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Coach Steve is crying.
Eli knows this because Coach Steve’s shoulders are doing that shaky thing they do when someone’s crying but trying really, really hard not to let it show.
He’s seen it before. Once when Jeremy Miller scraped his knee badly in P.E. and tried to act tough, and once when his mama stood very still at the sink for a long time when she thought Eli had gone to bed.
Eli noticed right away, because Coach Steve is usually loud.
Even when he’s serious, he’s loud. His whistle is loud. His laugh is loud. When he cheers during kickball, you can hear him from all the way across the field, even if the wind is blowing.
So when Coach Steve suddenly isn’t loud at all, Eli pays attention.
It’s not like when kids cry at school. There’s no screaming. No teacher rushing over with tissues saying, It’s okay, it’s okay.
Coach Steve’s crying is smaller than that. Almost invisible. Just that little shake in his shoulders, like he’s cold, even though the room is warm and full of people and music and shiny lights.
The party is loud.
Eli stands near the edge of the dance floor, holding a plastic cup of juice with both hands so it doesn’t spill. It tastes like apples, but also a little like flowers, which is weird. Everything here smells like flowers. Eli thinks maybe the smell sneaked into the juice when nobody was looking.
He’s supposed to be staying where his mama can see him.
He is doing that.
Mostly.
He’s watching you and Coach Steve dance.
This is the ‘first dance.’
Eli knows that because earlier, someone with a microphone said, “Alright everyone, if we could have your attention for the couple’s first dance,” and suddenly all the grown-ups stopped talking and turned their heads at the same time.
Coach Steve’s hands are around your back. Yours are on his shoulders, and then one moves up to touch his cheek. Eli can see your mouth move, but he can’t hear the words over the music. Whatever it is, it makes Coach Steve close his eyes.
Eli tilts his head, frowning.
Coach Steve’s face is doing something strange. He’s smiling, but his mouth looks tight, like he’s forcing it to stay there. The corners wobble a little. It reminds Eli of picture day at school, when you have to smile for too long and your cheeks start to hurt, but you’re not allowed to stop yet.
Eli thinks back to earlier.
Earlier, when everything still made sense.
When there were flowers everywhere. Some on the ground, some tied to the chairs, and some way up high on a big curvy thing his mom called an ‘arch.’ There were so many flowers that Eli even got to throw some on purpose and not get in trouble. They were soft and squishy and pink and white and yellow, and they smelled like the fancy soap his Nana keeps in her bathroom.
Eli’s job was to walk down the long, long carpet and throw petals from a small basket. Not all at once—mama told him that—but just tiny little handfuls.
“Walk, baby. Don’t run,” she whispered.
And Eli nodded seriously, because that was clearly a Very Important Rule, and Eli is good at following Very Important Rules.
He walked. Mostly straight. One petal stuck to his shoe, and he thought about stopping to pick it off but decided it was probably okay to leave it there.
People smiled at him a lot. Grown-ups he didn’t know kept telling him he was doing a great job, which made Eli feel good.
When he got all the way down to the arch, a man with long, curly brown hair crouched down, eyes wide and sparkling, and stuck out his fist for Eli to bump.
“Nailed it, little man! You're an absolute legend!” he whispered, grinning so big Eli thought his cheeks might pop. Eli didn’t know who he was—or why his hair was so long—but being called a legend sounded pretty cool, so he bumped his fist against the man's and said, “Thanks!”
Coach Steve was standing under the arch, too.
He wasn’t wearing his PE shorts, or his whistle, or his sneakers. He had on a black suit, fancy and important-looking. His hair was all shiny and brushed back, but a few pieces still stuck up the way they always do, which made Eli feel better. Like Coach Steve was still Coach Steve, just dressed weird.
"C'mere buddy, high five," he smiled, bending down so Eli could slap the biggest high five he can manage.
And then you walked in.
All the grown-ups in the room suddenly stood up, so Eli had to get on his tiptoes to see.
You were wearing a white dress that looked like it was made out of clouds, with tiny flower shapes sewn along the bottom—just like the petals Eli threw, except these were the kind you weren’t supposed to step on.
When Coach Steve saw you, it was like his whole body forgot how to work right.
His eyes got really big, all round and shiny like glass marbles, and his mouth fell open a bit. Eli noticed his chest rising and falling faster than usual, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.
Then the smile came.
It started small, almost shy, but it kept growing, stretching wider and wider until it filled his whole face. It squished his eyes, making tiny, wrinkly lines at the corners.
Eli couldn’t stop staring.
It was the funniest, strangest, happiest face he's ever seen. Coach Steve has never smiled like that before.
Only now, after the dance, that smile is gone.
The slow song ends.
Everyone claps. Someone whistles. Someone yells, happy and loud.
Coach Steve doesn’t clap.
He just pulls you closer.
Eli sees your hands come up to Coach Steve’s face again, thumbs brushing carefully under his eyes. You say something that Eli still can’t hear, and Coach Steve nods.
Then you both quietly back away from the dance floor.
Eli waits a second. Looks around.
Everyone is busy again—talking, laughing, fixing dresses, getting more colorful drinks. His mom is chatting with Miss Collins from art class. A few people start dancing to a different, faster song. Nobody noticed you and Coach Steve leaving.
Well.
Nobody except Eli.
He carefully puts his apple juice on the nearest table, then pauses.
Someone needs to watch it. You can’t just leave juice.
So he looks around until he finds the tall man with the long, curly hair. The one who keeps laughing too loud and waving his arms around.
“Um, excuse me, mister?” Eli says, poking his back. “Can you watch my juice? Make sure no one drinks it?”
The man turns, blinks down at Eli, and follows his little finger to the cup.
He grins wide, crouching down to Eli's height, “You got it, flower boss. I’ll guard it with my life.”
Eli feels pretty sure his juice will be safe.
So he nods, satisfied, and tiptoes after you into the hallway.
He tells himself he’s not following. That would be nosy, and being nosy is rude.
He’s just… going the same way. That’s all.
The hallway outside the party is quieter. The music sounds far away now, like it’s playing underwater.
Eli follows the soft click-click sounds of your shoes, moving the way Coach Steve taught him during blindfolded tag—small, sneaky steps. Like a ninja.
You and Coach Steve go through a door at the very end of the hall, and Eli manages to slip inside before it closes all the way.
The room inside feels soft.
Soft like blankets, it reminds him of bedtime. There are lamps instead of bright ceiling lights, and moonlight slips in through the windows, making pale blue squares on the floor. Flowers are everywhere, but it's not messy like before. These are in tall vases, standing still.
You sit down on a long, fluffy couch in the corner of the room. Coach Steve sits next to you.
You pull him into your arms, holding him close. You pat his back, smoothing his hair the way Eli’s mom does when he can’t fall asleep and asks for just one more bedtime story. Coach Steve has his face pressed into your neck, his back turned to Eli, but Eli can still hear it: a shaky breath that sounds wet, like a sniff he didn’t mean to make.
Coach Steve’s shoulders are trembling, more than before.
Eli goes very still.
This is the part he doesn't understand.
Coach Steve just got married. Eli knows that’s supposed to be a good thing. People cheered. Someone yelled woo! really loud. There’s a giant cake waiting on a table just outside this room, and cake means you’re celebrating something. Cake means happy.
But then Coach Steve lets out another sniff, and Eli’s chest feels tight with worry.
He takes a tiny step closer.
“Coach Steve?” he asks, very quiet.
Your head snaps up.
Coach Steve spins around fast, wiping his face quickly with the back of his hand.
“Hey, buddy,” he says. He makes a wet sound that’s kind of like a laugh, but not really. “You... you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Eli nods. “Are you okay?”
Coach Steve pauses, blinking a few times. Then he nods too. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
For the first time ever, Eli thinks Coach Steve might not be telling the truth.
So he looks over at you instead. You smile at him and gently gesture him over, patting the spot next to you on the couch. Eli shuffles closer, then carefully climbs up, using both hands to pull himself onto the cushions, one knee first, then the other. The couch is tall, and his feet dangle over the floor.
He leans closer to you, whispering so only you can hear. “Why is Coach Steve sad?”
Your smile goes soft. “He’s not sad, honey. He’s just… really happy.”
Eli frowns, scrunching up his eyebrows. That doesn’t make sense at all.
“Then why is he crying?”
Beside you, Coach Steve lets out a quiet huff of air—half a laugh, half a sniffle, like his body can’t decide which one to do.
You rub Coach Steve’s arm while you think. “Sometimes,” you say slowly, “when grown-ups feel too much of something good all at once, their bodies don’t know where to put it. So it comes out as tears.”
Eli tilts his head, still not convinced.
Your purse your lips, trying again. “It’s like… it’s like when you’ve been waiting for something for a really long time. You imagine it a lot. And then when it actually happens, all these big feelings—happy, sad, scared, excited—they all show up at the same time.”
Eli thinks about this very hard.
“Like... when you have to wait to open all your Christmas presents?” he asks.
Coach Steve laughs from behind you. “Yeah, Eli,” he says. “Exactly like that.”
Eli peeks around you to look at Coach Steve’s face. His eyes are still shiny, but now the corners crinkle the way they usually do when he smiles.
“You waited a long time?” Eli asks quietly.
Coach Steve swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Yeah, buddy. I did.”
Eli’s not sure what to say next.
So he does the best thing he can think of.
He hops off the couch and walks over to Coach Steve, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can.
A full-body squeeze, the kind Eli likes best.
Coach Steve laughs and hugs him back just as tight.
Then, without warning, he scoops Eli up by the middle, hoisting him high into the air.
Eli kicks his legs and flings his arms out like Superman, squealing so loud it bounces off the walls. After being quiet all day, after holding in all the noise at the wedding, it feels amazing—like a huge balloon bursting inside him, full of giggles and shouts.
Coach Steve laughs too, gently lowering him back onto his lap. Eli wiggles a little, trying to catch his breath.
“Hey, Eli,” Coach Steve says, still smiling. “You think your parents would be mad if we took you home with us?”
You gasp and tap Coach Steve on the chest. “Steve!”
Eli blinks, thinking it over. “Maybe. But I have to bring my dog. She can’t sleep without me. And my toothbrush. Oh, and snacks.” He squints between you and Coach Steve, doubtful. “Do you have snacks in your house?”
Coach Steve laughs—a big, real, Coach-Steve laugh, the kind that shakes his shoulders and makes his eyes crinkle. The tears are gone now.
Eli smiles too. He doesn’t think what he said was very funny, but he likes that Coach Steve isn’t crying anymore.
“Hey, Eli?” Coach Steve says, reaching out to ruffle Eli’s hair.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for helping out today. You were awesome.”
“I know,” Eli says, because that part is true. He walked slowly down the aisle. He didn’t run. Mostly.
Coach Steve nods, letting out another soft laugh.
Eli fidgets with the hem of his shirt. There’s something else he’s been thinking about since earlier. Something important. He has to get the words exactly right.
“Coach Steve?”
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Is today the... hardest day?”
Coach Steve frowns a little, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”
“You said… when you were standing under the big arsh. The one with all the flowers and stuff? You said, ‘I choose you, even on the hardest days.’”
Eli looks up at him. “Is today the hardest day?”
Coach Steve goes very quiet. His eyes blink slowly, lashes dark and clumped together. He takes a deep breath and gently pushes Eli’s hair back from his forehead.
“No,” he says softly. “Today’s a really, really good day.”
“But you cried.”
Coach Steve smiles a little. “Yeah. I did.”
Eli waits. Crying always means something went wrong. He’s still trying to figure out why this doesn’t fit the rule he knows.
“Hard doesn’t always mean bad,” Coach Steve says, rubbing slow circles on Eli's back. “Sometimes it just means… a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
"A lot of..." Coach Steve thinks for a second. “You know when you’re holding something really heavy? You love it a lot, and you don’t want to let go, but sometimes... your arms can get a little tired.”
Eli thinks about the big bag of P.E. stuff they have to carry after class, the one that’s almost as big as he is. Coach Steve always lifts it like it weighs nothing at all.
“Uh-huh,” he says.
Coach Steve nods. “Some days are hard because you’re tired. Or nervous. Or because you want to do something really well, and you’re not sure you can.”
Eli thinks back to walking down the long white carpet earlier, holding the basket of petals. Remembering not to run. Remembering not to step on your dress. That was hard.
“But you still do it,” Coach Steve says. “Because it matters to you.”
Eli chews on that for a second.
“So… hard days aren’t always bad?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“They’re just… days?”
“Yeah. Just days.” Coach Steve glances over at you, and Eli watches both of you smile at each other. “And when you get married to someone, you choose them on all those days. The easy ones and the hard ones.”
You smile grows wider as you lean over to kiss Coach Steve on the cheek. He turns his head and kisses you back.
Right on the mouth.
Eli’s eyes go wide.
This has happened once before, back under the arch, when all the talking and serious grown-up stuff was over and everyone started cheering.
He was not okay with it when it happened, but there were too many people around, and mama said it was rude to say that word out loud, so he stayed quiet.
But now—
“Ew!” he blurts.
You both laugh and pull apart.
Coach Steve shakes his head, grinning. “You think that’s gross, huh? Just you wait, buddy.”
Eli’s not sure what that means, so he ignores it.
Instead, he snuggles a little deeper into Coach Steve's lap, pressing his face against the crinkly fabric of his white shirt. He dangles his feet off the edge, tapping them against Coach Steve's legs.
With all his questions answered (for now), Eli is happy. Warm, a little sleepy, he feels like the time he finished that 300-piece puzzle, all by himself—when he slid the last one in and sat there for a bit, staring at the picture, not wanting to do anything else.
He looks up between the two of you. At your pretty dress, at your hair, a little looser than how it was at the wedding but still very beautiful. At Coach Steve’s smile, big and easy again, the way it’s supposed to be. His eyes catch the moonlight from the window, sparkling like tiny pools of melted chocolate.
Speaking of which, Eli’s just remembered something extremely important.
“Can we go do the cake now?”
And the laugh that bursts from you and Coach Steve is the kind that makes Eli giggle too, just from being squished right in the middle of it.
He knew it.
Cake always makes everything better.