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Jayon Price is our curmudgeonly wide receiver. He shocked the hell out of us all by becoming the first in the group to announce a pregnancy. My money was on Nathan, but no. Hope, Price’s wife, is in her last trimester, and I’ve never seen the guy so happy.
Well, he doesn’t currently look happy as he tries to shove a plastic springy thing into another plastic part, but it won’t click together. His bicep is about to burst from how much force he’s using. “Why the hell don’t they sell these things already assembled?”
He chucks the offending piece across the room, and I duck—just narrowly missing a plastic bumblebee to the face.
“Better question,” says Jamal, stepping up to look at the box the parts came in. “Why are you putting this together now?”
Price looks dumbstruck. “Why not? Hope’s due date is like two months away.”
I grunt a laugh. “Man, your baby won’t be old enough for that thing for a while.” I point at the box. “It says on the back that it’s to strengthen a baby’s legs and back to start walking.”
Price drops the instructions and levels an ominous look at each of us. “Tell Hope about this and you’re all dead. She’s already freaking out that we don’t know what we’re doing, and I don’t want her to worry more when she finds out she asked me to piece together a toy for an eight-month-old.”
I really do love getting to walk through all these seasons of life with my friends. Which is why I have to make a full comeback. Because part of me is worried that if I get cut…never mind.I don’t want to think about it right now.
Nathan nods. “We’ll help you put it together, but mainly because your pregnant wife truly terrified me last week when she threatened to stab her fork’s prongs into my hand if I took the last brownie. If that woman wants her baby’s exersaucer built several months early, we’ll build it.” He faces me again. “But first…we’re not done talking about your relationship status yet.”
“Oh yes we are,” I say, backing into the kitchen and aiming for my keys on the counter. “Leave me and my bachelorhood alone and go eat your soup, you lying asshole. I’m outta here.”
“No one is going anywhere!” comes a feminine voice from the kitchen threshold. I look up to find that Nathan’s wife, Bree, has appeared out of nowhere and is using her body as a human barrier—arms stretched out and gripping the trim around the door so I can’t exit. She must have just come from her ballet studio because she’s wearing a black leotard with gray sweatpants. Her usual look. “Did you guys talk to him about the plan yet?”
Nathan yells from the living room. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to get married.”
Bree’s mouth falls open. “Ever?” She sounds personally offended by this choice. It’s not like I have anything against marriage for other people, though—it’s just not for me. Not anymore at least.
I shrug and toss my keys around my finger, staring at the woman who now feels like my little sister. “Sorry, Bree Cheese—it’s just not for me.”
“Okay, okay…” She waves a hand. “So you don’t want to get married—that’s fine. At least let us set you up with someone.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m all set on that front.” I walk toward her, but she doesn’t move out of the threshold.
“No, you’re not! Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you—Derek Pender—have not even been on a single date since your injury. All those overgrown toddlers peeking from behind the corner might betoo chicken to come right out and say it…but it’s worrisome that you’re not going out anymore. Not dating. Not even hooking up with anyone!” She says all of this like my name should be synonymous with those things. And…well, I guess it used to be.
I look over my shoulder and sure enough, everyone is watching. They duck back a little, though, when I make eye contact. “Nothing to worry about, guys. I’m just focusing on rehab full-time right now.”
“At what cost?” Bree asks, shoulders sagging a little.
I look her in the eyes. “Quit worrying. I’m fine—Iswear.”
She drops her arms and rolls her eyes. “You’re annoying is what you are. But I guess I’ll still let you have this anyway.” She reaches in her purse hanging off her shoulder and I know what’s coming next: a Breenkit. Bree shows her affection by occasionally giving out little presents that made her think of her friends. We each have at least a few. I have a skull coffee mug that she said looks like the tattoo on my forearm and a magnetic82she stole from her little nieces’ fridge number-learning stash in honor of my jersey number.
Today, she pulls out something that stops me in my tracks even though there’s no way she could know why this particular item has so much impact on me.
Bree sets a little key chain onto my palm and all I can do for a solid three breaths is stare down at the miniature bowl of ice cream topped with cereal bits. The skin of my face heats like I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Why did you give me this?” My tone is accusatory. Like she’s been snooping around inside my brain without permission. Like she knows all my secrets, and this is part of the intervention.
“Because…” Her smile turns questioning. “Remember? At Lawrence’s wedding reception when you got drunk? You gave that funny speech about how all you ever want to eat for the rest of your life isice cream and cereal and you were so sad thinking you couldn’t? I saw a shop online that makes custom ice cream resin key chains, so I had them make you this one with cereal on top.”
Right. Because of the speech. My shoulders relax a little in relief that she doesn’t know abouther.About Nora.
To this day the group still laughs about that “funny little speech” I gave at the reception. They thought I was so incredibly drunk that I was just spouting pitiful nonsense. And it’s true—Iwas drunk. But only because I couldn’t get Nora—the woman I wanted to marry from the day I met her—off my mind through the entire ceremony. I couldn’t stop thinking about where she is now or wondering for the thousandth time why I wasn’t enough for her. Yes, we were opposites. Her being incredibly smart and driven and academically focused whereas I was a jock with an undiagnosed learning disorder who was great at partying.
But we were also compatible in a lot of ways. We loved to compete—turning everything into a pointless, fun game and thriving off it. We had chemistry that I’ve never felt with anyone else. The kind that slips into your bloodstream and alters you. And if that wasn’t enough—we both loved sports. In fact, she was aiming to become an agent.Did that ever happen?
And Nora’s favorite snack: ice cream topped with cereal.
Apparently, I never gave any hints that the speech was actually directed toward my broken heart or the woman who brought the hammer down on it. They just assumed I had a serious sweet tooth that night. I’ve let them believe it because I prefer my history with Nora to remain buried.
