The One & Only: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

the family room, sunk in his easy chair. He was close enough to hear our conversation but seemed focused on watching college basketball, flipping between channels, the television on mute. I hated having my love life dissected, especially in mixed company, but I played along, as it occurred to me that it provided a nice distraction for everyone.
    “She really needs to cut him loose,” Lucy said as she transferred her chardonnay from one of the plastic stemmed glasses the caterer had brought to a crystal one from the china cabinet, then sat down again at the expansive farmhouse table that Mrs. Carr had stripped and stained herself.
    Except for a platter of sugar cookies from Star Provisions, our town’s famed bakery, the food was all put away, the kitchen tidy.
    “Miller’s not that bad,” I said, just as my phone rang in my purse.
    “Speak of the devil?” my mom asked.
    “Oh, now he’s the devil?” I said, resisting the urge to check it. I was pretty sure it was Miller, though, as he had mouthed
I’ll call you
upon his departure.
    “He
is
that bad,” Lucy said. “He’s thoughtless. He’s devoid of ambition. He’s a pothead. He has shitty grammar.”
    “Thoughtless?” I said, because that was the most serious charge. And because he was actually pretty sweet in his own clueless way.
    “Well, he
did
forget your birthday last year,” Neil chimed in, referring to a dinner he and Lucy had hosted when Miller had showed up empty-handed.
    “It just slipped his mind. No biggie. Besides, thirty-two was nothing much to celebrate,” I said.
    Lucy made a scoffing sound.
    “He gave me a present … later,” I said, thinking of the bottle of Coco Mademoiselle he’d given me the following day.
    Lawton raised his eyebrows. “Ha. I’m sure he did.”
    “Perfume, dummy,” I said, my face burning.
    “He’s still a pothead gym teacher,” Lucy said.
    Knowing how ridiculous I sounded, I mumbled Miller’s standarddrug defenses—pot was actually better for you than alcohol and he smoked for his chronic back pain.
    “Wow. You’re really going the marijuana-is-medicinal route here?” Lucy asked.
    My mom shook her head and said my name in a concerned tone.
    Lucy fired again. “Does he use poor grammar to help his back, too?”
    “Yeah. Even
I
know his grammar is for shit,” Lawton said.
    “Okay. Now,
that
 … I can’t really defend. He does have a few pronoun problems,” I said. “But we’re working on it.”
    “See? You sound like his mother. Do you give him an allowance, too?” Lucy asked. “When he does his chores?”
    I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help thinking about how often I picked up the check, and that Miller
was
usually broke.
    “He
is
cute, though,” my mom said. “Those eyes. That body.”
    “C’mon, Mom. Gross,” I whispered. “Don’t be such a cougar.”
    “He’s a dumb jock,” Lucy said, turning to look at her father. “Right, Dad? What was his GPA?”
    Coach Carr didn’t miss a beat. “I have no idea what the boy’s GPA was.” His eyes were glued to the television, but clearly he was listening to every word of our conversation.
    “Ballpark it,” Lucy demanded.
    “Well, it wasn’t stellar,” Coach Carr said, flipping channels. “But I think Miller’s getting a bit of a bad rap here. He’s a nice guy. And,” he said, wagging his finger at Lucy, “there’s nothing wrong with teaching physical education.”
    “Exactly. His kids love him … He’s a great
coach
,” I said, realizing that I said it in the awed voice that most people would use to refer to neurosurgeons.
    “For
junior high
football,” Lucy said, taking another long sip of her wine.
    “Someone’s gotta coach junior high … Not everyone can be your dad,” I said.
    “Yeah. They don’t just magically materialize as college players,” Coach said. “They gotta have good coaches along the way.”
    “Shea, honey,” my mother said. “I think Lucy’s right. He’s not marriage