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Later that evening,I have the letter to the commissioner drafted and ready to go. Richard helped me with some of the wording, and after, we called Zoe and gave her permission to break the news once my season wraps. Izzy promised to post it on my Instagram, too.
I would feel lighter than air, except for the fact that I want nothing more than to talk to Mia.
I pull up her contact in my phone for what has to be the hundredth time in a week. If I called, would she pick up? If I texted, would she reply?
I’m sure she’s still at the lab. The symposium is so close. While I’m playing my last-ever game, she’ll be giving her presentation. Right now, she’s probably poring over data, adjusting slides, and practicing what she’s going to say. For half a second, she feels so close I swear I could reach out and touch her. Her hair is probably in a precarious bun, her glasses perched atop her nose. If she messes something up, she’ll make a face at herself and glance down at her notes before starting again, from the top.
Before everything happened, I promised I’d listen to her practice it as many times as she needed.
Instead, I’m in my family’s backyard, gazing at the stars.
I’m sure there are so many others hiding in the nighttime sky, the same as those billions of exoplanets, but the stars I can see scatter across the black like glitter against velvet. Maybe she’s looking at them too, like that night in Albany when she told me to find the moon.
“Pretty, right?”
Izzy nudges my hip as I turn. Earlier, she was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but now she’s in leggings and a worn, oversized sweater. Her dark hair, hanging loose around her shoulders, shines from the glow of the patio light. “I brought you a hot chocolate.”
“Oh, thanks.” I take the mug she’s holding out. Hot chocolate is an odd choice on a warm night in late June, but I take a sip anyway. “What are you up to?”
“Well, at first I was going to do work,” she says. “There’s a wedding this weekend in the Hamptons that Katherine is convinced is going to be a disaster, so she’s having me go over all the details again. But then I thought I should be social, so I went to go hang out with Mom and Bex, only they were talking about how painful childbirth is, and I can’t deal with that energy until I’m at least twenty-five, so I thought I would make hot chocolate, and I figured you needed it too. If there was ever a time for hot chocolate, it’s now. You’re literally looking up at the stars like a lovesick puppy.”
I just blink. The best way to make sense of Izzy’s mini speeches is to start at the top and work your way through. “Who is Katherine again?”
“Katherine Abney. My boss.”
“Right. And why hot chocolate?”
“It’s the most comforting drink.” She takes a sip, as if to punctuate her words.
“It’s almost the Fourth of July.”
“So?” She clinks our mugs together. Mine says ‘McKee Royals’ on it, and tiny hearts cover hers. “You drink beer in the winter, and beer is best cold.”
I guess she has a point. Most of the time she does, even if it’s not the one I would have expected. “Do I really look like a lovesick puppy?”
She holds up her hand and puts her thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. “Just a little. It’s mostly cute, though.”
“As long as I look cute,” I say dryly.
“Penny kind of explained what happened,” she says. She runs her hand, decorated with thin stacks of rings, through her hair. “She hasn’t said anything to you?”
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
She makes a quiet noise. “I guess words wouldn’t help anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mia’s a scientist, Seb.” She tilts her head to the side as she looks at the sky. “Scientists need evidence to believe things. You can’t just say something and expect her to believe it without question, you know? You know how you feel, but unless you give her something concrete that she can’t push away, she’s not going to let it sink in.”
I’m quiet for a moment, considering her words.
I told Mia once that what I deserve is what I want, and I still believe that. Part of her has always felt that she’s not enough for me, and I’d be better off with some hypothetical woman who can give me more than her. More career support, or kids, or whatever she thinks I’m expecting, without question or compromise, from my partner.
That’s bullshit. She’s more than enough for me—she’s everything and more—but Izzy’s right. Kids or no kids, marriage or no marriage, her family be damned, she’s it for me. She needs evidence, otherwise she’ll just keep pretending she doesn’t hear what I’m telling her.
“Izzy,” I say. “Has anyone ever told you how smart you are?”
