Will and I sit down in our matching CSU lawn chairs, and he finally takes notice of my family. He enjoys them as much as I do. “Hey, guys! Happy Saturday,” he says in an overly-pleasant voice. “Are you still good for tonight, Charlotte?”

“Of course, we are happy to have them. Do you need me to make a list of things to send with them? I would hate for you to forget to pack their toothbrushes or socks or something.”

“I think we’ll manage, Char,” I intercede. “We’ve had them for a few years now, and we’ve somehow been able to keep them breathing, clothed, and most surprisingly, we’ve never lost them at Wal-Mart, so I think we can handle some overnight bag responsibilities.”

“I’m just trying to help. I know with your busy schedules, things can get overlooked,” Charlotte says, unpacking a juice box from her cooler and opening it for Emma.

“Thank you, Aunt Char,” Em politely says, taking the juice and snuggling into my mom.

“You’re very welcome, dear; I brought plenty of extras just in case you guys forgot your cooler.”

I can feel the anger begin to roll off Will. I look in his direction to try to ease the tension, but judging from his narrowed eyes and white knuckles melding into the armrest of his chair, I should just be glad he is off duty and not carrying a weapon.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth to him, but he just shakes his head and directs his attention to the field where the opening kickoff is getting lined up. He claps and yells for Blake, then leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees. I know that my family is a strain on us. They are intrusive, domineering, and condescending. When I left for college, I never in a million years thought I would come back. But life interfered, and when Will and I got pregnant with Blake, we felt it was the best option at the time. We have discussed many times the idea of moving away and beginning somewhere that we could create our own home. That’s all it’s ever been, though, just talk. Charlotte or my mother will piss one or both of us off, and we’ll say it’s time to pull out the map and pick a new town. I’m not sure we could ever follow through, though. Our jobs tie us to this town; I love mine, and I’m too afraid of Will being a police officer in a bigger city. I could never risk losing him.

I reach over and massage his back muscles that are as hard as rock from the tension that my family has created on what was supposed to be a fun day. It’s my own silent apology, and when he shakes my knee with his hand, I know all is forgiven. It’s our silent code, and I’m so thankful for this man that so willingly and easily gives that to me.

The game is only an hour long, but we end up standing and cheering for the majority of it. Blake scores two goals, and I think I may have sprained my ankle jumping up and down with excitement from it. I definitely lost my voice from yelling. Yes, we are those parents. I’m sure our kids will die of embarrassment at some point in their life, but dammit, I want them to know that we will always show up, and we will always be in their corner cheering them on, whether they are riding the bench or are the star player.

“Dad, you see me kick the ball all the way across the field?” Blake screams, running to us after the game, jumping into Will’s arms once he finally reaches us.

“I sure did, little man! You were awesome out there,” Will tells him before placing him back on the ground and rubbing his hand over Blake’s shaggy hair, making it fall into his eyes. “I think the coach needed to have two defenders on you.”

“I think we are going to win the championship this year. We are way better than last year; I don’t think we scored a goal…ever.” Blake begins to focus on unwrapping his post-game snack, and his words begin to fade off as his straw to his juice box proves difficult to master.

“You guys have improved a ton, Blake,” I say, taking his juice, fixing the straw for him, and handing it back. “Maybe you and Dad can practice a little tomorrow when you get back from Aunt Charlotte’s.”

He abandons his snack, giving me his full attention when he learns of his evening plans. “Not Aunt Charlotte’s house,” he whines. “It’s boring there. We can never do anything; no one is allowed to get dirty, and her food is nasty.”

I bend down to speak at his eye level, and to keep my sister from hearing our conversation. “Blake, honey, you rarely stay at Aunt Charlotte’s. I think it’s going to be fun. I think she rented movies, and her food isn’t nasty, it’s just healthy, and there’s nothing wrong with staying clean, big guy. It’s just for one night; I swear you’ll live.”

“Have you ever had tofu?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. I shake my head because God knows I wouldn’t go anywhere near that stuff. I’m surprised he even knows the word. “Well, if I choke to death on her tofu lasagna, then you’ll wish you hadn’t said that.”

I curl my lips over my teeth, trying not to laugh at my little boy’s convincing argument. I too would choke to death if I had to clear my plate of tofu anything. Once I feel as though I can speak without laughing, which would only make matters worse, and by extension ending our chance at a date night, I decide bartering is the best plan of action. “Okay, Blake, I agree tofu is gross. But if you pretend that it won’t kill you and encourage Em to eat hers as well, and if you follow all of Aunt Char’s rules tonight, I will make homemade pizza for you tomorrow night for dinner.” Homemade deep-dish pizza is his favorite, and is very time-consuming, so it’s not made often. I’m driving a hard bargain for him.

He actually takes a few seconds to consider his options for renegotiation. He scratches his chin, just like Will does when he’s in deep thought, and for a split second I think I may have lost the battle. But then he sticks out his hand like he’s an adult man instead of my little five-year-old and shakes my hand. “Deal, but I get to pick all the toppings.”

“Deal,” I say, shaking his tiny little hand.

Vivian

“How did you get Blake to agree to go to Charlotte’s?” Will asks before shoveling his cheeseburger and handful of fries into his mouth. Our small town doesn’t exactly have elegant date night options, so we are enjoying a comfortable burger, fries, and some milkshakes at our favorite local diner. The place is pretty old school, but it’s a jewel of the town. Customers use phones at the table to order their meal over a loud speaker that everyone in the restaurant can hear, and the aroma of fried food wafts through the air and attacks your nostrils the moment you step out of your car in the parking lot. It’s fantastic.

Then, instead of dancing or drinks at an upscale club–because those two don’t exist here unless you consider peanuts on the floor and curtains for bathroom doors classy–we are going to park at one of the last drive-in theaters in the state, and enjoy a not-so-new film. The drive-in usually receives movies about a month after the city theaters have played them, and there are only two shows a night, but it’s something.

I smile into my chocolate milkshake, recounting the wheeling and dealing of my negotiating five-year-old. “I have to make homemade pizza tomorrow, and he gets to choose all of the toppings. I may have to send you to the store tomorrow to pick up the things we need.”

“So pineapple, huh?” he says, swirling a long fry in his dollop of ketchup and ranch. There is so much on the fry that it bends with the weight of ketchup, and when he flops it into his mouth, a bit is left behind in the corner of his mouth. I reach across to wipe it off and lick the remains off my finger, earning myself a smirk from my husband.

“Would you expect anything less from him?” I laugh before taking a huge bite of my own burger. Juices and toppings spill out of it onto my paper-covered basket. The cheeseburgers here are the best in town, and we are here early enough that the crowds of high school kids that flood in after the Saturday volleyball and football games haven’t showed up yet. We pretty much have the place to ourselves.