“I say, Luke gets the house,” he said. “He’s older, more responsible, all that good shit.”
I swallowed. I didn’t want to think of anyone divvying up any of Mel’s possessions, but Ro was in the kind of mood where it was better to let him get everything off his mind.
“Maybe I get her car or something. She’ll give you her whole music collection.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Despite myself, I couldn’t go on with this conversation.
Ro eyed me for a second, then, mercifully, went back to playing his game.
I couldn’t concentrate, so I stared at the lineup of trophies that took up most of the space on his bookshelf. Where normal people (i.e., me, Luke, and basically everyone I knew) had books, Rowan just had a collection of silver declaring how good he was at the thing he loved best in the world. It must have been a pretty good feeling, I thought, to have that kind of validation. He would never say he was good enough, of course. He’d say he could always improve, his forehand could be better, his drop shots better executed, his serve faster, but even Ro knew he was pretty damn good at tennis.
“Been talking to my dad a bunch,” he mumbled now, still focused on his computer screen.
“About?” He didn’t hate his dad as much as Luke did, but he also never made much effort to have a relationship with him. In fact, for as long as I’d known him, he’d always seemed pretty much indifferent to his father. If there was such a thing as a mama’s boy, Rowan was definitely it. Always had been.
“I keep waking up with my elbow all stiff,” he said. “And it hurts like shit to hold stuff. Even like a glass.”
My eyes widened. “Does your coach know?”
“No. You think I’m an idiot?”
“Does Mel?”
“No,” he said. “And you better not tell her.”
“But Ro, what if it’s something serious?”
“It’s fine,” Ro insisted. “I’ve probably been training too much. I’ll just lay off for a while.”
“What did your dad say?”
He shrugged. “He wanted to refer me to this orthopedic surgeon, but I said no.”
Rowan could be so freaking frustrating sometimes. “Why would you say that?”
“?’Cause then it will be this big thing where Coach has to get involved and I can’t travel to Florida for the last competition of the season next month. And then Illinois will have to be on notice that they might be getting damaged goods.”
“Damaged goods?” I repeated, incredulous. “Injuries heal.”
“Exactly. Don’t need to get everyone all worked up.”
I sighed. “I just hope you don’t make it worse.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Dad said to keep doing cold compresses, take Advil, and see how it goes.”
After a moment he said, “I’ll probably end up living with him and Vanessa after.”
We had circled back to talking about Mel’s death again. I hated the way it lingered, clouding the air constantly like a bad smell.
“You don’t think he’d let you finish out the year here?” It was the first time I’d considered this. If Mel didn’t last till next May, Ro might have to leave in the middle of senior year.
“Where would I stay?” he snorted. “With you?”
“You could,” I said, but we both knew he couldn’t. Right from the beginning of our friendship, everything that mattered had always happened at the Cohen house. We had playdates at Rowan’s, ate at Rowan’s, slept at Rowan’s. My house was just this sinkhole full of dark energy. It stung that I knew I could never give Ro what his family had given me, that I could never take him in and take care of him.
“It’d only be for a few months,” I said, trying to make us both feel better.
“Maybe I could stay at Eric’s,” Ro said, and I prayed that was the start of hope in his voice. “His sisters are hot as fuck, so it would be a win in more than one way.”
