Page 140 of Taking Sides

He thought of everything.

“And also . . .” He skates backward, eyes on me. “I’m really fast. Need to look good for my girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” I yell back.

He shakes his head. “Fiancée. I like it. Almost as much as I’m going to like calling you my wife.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

“Baby?” I call out as I enter Whitney’s house.

“In the guest room!”

When I reach the doorway, I find her standing amidst paint cans and drip trays, a long roller in one hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to be a strong, independent woman and get this guest room set up.” She blows out a puff of air that sends the loose strands of her hair flying around her face. “Your kid is stealing all my energy.”

My kid.

“Still weird, right?” she asks with a grin like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Nah, it’s amazing.”

“What’s that?” She points to the package in my hand.

“I don’t know. It was out front.”

She sets the roller down and steps through the maze of things to reach me. Her eyes light up as she takes it from me. “Victor said he was sending me something.”

She tears into the box on one end and pulls the flap back. It’s an odd-sized box, several feet long but thin. Slowly, Whitney pulls a framed picture from the box.

I did not picture Victor as the artsy type.

“Oh my gosh!” She squeals with delight.

“What is it?” I ask. Hopefully, it isn’t a dartboard with my face in the middle.

Her lips smash together like she’s fighting a smile as she turns it around for me to see.

I wish it were a dartboard.

“He sent you another one of his jerseys?” I curse under my breath. He’s definitely trying to piss me off. “How many do you need?”

I’m imagining her entire hallway filled with them. That sounds just like something he’d do.

“No. No.” Whitney laughs as she stares at my expression—probably annoyance with a tinge of “fuck, this guy is going to be my brother-in-law.” “This one was mine.”

“Yeah?” I look at it more closely. It’s yellow with black block letters that spell out aven, just like the one on the wall, but now that I’m paying more attention, it is smaller and the number is different. “You were number seven?”

“Just like you.”

“Huh.” I take the frame and hold it up next to her brother’s on the wall.

“Let me get a nail and the stud finder.” She runs off, returning a minute later with both. I hang up her jersey and we stand together to look at it.

“Now we just need yours,” she says.