“That was not fucking passing interference. Are you blind? He didn’t even touch him.” Flopping on the couch in complete distress, Matt grumbles to himself, clenching his football to his chest, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rolled up, and his hair in disarray from pulling on it so much.
Given this is my first football game, I’m quite lost. Amanda is reading a book in the corner of the couch, occasionally peeking up to see what’s going on, but not paying too close attention. I’m trying to follow everything but I’ve never been more confused in my life. The one thing I know, we want to score a touchdown. How that occurs is beyond me, but in the spirit of things, I raise my fist in the air and say, “Let’s go, Broncos, score that touchdown,” which in return will garner a fist bump from Matt.
I’m not going to lie, sports are tiresome. I’m enjoying the array of junk food at our disposal though. Fritos Bean Dip is my new favorite thing, that and the giant chocolate chip cookie decorated in Broncos colors Amanda picked up from the store. Giant cookie equals delicious on all accounts.
Feeling the tension in the room from the apparent pass interference—whatever that is—I raise my fist and say, “Go Broncos.”
Matt pounds the couch and raises his fist as well. “Fuck yeah, go Broncos.”
That’s a lot of passion.
Do I have that much passion about anything? I like crafting, but I would never pound my craft table and scream obscenities if there was a glue interference while securing jewels to a baseball cap. Maybe if Gene Kelly was still alive and I got to watch him tap away on Broadway to Singin’ in the Rain, maybe I would be fist-pumping the air and telling Gene to tap his heart out. Maybe.
“Do we need a refill on chips?” I ask, looking at the empty bowl.
Matt nods, eyes glued to the television. “That would be great, Daisy. Could you grab me a beer while you’re up?”
“Matt, she’s not your maid,” Amanda chastises.
“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I have to get another CapriSun anyway.”
Snagging the bowl, I bring my phone with me and type out a quick text to the group.
Daisy: What is a pass interference?
I’m so lost when it comes to football, and it seems to be the one thing that is bringing this group a little closer together, so I want to know more.
We have an impressive chip selection. Amanda informed me that the Super Bowl is like Christmas to Matt, that and the World Series. Both sporting events he goes all out for, no matter who’s playing. When he came home the other night with a trunkful of drinks, some alcoholic, and tons of snacks, Amanda wasn’t surprised. Instead, she went to the car to help him unpack.
Grams was all about making our own food and never really eating anything processed. If we wanted a snack, we would bake. So, it was a bit of a shock to be able to eat a Little Debbie snack and actually enjoy it. Nuttey Bars are my new addiction. I try to keep them at a safe distance. I don’t want to eat too many and not be able to fit in some of the vests I’ve been working meticulously on.
While I’m dumping Fritos Scoops into a bowl, my newfound love along with Nuttey Bars, my phone chirps with a message. I glance down, still getting used to the new form of communication and see a message from Carter. He’s not very chatty like the rest of us, so when I see a message from him, I get excited.
Carter: Struggling over there, Snowflake?
Snowflake. I don’t get it but I go with it. Kind of makes me feel special. I’ve always wanted a friend to call me by a nickname. My grams calling me dearie doesn’t really count. So, I will own Snowflake. Hmm, maybe I can make a vest and stitch the nickname Snowflake on the back, kind of wear it like a football jersey. Now that would be a fun project.
I type him back.
Daisy: I know nothing about football. How does anyone follow this?
Jace: Takes a bit to understand.
Hollyn: Not watching, but go Broncos.
Hollyn’s not watching the Super Bowl? That seems odd to me since Amanda said Hollyn would probably appreciate the sweatshirts I made because she is a huge Broncos fan. Slightly confused, I bring the chips, a CapriSun, and a beer over to the living room and set everything on the table.
“Amanda?” I sit down on the couch and poke a hole with my straw through my juice pouch.
“What’s up?” she answers before she pulls her eyes away from the book, so I wait until she’s finished.
“I thought Hollyn is a Broncos fan.”
“She is. Why do you ask?”
Quirking my lip to the side in confusion, I say, “Well, she said she’s not watching the Super Bowl. That just seems odd to me.”
“She’s not watching?” Amanda acts annoyed. What have I said to garner such a reaction from her?
“Uh, no.”
Amanda shakes her head and lays her book on her lap. Sighing, she pushes her hair behind her ears. We don’t share a lot when it comes to our looks, but we do have the same golden locks as our father. Everything else, we get from our moms.
Before Amanda can say anything, Matt reaches his hand over to her and places it on her knee, eyes still fixed on the television. “It’s going to take time, honey. You can’t expect her to change after two meetings.”
“I know. It would have been nice to see a little bit of change, though.”
“Hey, she’s attending the meetings. That’s all you can ask for now.”
I don’t want to pry, I really don’t but I’m curious. Why isn’t she watching the Broncos game and why is it such a big deal?
Knowing it’s none of my business, I ask anyway, “Why isn’t she watching the game?”
Deflated, Amanda answers, “The Broncos is how Hollyn met her late husband, Eric. It was at a tailgate party in the parking lot before a game. She’s been a diehard fan ever since I met her, but once Eric passed, she wouldn’t think about watching another game, or any sporting event for that matter. It was one of their favorite things to do, go to games together.”
Pain shoots through my heart, breaking it in half. I can’t imagine the kind of sorrow Hollyn is going through. To lose someone so special to you, to be so young and not quite be able to experience what it’s like to be married, the mere thought makes me want to cry for her.
“That’s terrible. Poor Hollyn.”
“She will get there,” Matt encourages us both. “Give her— Run you dirty bastard,” he shouts, jumping up into the air. “Run, you motherfucker, run. Run!”
Thoughts of Hollyn are washed away when I turn to the television to see one of the players in orange—the Broncos, I know that much—run into the painted grass area. Matt erupts in cheers and starts giving both Amanda and I rather aggressive high fives, but I go with it, throwing in my own cheers while Matt continues to sting my hand.
“We scored the touchdown! So we win.”
Matt laughs and sips from his beer, doing a bit of a stretch. “Ha, I wish, Daisy. We still have three more quarters to go.”
“Oh.” My brow furrows. “I thought whoever scores the touchdown wins.”
“Whoever scores the most touchdowns.” Matt winks and points at me with his beer bottle. “I have to pee. Be back, ladies.”