When Tami comes out the master bath and into the bedroom that night, she's wearing a sexy red negligee she almost forgot she owned. She's not exactly in the mood after a long and frustrating day at work, but she figures her choice to seduce her husband will give his recently deflated ego a much-needed boost, and it will relieve some of the stress this job loss has put him under.
Eric doesn't require much seducing. He's setting his watch on the nightstand when she walks out, and when he looks up a boyish, excited laugh escapes his lips. It reminds her of their younger days, before two pregnancies, before half a dozen jobs, before they shipped a child away to college, before all the ups and downs and tears and laughter that grew them up and built their marriage. He's adorable with that laugh and that happy look in his eyes, and just a little bit sexy when he jerks his head and says, in that Texas draw she loves, "C'mere, babe."
It doesn't take long for her to get in the mood.
[*]
Eric's still rubbing his eyes when he pulls the coffee pot out and fills his cup. Tami is finishing up a bowl of grits and looking through an open file, while Gracie is looking despondently into her own bowl of grits.
Tami stands, clears her bowl to the sink, and starts to wash it, but stops suddenly. "That's your job now." She leaves it half full of water in the sink before kissing him on the cheek and asking, "Can you drop off my cocktail dress at the dry cleaners? The black one that's hanging in the closet. I'm going to have to schmooze next Friday."
"Do I have to go to that?" He hates college cocktail parties.
"Not if you don't want to. Morty can be my date."
Morty is an English professor that Tami befriended early in their move, and about whom she talked enough to make Eric a little jealous – until he met the man at one of those excruciating cocktail parties and realized Morty was as queer as a football bat. He almost declares he's not going then, but pauses. "Do you want me to go?" After all, when she was the stay-at-home mom, he expected her at his side at every one of the booster club events and football parties.
"I don't really need you, too, hon. I know how much you hate those things. No reason to make yourself miserable." She kisses him on the cheek again, kisses Gracie on top of the head, snatches up her briefcase, and heads for the door.
Eric leans back against the counter and thinks about her words. "I don't really need you to." When she was his at-home wife and full-time support, he felt like he needed her. He wonders if she'll lose respect for him over this next school year.
Gracie looks at the recently closed kitchen door and turns to her father. She pushes her largely untouched bowl of grits away. "Mommy's gone. Can I have the Cookie Crisp now?"
[*]
"One hour, Gracie Belle," Eric insists firmly. "And then the TV goes off."
Eric tunes out Dora the Explorer as best he can while he sits in his recliner, laptop open, and touches up his resume. He'll wait for the contracts to come for renewal in the spring, and then send it out to Franklin High and one other back up high school. When he's done changing a few words, he hops on Facebook to see how his boys are doing.
Eric never posts anything on Facebook himself; he just uses it to check in on the young men he once coached. His players at Pemberton told him that Facebook is "mostly for old farts now," but the Lions and Panthers he coached must be the last and youngest members of the old fart generation, because about two dozen of them have sent him friend requests since the move.
His profile picture – the only photo he has in his album - is one of him receiving the State Championship ring when he was head coach of the Lions. He's got his high school listed on there, and his college, and – he realizes now – his profession as head coach of the Pemberton Pioneers. Seeing it is like a slap in the face. He needs to delete that, but he's not sure how. Tami set up his profile for him when they moved.
He pokes around clicking on links until he finally figures out how to edit his job title. He deletes Head Coach, Pemberton Pioneers and then wonders what he should replace it with. Cookie Crisp Dispenser? Frozen Lasagna Chef? Dry Cleaner Liaison? "What does Daddy do these days?" he asks Gracie.
"Watches old football videos."
"What else?"
"Loves me!"
"That I do," he says with an affectionate smile. "What else do I do?"
"Talks about football."
Finally, he types Athletic Consultant and clicks save.
Then he returns to his news feed. Matt has posted a photo of his latest completed art work. $400, if anyone is interested. Eric's not even sure what it is. It doesn't look like anything. There's just lot of shapes floating around on a canvas. Matt can draw people like photographs. Why doesn't he do more of that? Who the hell is going to pay $400 for some shapes floating in space. Eric clicks like and scrolls on.
Julie has posted a photo of last night's dinner at some nice restaurant. What the heck is she doing going to nice restaurants on her shoe string budget, anyway? That looks like a place Eric might take Tami for their anniversary. If that's how she's spending what little money she has, she's going to be in debt up to her eyeballs by the time she finally gets the college degree. She better not come begging to them for money. Eric makes a note to tell Tami to talk to Julie about her financial choices. He clicks like and scrolls on.
Buddy has posted a photograph of himself with the Panthers at a summer barbecue, with the words – Bound for State next season! This new quarterback is one to watch. He's put on even more weight, and he's looking six years older since he last saw him instead of two. But one thing never changes about Buddy – the Panthers are his life. The thought makes Eric strangely sad. He clicks like and scrolls on.
Jess Merriweather has posted a photo of her hand boasting a solitaire engagement ring. Eric blinks. That girl's barely 20. He still thinks of her as a senior in high school. He reads enough of the comments to figure out she's gotten engaged to her fellow assistant coach at Dallas Walker High. When she finishes her degree at UT-Dallas in two years, they're getting married. Eric nosily click's through her fiancé's profile to discover he's a twenty-three-year-old redhead named Jake who played football for the Texas Mean Green at UNT, and he currently teaches American History at Dallas Walker High, along with serving as an assistant coach for the football team. Eric decides he's probably okay, and goes back to type "Congratulations" on Jess's status. He wonders if he'll be invited to the wedding.
He scrolls on. A high school girlfriend who dumped him at the end of 9th grade is complaining noxiously about her third husband, and all of her female friends are rallying to her defense. Eric really dodged a bullet with that one, he thinks, and feels a sudden surge of gratitude for Tami.
Below her rant is Landry Clarke's comment that he's transferring to an accelerated, combined program that will allow him to both finish his B.A. and get his J.D. in the next three years. Some girl named Cindy has written – so proud of my Landy Pandy in the comments. Eric would kill Tami if she ever called him something like that in public. He clicks like.
Tim Riggins hasn't posted anything in weeks. He just has a lot of girls writing Happy Birthday on his wall, some along with risqué photos of themselves.
Luke Cafferty is home from his tour of duty and staying on his parents' farm for the time being.
Vince says summer training at Georgia State is "kicking his ass."
When he's done with all his scrolling and liking and reading, he realizes he's let Gracie watch more than an hour of TV, and now that annoying Caillou show is on. He slams his screen down. "Rush hour's probably over now. Let's take mommy's dress to the dry cleaners and go to the park."