The One and Only

by Emily Giffin

  “No. You’re definitely fired. Because you, Rigsby, can no longer even pretend to be an objective professional. The one thing I asked of you. I told you to keep your mouth shut in the press box and pretend to be objective.”

  “I know,” I said, thinking that even if I didn’t have feelings for Coach Carr, I was always one unbridled cheer away from losing my job.

  Smiley looked at me and said, “I heard you were dating Ryan James. That wasn’t true?”

  “Yes, sir. It was true,” I said. “We were dating. But we’re not anymore.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” he said. “Burning a lot of journalistic bridges in the state of Texas, aren’t you?”

  “I guess so,” I said. It occurred to me to defend myself, explain that both relationships had unfolded naturally and not because I have a thing for famous sports figures, but I decided it wasn’t really pertinent at the moment. Instead I said, “I’ll go clean out my desk now.”

  Smiley said, “Well, look on the bright side.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You can put that awful teal bumper sticker back on your car.”

  That evening, I considered all the constructive things I could do. I could start looking for a new job. I could clean my apartment. I could go work out. Instead I called Miller and asked him to meet me at the Third Rail for a beer. He immediately agreed, and, although I was grateful for his friendship, any friendship, it made me realize just how alone I was without Lucy. The loss was more than a void; it was a gaping hole in my heart and life.

  “What happened?” he asked, after taking one look at me. “You look like shit.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said, thinking that if disheveled, unshowered Miller was telling me I looked like shit, it had to be pretty bad.

  “Seriously. Have you been crying?”

  “No. It’s just the mascara,” I said. “It always smears on me. I don’t know why.”

  “That’s why you gotta go waterproof,” Miller said knowingly.

  I laughed and said, “How do you know about waterproof mascara?”

  “Because I listen,” he said in his faux touchy-feely voice. “Because, unlike a lot of guys, I care about women and their needs.”

  I laughed again, thinking that I’d made the right phone call. Never mind that I really didn’t have any other friends.

  “How’s Ryan?” he asked.

  “We broke up. How’s Hot-for-Teacher?”

  “We broke up, too.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “Wait. Are you hitting on me? Returning to the well?”

  “No, Miller. I’m not returning to the well,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I just needed to talk to someone … It’s been a shit day. I’m in a fight with my mom. Lucy’s not speaking to me. And I got fired.”

  He whistled and said, “You’re making my life look pretty damn good. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  “So why’d you get fired? Because you’re bonin’ Coach Carr?”

  I looked at him, too startled to deny the charge. “Why would you say that?”

  “For one, I told you, I pay attention. I’m perceptive as hell.”

  “And for another?”

  “That night you left your credit card … I drove over to your place to return it … maybe get a little action … and there was his car. Right there in your lot. So to speak.”

  “You haven’t said anything to anyone, have you?”

  “Nope. I’m sensitive and discreet.”

  “Thanks, Miller. Seriously.”

  He winked and said. “So lemme guess … Lucy has a problem with you bonin’ her old man?”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Bonin’ or old man?”

  “Both. And we’re not boning. But there are some feelings there … Anyway, Lucy told my mom—who is also really pissed off at me—that I had to choose. Him or her.”

  “Easy choice.”

  “You just hate Lucy.”

  “True,” he said. “But regardless. You gotta go with love.”

  “You think?”

  “Every time.” He hesitated and said, “Unless the broad you love up and cold-blooded dumps you, and then you gotta limp away with whatever pride you have left.” He added a wink, in case I missed the point.

  I shook my head and laughed. “You got any more advice?”

  “Take Walker and the points. Alabama won’t cover.”

  “I don’t bet on Walker.”

  Miller grinned. “Oh, yeah, you do.”

  Forty-one

  Later that evening, after my Pabst Blue Ribbon buzz had worn off, I wrote Lucy a letter, in longhand, putting everything on paper as clearly as I could. But I knew her, and felt sure that she would return it unopened. I also knew that on some level it was cowardly not to face her, look her in the eyes, and talk to her. I had given Ryan that much. So I called her, pleading into her voice mail for her to talk to me, then calling back after I reached my maximum message length. On the follow-up call, Neil answered Lucy’s cell in a whisper. “Hold on,” he said.

  I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and then his voice again. “Okay,” he said. “In the garage now.”

  “How bad is this?” I asked him.

  “Oh … on a scale of one to ten? About ten thousand.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s not pretty around here, Shea. Throw in a little morning sickness? My life’s hell.”

  “I’m sorry, Neil … I really need to talk to her.”

  “Yeah. Well. I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

  “C’mon, Neil,” I pleaded. “You have to help me out here. You can get her to talk to me.”

  “I can’t get her to do anything she doesn’t want to do,” he said. “You know that. But maybe if you just dropped by …”

  “When? Now? What’s she doing now?”

  “She’s in the bathtub … So that should mellow her a little.”

  “So can I come now?”

  “Okay. But don’t you dare tell her I told you that. And I’m deleting this call from her log …”

  “Okay. Thank you, Neil. So much.”

  “You’re welcome. But, Shea?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My advice? You can’t do this to her … I mean, true love is one thing … But short of that, it just isn’t worth it.”

  Twenty minutes later, I knocked on Lucy’s door. Neil answered, exaggerating his surprise. “Well, hello, Shea,” he said, looking back over his shoulder, his voice stilted.

  Lucy materialized beside him, her expression inscrutable but cold.

  “Luce,” I said, looking past Neil. “Can I please come in? We really need to talk. Please?”

  She stared at me for an uncomfortably long few seconds before shrugging her permission, then stepping aside. Neil gave me a hopeful look as he ushered me in, both of us following her into their formal living room, the one they never used. She sat stiffly on her sofa, then pointed at the wingback chair across from her, where I took a seat, crossing, then uncrossing my legs. Meanwhile, Neil tried to make his escape, but Lucy called his name, as if she needed reinforcements, and he reluctantly returned, sitting beside her, staring at the floor.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Lucy,” I began, marveling that I could be this nervous talking to the person I knew best in the world.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice and gaze remote. She wasn’t going to make this easy, that was for sure.

  “How are you feeling?” I said, putting my hand on my stomach to indicate that I was asking about her pregnancy.

  “Not quite as sick as last time.”

  I gave her a small smile and said, “Well, that’s good.”

  “Yes. They say girls make you sicker. So maybe this is a boy.” Her voice was prim and matter-of-fact, and I could hear her saying this same thing to a stranger in line at the grocery store, but it still felt like a good sign that she would share anything about her pregnancy.

  I nodded and
said, “That’s so exciting.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is.”

  Knowing that I couldn’t delay the real reason for my visit any further, I took a deep breath, trying to remember what I’d written in my letter. “Lucy, I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. And … I really do understand how you must feel.”

  “Oh?” she said, crossing her arms. “You know what it’s like to lose your mother and have your best friend start hooking up with your father?”

  “Well, no …” I said. “Of course I don’t know what that’s like.”

  She stared at me, waiting, as I remembered two of the lines I’d written, doing my best to recite them, verbatim. “Losing your mother makes everything that much more difficult and complicated. And I’m sure you feel that we are betraying you, as well as her.”

  “I do feel that way. Shea … This is a major betrayal.” Lucy’s voice quivered as Neil reached for her hand but kept his eyes on the floor.

  I took a deep breath, then another, and said, “It’s not something I’d do lightly. For the hell of it. I would never go down this road—”

  “Go down this road? Is that what you call having a relationship with my father behind my back? Because let’s cut to the chase here. You were sneaking around with my dad behind my back. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  Neil slid closer to his wife, put his arm around her shoulder, and said, “Luce. Let her talk, honey.”

  She nodded, shockingly taking his advice. “Fine. Go on. You were saying?”

  “I just meant … that I would never … pursue any of this in any way if I didn’t genuinely, deeply care about your dad.”

  Lucy made a face and shook her head, but I kept going, doing my best to tell her the truth. “At first it was just a silly crush, which was bad enough. Because you’re not supposed to have a crush on your best friend’s father. You’re not supposed to have a crush on someone so much older than you. You’re not supposed to have a crush on a man who just lost his wife. But a one-sided crush is far different from a relationship, and I never would have let those feelings come to light, or even fully acknowledged them to myself, if your mother were still here. I had the deepest respect for her and your parents’ marriage, and would do absolutely anything in the world if I could bring her back and see them together and happy again.”

  I stopped and looked at her—really looked at her—and saw something flicker in her eyes. She was really listening now. If not her blessing, at least I had her attention.

  “I love your family, Luce. The family you grew up with. The one I grew up with. I loved your mom, and I love your dad and Lawton, too,” I said. “It has always been and always will be the best family I know, and it has been my greatest privilege in life to be close to all of you. I honestly don’t think I’d be the person I am today if it weren’t for your family. You have given me my passion for Walker and football. You have given me role models for what it means to be good parents, siblings, spouses, friends. You have all supported me over the years and taught me so much about loyalty, honesty, integrity, and commitment. And I will remain forever grateful to you for all of these things and so much more.”

  “Then please stop this,” Lucy whimpered, her hands clasped, prayer-style. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

  “I would if I could,” I said. “But I’m in—”

  “Don’t say it,” Lucy said, cutting me off, staring at me pleadingly. “Don’t say it, Shea. Please.”

  I almost stopped. I almost gave in to her. But then I thought of him. The only person in the world I cared for more than Lucy. And I knew I had to keep going.

  “But Lucy. I am in love with him,” I said, my heart thudding so hard I could hear it in my ears. “It was there even when I didn’t know it yet … And I can’t help it or change it … I tried by keeping my distance. I tried by leaving Walker to take another job. I tried by dating Ryan James. Nothing has worked. My feelings are strong and real and I think he feels the same way.”

  “But you can get over it!” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “You can both get over it. You have to. Please, Shea! Please just get over it.”

  I put my head in my hands, my mind racing, wishing I could have a sidebar with Coach, trying desperately to channel him. I was pretty sure I knew what he would say. Stick to your guns. Do what’s right. Don’t take the easy way out.

  With this advice swirling in my head, I opened my mouth and said, “My mother said you want me to make a choice. I have to tell you that I don’t think that’s fair of you. But feelings aren’t fair, and if you really want me to make a choice, then I will.”

  “And?” she said, her face now streaked with tears that she didn’t bother to wipe away.

  I held my breath, ready to pull the trigger, ready to prove what I’d always believed to be true: that love conquers all. But looking into the eyes of my best friend, I wasn’t so sure. I thought of everything we had been through, together. What I’d lost as a child to divorce. What she’d lost this year to cancer. And, in that moment, I decided that maybe I was wrong. Maybe the bonds of friendship were stronger than anything else in this world.

  “We are on the same team and have been since we were babies,” I began, staring into her big, glassy eyes. “And we will be together until we are both little old ladies in cute clothes—because of you … watching football on television—because of me …”

  She gave me the smallest smile.

  “So. I really hope you change your mind. I really hope you don’t make me choose between the two things I care about the most. But if I have to pick one … then I choose you, Lucy. I choose you and our friendship. Now and always.”

  She rose and walked slowly over to me as I stood to face her, waiting, praying for her to say it: You don’t have to choose.

  Instead, she gave me a hug and said, “Thank you, Shea. I want to be a bigger person here. I really do. But I just can’t … I can’t.”

  I hugged her numbly back, then said, “Well, I’m glad we talked.”

  “Me, too, Shea … Thank you.”

  I nodded, the devastation slowly sinking in. It was the way I felt after Walker losses—only much, much worse. Because I had never lost this big before.

  For a few minutes after that, we both sat again, and miraculously managed to change the subject, mustering small talk about her pregnancy, her next doctor’s appointment, how she planned to decorate a nursery when she didn’t know the gender of the baby. Then, when I couldn’t stand it another second, I told her I should go and let her get some sleep. She nodded and walked me to the door, then gave me another hug. “I love you, Shea.”

  “I love you, too, Lucy,” I said, relieved to realize that I meant it, even if I hated her a little bit, too.

  Forty-two

  There was only one thing left to be done, and I was prepared to put it off for as long as possible, as if not telling Coach about my decision would somehow make it less real.

  But right before I went to bed that night, there was a knock at my door. I went to look through the peephole and saw Coach staring back at me. My heart broke a little more as I answered the door and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be on the road?”

  “I caught the last flight home tonight. I wanted to see you. I’d have called first,” he said, dropping his leather duffel at his feet and unbuttoning his navy overcoat. “But my phone went dead and I forgot to pack my charger.”

  “Rookie move.”

  “Hey, now. Who you callin’ a rookie, rook?”

  “You,” I said, mustering a smile as my arms remained awkwardly at my sides. “How did the visit go?”

  “Great. Good kid. Nice family,” he said, still fumbling with his buttons.

  “Do you think we’ll get him?” I asked.

  “Oh, depends on how much money we can scrape together to pay him under the table.”

  I stared at him.

  “It was a joke,” he said, leaning in to kiss me.

  I turned my cheek slightly, his l
ips landing to the left of mine in no-man’s-land.

  “So … will we? Get him?” I asked again, stalling, pretending to focus only on the state of Walker recruiting.

  “I think it’ll come down to us or Ohio State. We’ll have to see. How was your day? And why are you looking at me funny?”

  “I’m not looking at you funny.”

  “You are.” He stared at me. “And now you’re looking at me even funnier. I know you. I know your face.”

  I swallowed, buying a few extra seconds with a lesser announcement. “I got fired today.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Shit,” he said. “You’re not kidding?”

  I shook my head. “No. But it’s okay. I was sort of resigning anyway. Smiley just beat me to the punch.”

  “Shea. Honey. I’m sorry. Why?” He squinted for a second, then seemed to piece it together. “Oh, shit. Did this happen because … of us?”

  I shook my head, looking down at my feet.

  He slid two fingers under my chin and lifted it until I was looking into his eyes again. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Well, yeah. I mean … kind of. It’s just too much of a conflict,” I said, wishing that I’d talked to Lucy before I gave up my job.

  “I feel terrible. Can I talk to Smiley? Surely there’s some way …”

  “No. Don’t call him. It’s okay. I’m sort of relieved. It really was a conflict …”

  “What are you going to do? Get your old job back?”

  “My old job’s gone. J.J. already replaced me.”

  “You can’t be replaced,” he said, without missing a beat.

  I tried to smile, hoping he meant that in all ways. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay …” he said, looking unconvinced and very worried. “Let me know how I can help. Whatever you need. You know we can figure something out at Walker. There will always be a place for you here.”

  “Thank you,” I said, thinking that my job was the least of my concerns tonight. “I’ll be all right.”

  He put his hand out, as if asking me to slow-dance, his expression shifting from concern to one of pure affection. It melted my heart and made me want to take back everything I’d promised Lucy. Instead, I led him over to my sofa and blurted it all out. Everything I’d told her. The choice I’d made.