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“I don’t have any today.” She smiles, slow and devious. “Let’s call in sick.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Mari?” I demand, but it’s a welcome distraction.
The three of us go to a gallery, Emily in the stroller.
“When we were kids, you never would’ve been caught dead in an art gallery,” I comment.
She snorts as we browse together. “But I want Emily to appreciate art.”
“Because successful people are well rounded and talk about everything?”
“No. Because you do.”
I stare at her as we head for the exit, where someone is selling brightly colored fabric flags.
The baby wakes up, her eyes widening on them. She waves her hands, and I buy a purple one and mount it on her stroller.
We walk together, enjoying the April day.
“Why is it never this relaxing at home?” Mari sighs.
“You’re always in a hurry to get places. It’s easy to forget half the fun is getting there.”
When we return to our flat, I send a text to Clay. It’s afternoon, which means morning there.
He calls immediately.
“How was the game?” I ask.
“Tough. Kyle’s been out three straight. I almost miss the prick.”
“You’re two and three. Another win and you’re back on even ground.”
“And a loss will send us out of the playoffs.”
Neither of us has to say what he’s thinking: that he might not have many more years of doing what he loves.
I pace out to the small living room and reach into Emily’s playpen. She grabs my finger in her chubby fist.
“How’s your trip?” Clay asks.
“Great. Mari and I are spending lots of time together with Emily.” I smile at Emily, but my mind is on Clay. “I wish I could help.”
“We need an extra fifteen points off the bench. Been working on your jump shot?”
“Dammit, knew I forgot something. You have practice?”
“Yeah, starting soon. We have to get it together for tomorrow.”
“No matter what happens, you’re amazing. Not only at what you do, but at being there for your team. If I were Miles or Rookie or Jay or any of them, there’s no one I’d rather be facing down this game with than you.”
He’s silent for a long minute, but when he speaks, his voice is rough.
“Thanks, Pink. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”
I wish he were here so I could throw my arms around him.
Instead, after we say goodbye, I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
