Chapter 12: Brandon
I’d say this day can’tget any worse, but I haven’t seen the state my sister is in yet. I’ll reserve judgment for when I get to Jackson Hole. Or wherever she is in the middle of nowhere.
Andrew here—I make myself laugh—doesn’t seem to be having a great day either. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but she was on FaceTime, so what was I supposed to do?
It’s kind of shitty that her parents didn’t tell her they were away, but it sounds like she didn’t tell them she was coming either. Serves her right.
I text my sister.
Me: Hit a delay with the weather. I’ll send you my ETA when I have that information
What time is it anyway? We left Boston around seven. My phone says it’s almost ten. Does that mean ten here? Or ten in Boston? I have no idea how long we were even flying for. The thing I hate most about travel is the time zone thing. I can never figure it out.
I google “what time is it in Boston?” It’s almost eleven there, so my phone must have automatically updated.
But it’s been at least five minutes, and there’s no answer from Jess. I try not to read anything into the fact that she doesn’t respond. It doesn’t mean she’s up to no good. She might be out in the fields or in a barn or something. I don’t really know what she’s doing out there. I try not to let my imagination get the best of me.
So I distract myself by listening to Andi’s phone conversation and otherwise looking over her shoulder to see what she’s doing on her phone.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to look at someone else’s phone?” she says in a huff, moving over one seat.
“I don’t worry myself with what other people think of me.” It’s true. They’re going to think the worst no matter what, so why bother? “You should try it sometime.”
Her phone signals an incoming FaceTime call. She swears under her breath before answering it, her eyes rolling. But then the oddest thing happens. As she accepts, it’s as if a mask descends over her features and a banal smile forms on her mouth. “Hi, Mike, what’s up?”
“Where are you? Did you get the money thing straightened out? Don’t tell Nate I told you what we make per game. I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about it. I don’t need to get on his shit list. You know, you probably shouldn’t bring it up either. Not if you want more games. He seems like the type to hold a grudge.”
The distance between seats means I can’t see who it is, but I can definitely hear. He’s talking about games. Is it someone I know?
She sighs slightly. “I didn’t bring it up, and I’m probably not going to. I can’t. I’m on thin ice as it is.” Her eyes dart to me. Of course, I’m not even pretending that I’m not hanging on every word. She makes a hand gesture, shooing me away.
If that’s what she wants, she’s got it. I stand up and begin to walk down the aisle. As soon as I see her gaze return to her phone screen, I double back, walking behind her row of chairs. As I come up behind her, I lean in.
Mike Barnaby. He’s a tool. He’s also one of the refs in the USSL. I guess it only makes sense that they talk. “Hi, Mike!” I wave, grinning like a fool. “How’s it going?”
I see his mouth drop open in the millisecond before she ends the call. She stands up and, in the iciest tone I’ve ever heard, says, “Do you know what you just did? You just ruined my career.”
“All I did was say hi to Mike Barnaby. That guy’s a total tool.”
She immediately begins pacing. She’s muttering to herself. Every so often, she looks over at me and glares.
“Andrew, calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”
The look on her face says that it is. “I ... I cannot ... How could you? He’s gonna tell them we were together.”
“We’re not together. We just happen to be in the same place. It’s no big deal. And why does he care, other than he’s a jackwad? He the jealous type?”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Not with me. Not since the divorce.”
Andrew here was married to Mike Barnaby? That’s interesting. I can’t picture them together. I step over the back of the chair and sit down, crossing one leg over the other. “Why don’t you sit down and relax? I think they said we’d be boarding soon.”
I run my hands through my hair and pull it back into a ponytail. Andi watches me, the bridge of her nose wrinkling ever so slightly. She’s probably jealous of my luscious locks.
“Have you ever heard of conditioner? Your hair is fried.”
Okay, maybe jealous isn’t the right word. “I’ve never had any complaints before,” I say with a sly grin.
