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“What?” She shrugs from the door. “I thought we now just sprinkled the word generously in conversation. For seasoning.”
“We most certainly do not,” Mom tells her.
“God,” Sabrina mutters, shuffling away from us. “There is no privacy in this house.”
“Of course not,” Darcy says. “It’s minuscule and the walls are made of toilet paper and Tazo tea bags. Mallory, can you please win that stupid World Championship and move us elsewhere with your smart checkers money?”
I scowl at her. “Great job keeping secrets, by the way.”
“Technically, I kept the fact that Ihadn’tkept the secret, secret fromyou.”
I mull it over as I rub my cheeks clean. Then I nod, impressed despite myself.
“Well.” Mom pats my knee. “Now we can move on to talking about that handsome ‘senior center coworker’ of yours.”
“Right. Do you and Nolan fall asleep together to scalp massage ASMR like Twitter says?” Sabrina asks.
“What? No! We’re not— I’m not— ” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, which comes back full of something that looks suspiciously like snot.We really need a parental control firewall, I almost say. Then remember what Sabrina said about me trying to be her parent.
“Did you guys break up?” she asks. “What’d he do?”
“He . . . lied to me.”
“Ah, yes. Lying. Something you’d never stoop to.” Mom’s tone is soft, but I wince anyway. “Let’s hear about this lie.”
I tell her about Defne, and the fellowship, and Koch’s TikTok. After I’m done, Mom takes a deep breath and says, “Listen, I like Nolan. And when I saw the two of you together . . . I think he’s been good for you. But this is not about him. It’s about chess, and about you.” She squeezes my hand. “You made good money from the tournaments you’ve been in. My new meds are working well, and I’ve been able to work regularly for weeks. Things are so much better than they were even just six months ago. I appreciate what you’ve done for us, but now it’s time to focus on whatyouwant.
“Guilt and responsibility are heavy burdens, Mallory. But they’re also something we can hide behind, and now you can’t do that anymore. You are free to do what you love. Which might be never thinking about chess against and moving to Boulder to be with Easton. It might be becoming an auto mechanic. It might be taking a year off to backpack around the world. It can be whatever you want— but it has to beyourdecision. Your choice, free of constraints. And to do that, you’re going to have to look into yourself, and be honest about what you want. And yes, I know that’s terrifying. But life is too long to be afraid.”
I snort wetly. “Too short, you mean.”
“No. Years spent carrying grudges, talking yourself out of things that might make you happy? They go slowly.”
I turn to Darcy and Sabrina. They’re looking at me with identical shades of blue eyes, identical serious expressions, identical wispy blond strands framing their pretty faces.
“And one more thing,” Mom says. “If you need something, youareallowed to ask for it. God knowswehave been. But I know you’re not good at it, so I’m going to offer: whatever youdecide to do, about chess, about your life . . . may we be there for you? May we be part of your life, from now on?”
I can’t bring myself to say yes.
But maybe I’m making progress anyway, because at least I manage to nod.
PART THREE
End Game
Darcy spends the eight-hour plane ride to Italy quizzing Oz about the ins and outs of the World Championship.
“When does it start?” In five days.
“Why are we going so early, then?” For Mallory to get used to the time zone.
“How many games?” Twelve.
“How many hours per game?” No limit.
“So they can go to the following day?” We’re in the computer era—games cannot be adjourned anymore, or players would just turn on an engine and evaluate their positions.
“Who wins?” Whoever wins the most games.
