Leo was the last one.
Chris looked at him.
For a moment, neither man said anything.
Then Leo gave a small nod and followed the others.
The door closed.
Now it was just the three of us.
Ethan sat on the couch with the tabletop football game beside him.
Chris pulled a chair closer.
I sat on Ethan’s other side.
“Captain,” I said, “what exactly did you tell Ray?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
Chris pointed toward the door.
“Nothing? Ray traveled all the way here carrying a dozen plastic football players and one goalpost that hasn’t stood straight since February.”
“They’re players, Dad.”
“Fine. Athletes.”
Ethan tried not to smile.
I waited.
He picked at a loose thread on his jersey.
Finally, I asked, “Why was it so important that they be part of today?”
He shrugged.
“Because…”
“Ethan.”
His eyes met mine.
Then they moved to my phone, which was still in my hand.
“They’re people from the hospital who still act normal around me.”
Chris blinked.
“We’re weird?”
Ethan immediately looked sorry.
“I didn’t mean bad weird, Dad.”
“What kind of weird, Captain?” I asked.
He stared down at the tabletop field.
“Dad pauses games to check if I’m tired.”
Chris started to answer.
Ethan continued.
“And you take pictures when I’m eating cereal, Mom.”
I looked down at my phone.
He wasn’t finished.
“You saved that hospital bracelet from when I threw up on your shoe.”
I gave him a small smile.
“That was a memorable evening, sweetie.”
“Mom.”
“Sorry.”
Ethan rubbed his thumb over the plastic scoreboard.
Then he looked at Chris.
“Dad used to yell at football.”
“I still yell at football, buddy,” Chris said.
“No, Dad. Now you yell and then look at me.”
Chris went silent.
Ethan turned toward me.
“And Mom used to yell at referees.”
“Bad referees.”
“All referees.”
I almost laughed.
Then Ethan said quietly, “That’s why I picked football.”
Chris leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
Ethan’s face crumpled with frustration, as though he couldn’t understand why we weren’t getting it.
“I wanted you guys to have fun with me.”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“I wanted you guys to have fun with me.”
Then he said the words that broke something inside both of us.
“Everybody keeps acting like everything has to be special now just because I’m going to die.”
I immediately put my phone facedown.
Ethan looked at it.
Then he whispered something I’ll never forget.
“Sometimes I just want stuff to be stuff.”
The room became completely silent.
Chris stared at our son for several seconds.
Then he reached over and covered Ethan’s hand with his own.
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
Ethan shrugged.
“I know you’re sad. I’m sad too.”
Chris nodded.
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“But you’re still here, Captain. And I’ve been acting like my job is to watch every second instead of being in it with you.”
Ethan finally looked at him.
“So you’re admitting I’m right?”
Chris blinked.
“Absolutely not.”
Ethan grinned.
“Too late.”
“Absolutely not.”
A knock came at the door.
Leo stood outside.
Chris hesitated before getting up.
“How’s your son?” he asked.
Leo seemed surprised by the question.
“Home. Driving his mother crazy.”
Chris smiled.
“Good.”
That was all.
Just one piece of good news Chris finally allowed himself to hear.
A few minutes later, I looked at Ethan.
“You ready to go home, Captain?”
He glanced through the glass toward the field.
I caught myself before answering for him.
“What do you want?”
Ethan thought about it.
“Ten more minutes.”
Chris nodded.
“Ten.”
We returned to our seats.
No cameras followed us.
No players came over.
Nobody handed Ethan a signed football.
The game simply continued.
Exactly what he’d wanted.
Chris complained about a terrible play.
Ethan told him he had no idea what he was talking about.
Then a referee threw a flag.
“Oh, COME ON!” I shouted.
Ethan burst out laughing.
“Mom, you don’t even know what happened!”
“I know injustice when I see it.”
My hand automatically reached for my phone.
I stopped.
Ethan noticed.
“You’re not taking one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at him.
“I’m watching.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded as though that answer made perfect sense.
Late in the fourth quarter, our team scored.
The stadium exploded.
Chris jumped to his feet.
Ethan grabbed his father’s arm with one hand and mine with the other, laughing so hard he could barely shout.
The tabletop football game slid sideways across his lap.
One tiny plastic player popped loose and landed beneath my seat.
I saw it.
For once, I didn’t immediately bend down to rescue it.
Ethan was laughing.
Chris was yelling.
I was yelling too.
And the game was still happening.
Only when the cheering finally softened did Ethan glance down.
“Mom! My player!”
I reached beneath the seat and handed it back.
Ethan snapped it into place.
Then he looked at the little plastic team and smiled.
“Everybody plays.”
He turned toward the field again.
So did we.
