“Maybe you should.”
Squinting at the coach, Philip said, “In case you haven’t heard, I have a potentially career-ending knee injury.” He immediately regretted how disrespectful he sounded.
“I heard,” the coach replied without emotion. “Everyone heard. But we heard it ended your football career. Not your life. And in case
you
haven’t heard, you don’t need to run nearly as much in baseball. And we all know you have a good throwing arm.”
This was Sara’s idea? Why didn’t she ever mention it to him?
“Um. Coach, I appreciate the thought, but I’m a senior. I can’t be starting a new sport at this point.”
“Okay. I’m not gonna force you,” the coach said, slapping his thighs before rising to his feet. “You got three weeks left to recuperate, right? Let the idea set a bit. Roll it around in your head for a while. If it starts to take root, call me. I’ll set you up with a pitching coach. And we don’t even have to wait until you’re back on your feet.” The coach turned and headed out the door. Over his shoulder his called, “Give your girl my regards.”
»»•««
Philip was resting in the bedroom a half hour later when he heard the front door open and close. He avoided looking in Sara’s direction when she entered the bedroom.
“Hi honey. How you doing?” She paused for an answer, but Philip just lay there with his arms folded. “Um. I bought you some chocolate chip cookies at the mall,” she said, taking one out of the wax-paper sleeve to tempt him.
Philip waved his hand dismissively and refused the sweet.
She took a step closer. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
Without looking at her, he spoke coldly. “Coach Williams was here today.”
“Who’s Coach Williams?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh! Oh, right. The baseball coach.”
Philip finally looked in her direction. “Why did you do that, Sara?”
“Why did I—? Oh. I guess he told you I spoke to him,” she said timidly. “Because I thought it was a good idea. I mean, even if you can’t play football, that doesn’t mean you can’t still play some other sport.”
“Baseball is nothing like football,” he insisted.
“Really?” Her tone grew bolder. “Don’t they use a ball? And don’t you throw it? What’s the difference if one is round and the other is…um…not round?”
Philip’s eyes flashed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, maybe a little. But—”
“Stop.” He held up his hands. “Just stop. I’m not interested. And I would appreciate it if you’d stop trying to interfere in my life.”
“I was not interfering! I was helping.”
“Well, stop that too.”
“Never!” Sara put the cookie on the chest of drawers and stepped closer to Philip’s bed. She was the one who was angry now. “If I want to help you, I’ll help you. I think you should give it a try. You might love it, Philip. You won’t know unless you try.”
“You sound like my father.”
Sara folded her arms. “I take that as a compliment. We both love you.”
A slow smile covered Philip’s face. He held out his hand to Sara, and when she took it, he pulled her down to sit on the bed. “You never cease to amaze me.” He drew her toward him and gently kissed her lips.
“I’m glad you’re not mad.” She smiled and crawled onto the bed next to him, her back to his front, and she stretched his arm around her. “So you’ll do it?”