Pushing down my sudden nervousness, I say, “I’ve never been to California before, so that’ll be fun. And Greg, Greg is out of his mind with—”
“Listen. The front office asked me to ask you not to attend the San Diego game.”
I set down my cup with a clang. “Wh… what? I mean, why?”
He frowns and slumps, picking at his napkin and avoiding eye contact with me. “They feel like it’s not a good time.”
“Because I’m a curse, right? A jinx.” As the blood drains from my face, the tears flood my sinuses.
His head snaps up. “No! No!” He hops from his chair and kneels next to mine, like he did three months ago. Only this time, he’s not holding a ring. He grips both of my hands in his good one.
“It’s not about that at all, Maura. I swear.”
I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I’ve cried more in the past six months than I have my entire adult life, and I’m sick of it. My emotions have emotions, and they’re all crowded close to the surface 24/7, ready to overflow.
Part of it is plain old exhaustion. I get that. But that’s why this news about San Diego is that much more crushing. My face numbs at the idea of abandoning the weekend I’ve been anticipating for months.
“Then why?”
“They didn’t give me a reason, and with everything that’s happened, I didn’t feel like I had any room to argue.” He presses his finger under my chin, so I lift my head and open my eyes. He looks as miserable as I feel, but that only makes it all seem more hopeless.
“To be honest,” he continues, scratching the side of his nose, “it might be for the best. I’ll probably be nervous about my hand, no matter what. What if I screw up again? What if I can’t grip the ball? What if I have a horrible game? I don’t want you there, seeing that, being embarrassed by me.”
“Never. Never, ever, ever embarrassed by you. I’ll be watching, no matter what. I’d rather be there than at Greg’s. Or, more likely, alone, since Greg will never speak to me again after I tell him we’re not going.”
“Oh, come on. If he blames anyone for this, it’ll be me.”
“I already have the plane tickets! And the hotel reservations. And the rental car reservation. And my vacation time. Everything.”
“There’s still time for you to cancel—reschedule—everything. Pick any other away game, and I’ll—”
“I want this away game, your comeback game, in your home state. I want to wear my Number Fourteen jersey and sit in that luxury box and cheer you on, for everyone to see.”
Looking down, he tells a spot on the floor next to his knee, “I want that, too. I do. But this comes from above. I’m sorry. I hate it. It makes me sick to disappoint you like this. I’ve been dreading it since they asked me to tell you.”
“You’ve been keeping it from me since last night? Since before we…?” I’m too mortified to say the words out loud.
He nods and swallows. “Yes. I’m sorry. Every time I tried to tell you, you’d say something that would remind me how heartbroken you’d be, and I couldn’t make myself say it. It had been such a long, weird, awful day, and neither of us slept worth a damn the night before. I thought it was better to tell you when we were both better rested.”
“Was last night my consolation prize, then? I can’t go to San Diego, but you broke your rule for me instead, thinking a great screw from you would make it all okay?”
He bites the insides of his cheeks and looks toward the ceiling.
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. That… That was a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I transfer my hands to either side of his face. “I know you’re just as disappointed as I am. But damn it!” A sob hitches in my chest.
“Aw, Maura!”
“It was my birthday present to Greg. For once, I was able to give him something he really wanted. And—”
“Shhh.” He pulls me to him again and rubs my back. After a few minutes, when I’ve calmed a bit, he lets go of me, soaks up my tears with the back of his beige bandage, and says, “Hey. What if Greg can still go? What if we transfer your ticket to your dad? It sucks for you to miss out, but it’s better than a total loss, right?”
I sniffle. “Can we? That sounds like a big, complicated mess.”
“I’ll take care of everything, if that’s what you want to do.”
“And you won’t be distracted or nervous if my brother and dad are there?”
He laughs. “No. I probably won’t think about them at all. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So?”
I close my eyes and suck in as much air as I can, hoping the oxygen will extinguish, rather than feed, my bitterness.
I’m not the only one not getting my way here. Jet would rather his injury never happened. He’d rather Keaton had never orchestrated the scheme that’s caused such a distraction and led to his own heated comments. But wishing all of that away won’t make it disappear.
We might like to downplay this life and say, “It’s only a game,” but the amount of money at stake every week is eye-watering. It’s easy to become blasé about that and say, “It’s only money,” but it’s an industry like any other, and if Jet doesn’t want to sacrifice those aspects of his life necessary to participate, there are others out there, like Michael Wilcox, waiting for their chances.
That doesn’t make it any easier, however, for me to give my blessing for someone else to have my glorious weekend. Nevertheless, I finally nod and say, “Do what you need to do so Greg can still have his birthday present. I’ll be okay.”
I’m jerked forward in my chair as Jet pulls
