Page 109 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“No, in movies it’s the wake-up call to get therapy. They never choose to stay in the woods for eternity. There’s nothing for anyone there. You always have to come back out to civilization.” Mara walks around the bed and settles onto the upholstered bench at its foot, balancing a teacup on her knee.

“Your movie was never the ‘take to the woods’ movie. It was a ‘buy a house in a quaint Christmas town and learn to love yourself with the help of quirky strangers’ movie,” Chelsea explains.

I furrow my brow. “What are your movies?”

“Mine is ‘Christmas Man teaches me about love,’ and Mara’s is the classic ‘girl moves to the city and gets the big promotion,’ ” she says, like the answer is obvious.

I pass Mara my hydration backpack. “I wanted you guys to have first dibs before I donate it all to mark the end of this phase. And the beginning of something new.”

“Make sure you keep some of this—base layers aren’t just for camping—but I don’t see a lot of uses for a pair of UV-protective cargo shorts.” Chelsea flicks the khaki shorts away from her like they’re radioactive.

“They seemed necessary at the time.”

“Did they, Al? Did they really, though?” Chelsea asks.

I shrug.

“Were you able to get Patrick to change his mind for the tournament today? He can join late between rounds if he has a conflict,” Mara asks with a sip.

Chelsea shakes her head. “He’s on a New Year’s getaway at a fancy couples’ resort in Wisconsin with Josie. There’s no way he’s coming. Sorry, Mar. Is there anyone else eligible to play with the team we haven’t tried?”

Mara raises her eyebrows indiscreetly. “Just, uh…”

I groan, ignoring the emptiness beneath my ribs. “We can say his name.” I swallow to clear the knot of emotion lodged in my throat. “It’s fine. Adam and I…it was never going to work out with us.”

I clap my hands on my knees and stand, ready to leave the trappings of adventure and talk of Adam behind. “Come on, we have a trivia tournament to get to.”

Mara cheers. “Yes! Let’s obliterate some poor, delicate nerds.”

•••

Every New Year’s Day at two p.m., a different venue in the Minneapolis–Saint Paul area hosts the Twin Cities Trivia Tournament. This year, we’re at Union Depot, a historic railroad station in Saint Paul that continues to serve as the city’s transit hub, community center, and—thanks to the stunning neoclassical architecture—event venue.

Obviously, I love it here. It’s one of the rare places in the city where a bride in Vera Wang can mingle with a hungover college sophomore waiting for a Megabus to Milwaukee beside a local senior downward dogging on a rec center yoga mat.

Today, the ornate room is cordoned off for the tournament. Skylights in the vaulted ceiling bathe the dozens of round six-top tables covering the marble floors in warm natural light. Each table is bare, with the exception of a few pencils, scrap paper, and a basket for phones and smartwatches. Bars and food carts are set up on either side of the room to maintain the pub quiz aesthetic, along with a small stage, lights, and a speaker system. The gravitas and solemnity of the building are both out of place and completely fitting for the boozy trivia showdown about to commence.

The moment we walk in, Mara grabs Chelsea and me by the elbow to relay reconnaissance. “Based on my intel, the teams to beat are Ruth Bader Winsburg, Night Cheese, and Risky Quizness.”

“Quizly Bears is here again,” I warn her. Despite the cutesy name, the team knocked us out of last year’s semifinals in a vicious tiebreaker.

Mara shakes her head, her shark eyes fixed on her nemesis two tables away. “Not a threat. Man Bun carries that team, and he’s on family leave with Pixie Haircut.”

Chelsea coos. “Aww. Good for them. I didn’t know they were together.”

“They weren’t at the time. She was cheating on her long-term partner Faux-Hawk with Man Bun,” Mara explains like a spy providing crucial wartime intelligence. “When Faux-Hawk found out, he defected to Ruth Bader Winsburg. Now Ruth is stronger than ever, and Quizly Bears is a pathetic shell of what it once was.”

Chelsea titters. “Can we trade tables near them? I want to hear about that.”

Mara twists her necklace. “We’re not here to make friends, Chels. We’re here to crush dreams.”

“Whatever. I’m putting in our order for beer and fries before it gets crowded.” Chelsea hops off in the direction of the bar.

“No alcohol, Olsen. I’m serious!” Mara hollers after her through cupped hands.

I pick a seat at the table displaying marquizka hargitay. “Chill, Mar. This is for charity.”

Mara’s eyes circle around her like she’s a defensive animal before she finally sits. “Don’t let that affect your killer instinct. The animal shelter gets our money no matter who wins.”

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