“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 instinctively 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 nodded as though the answer made perfect sense.
Late in the fourth quarter, our team scored.
The stadium erupted.
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 little plastic player came loose and landed beneath my seat.
I saw it.
For once, I didn’t immediately bend down to retrieve it.
Ethan was laughing.
Chris was yelling.
I was yelling too.
And the game was still happening.
