His hand on the back of my head, he murmurs, “You’re amazing. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
I pull my head back slightly, so I can say, “There will be plenty of other games.”
He pauses, then reminds me, “This is the only time we’re going to San Diego this season, though.”
Pushing myself back but still perched on the edge of my chair, leaning on him for support, I search his eyes and say, not so confidently, “But we’ll have lots of other seasons, right?”
His face relaxes into a wide grin, his eyes sparkling. Barely above a whisper, he confirms, “Yes. Absolutely.”
After Jet leaves, I spend the morning catching up on some sleep and updating my parents on the latest. A conversation with Colin will have to wait until later. And Rae, to whom I’m still technically not talking, despite her rushed apology and one-eighty on her opinion of Jet, will find out everything at work today. That leaves a potentially painful pow-wow with my brother.
I wait until right before noon, to limit the length of the conversation. The Sunday games are about to start, and he’ll want to get off the phone to monitor his fantasy players.
As soon as he verifies my boyfriend still has a job and still expects his comeback game to be against the Chargers, he asks, “So in San Diego, do I wear a Chiefs jersey, or is that too obnoxious?”
“Since when have you ever worried about being ‘too obnoxious?’” I say, sitting sideways in Jet’s favorite chair, wearing Jet’s favorite jersey, and gently kicking my white knee-sock-clad feet. “Plus, we both know you’re already packed, so why are you acting like you’re still undecided?”
“I just want to have a plan.”
“Of course, you do.”
“You have no idea how much I need that weekend.” He lowers his voice. “It’s the only thing keeping me going.”
My throat throbs with the realization that, only a few hours ago, I felt the exact same way.
Fortunately, he doesn’t wait for me to respond but continues, “Hey, don’t say anything to Mom and Dad, and don’t you dare tell Deirdre I told you, because she’s not ready to tell anyone, but… we’re pregnant.”
The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor in front of the fireplace. “Shit!” I try to reach it without leaving the comfort of the chair, but it’s too far away, so I slither to the ground and snatch it, rolling to all fours and slapping the device to my ear in time to hear Greg say, “Hello? Are you there?”
I try to sound completely chill when I answer, “Wow. That’s great! Wow. I already said that. But I thought—”
“Yeah, it’s sooner than we planned, but I guess on the honeymoon, with the change in routine and everything, Deirdre’s birth control got slightly off-schedule, and—”
“Um, I don’t need to know all the details. Congratulations, though.”
I can practically see his hangdog expression when he says, “Thanks. But it’s already intense. I wasn’t expecting her to be so uptight.”
“This is Deirdre we’re talking about. Isn’t ‘Uptight’ one of her three middle names?”
He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but not usually about medical stuff. She’s clinical, you know?”
“Yes. I do.”
“I thought she’d take pregnancy in stride, too. But that hasn’t been the case.”
“Ah. Well, I hear the first time is hard. So, I guess this trip comes at a good time.”
“The best.”
I do the math in my head and say while wiggling back into my butt indentation in the chair, “She’s almost out of the first trimester now, right? Maybe it’ll get better soon.”
He doesn’t sound convinced when he says, “I guess. We’re going to tell everyone after you and I get back from California, so it’s not like you have to keep it a secret for long.”
“My lips are sealed.” This is it. Time to make the new plans official. Let’s go, Richards. Say it. Out loud. “Say… So. About that weekend in San Diego…”
He snorts. “I knew it.”
“What?”
“You’re totally going to ditch me, aren’t you?”
“Ditch you? How did you—”
“I knew you and Jet would somehow find a way to get around all those rules and tight schedules to spend time together.”
“Oh. No, that’s not—”
“It’s okay. I get it. You guys are in luuuuurve. Whatever.”
“Greg, it’s not like—”
“So how’d you swing it? And does this mean I need to get a different room? Because I’m not okay with you two going at it in the queen bed right next to me. That’s nast—”
“I’m not going!” I blurt, the statement feeling every bit as awful as I thought it would.
“Wait. What?”
“I’m not going to California with you. Jet’s having everything of mine transferred over to Dad’s name. My plane and game tickets, our hotel reservation, your VIP passes at the stadium. All of it.” For once my brother is speechless, so I explain without prompting, “With everything that’s happened, the front office thinks I’ll be too much of a distraction.”
Because, let’s face it: whether or not they said it outright to Jet, that’s the reason. There’s no other explanation. He pretty much confirmed it would be the case when he said he was worried about choking with me in the stands.
“That’s bullshit!”
“Well…”
“I guess Jet’s in no position right now, either, to argue with them, huh?”
“He sort of agrees with them.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s okay,” I lie, hoping if I say it enough times it’ll be true, and I won’t feel my throat closing up with tears every time I even think about it. “A lot of thought has gone into the decision, which is complicated, and I understand where they’re coming from.”
“But this is your dream weekend.”
“Nah. It’s your birthday present.”
“Well, it sucks now. Going with
