Page 5 of ClickBack

“Happy birthday, big fella.”

“Thank you. Can you sign it?” Zion swallows. “Please.”

“You got a marker?”

Three women reach into their bags. Ms. Kandy produces a silver paint pen before the rest of us have located our keys. She holds it up without saying a word, which for her is an extraordinary display of restraint.

Jarrett takes it. “What position you play?”

“Wing.”

Rae makes a small noise beside me.

Jarrett turns the ball until he finds a clear panel. “Not guard?”

“I can bring it up if Coach needs me to.”

“So you want guard freedom and forward credit.”

Zion beams. Finally, somebody with credentials understands him.

“He thinks he’s your brother,” Trina says. “Speaking of, Javon about to get his second ring and you ain’t got one. That don’t keep you up?”

“Auntie Trina!”

Jarrett looks up. For a moment I expect the practiced answer people give when somebody has been rude and called it conversation. Instead, he laughs.

“Philly fans will ask a man anything while he’s doing them a favor.”

“She doesn’t speak for us,” Rae tells him.

“I do on game nights,” Trina says.

He finishes signing and returns the pen to Ms. Kandy. Zion holds the ball where no one can accidentally touch the ink. Jarrett’s attention comes back to me.

“So he calls you GiGi.”

“He does.”

“That what everybody calls you?”

“Mostly.”

“And the ones that aren’t everybody?”

I can feel my daughter beside me. I could give him the easy answer, the one that turns this into something harmless the whole room can enjoy. Instead, I put out my hand.

“Giselle.”

He takes it. His palm is warm and large enough that I become aware of exactly where my fingers end in his.

“Giselle,” he repeats.

I have had that name all my life. Nobody warned me about what a man could do with the pronunciation.

Rae presses her lips together. I nearly tell her to go to her room, then remember she is twenty-eight and this isn’t my house.

“Jay.” A broad man in black has approached from the showcase. “Court two.”