Page 4 of Lucky Strike

“Let’s just get a bottle. Want to?”

I toss my head back and laugh. “You haven’t changed one bit!”

“We’re celebrating the fact you’re back, baby!” She cuts a sly smile. “Besides, wine makes everything better.”

I can’t argue with that. We order the wine and an assortment of tapas, chatting about the book I just finished that she’s always wanted to read and how shitty a finale her favorite show just had. “How’s your mom?” she asks suddenly, eyebrows quirked as if she just remembered I had one.

“She’s all right.” I shrug. “We talked last night.”

“And what about Dad? Any updates?”

“Nah. Same old, same old, with Ma holding out hope.”

Maeve smiles softly, squeezing my knee. “Nothing wrong with hope.”

“Nothing wrong with moving on, either.”I have.

We’re quiet for a beat, munching as we allow the conversation to settle. Maeve knows how I feel about Ma’s unending devotion to a manthat chose gang life over his family. Do I hate that he’s still in jail, that our justice system is screwed up and designed to keep men like him incarcerated? Of course. But I won’t put my life on hold. We all make choices, and we all have to deal with the consequences.

“What about Grammy?” Maeve asks after a moment, nibbling on an empanada. “Last I heard, she was driving your mom nuts with her herb garden in the kitchen.”

“I wish that was the extent of it,” I admit, weighing the need to bring my friend up to speed with the desire to just enjoy myself tonight. But Maeve’s more family than friend, and if she’s asking, it’s because she wants to know. “I told you Ma has someone that comes by a couple days a week to help Grammy, right?”

She nods.

“Well, Grammy’s getting worse so we’re trying to get her into a care facility,” I explain. “They’re super expensive, though.”

Maeve’s face falls. “It’s gotten that bad?”

I nod. “Her caregiver doesn’t come every day, and Ma’s afraid something might happen while she’s at work.”

Grammy is Ma’s mom. She came to live with us after Dad got locked up, instilling in Taya and me a great love of baking and long bike rides. A couple of years ago, she began forgetting things. My mother, who’s an RN, recognized the gradual cognitive decline, so she hired a lady to help out. My sister, Taya, checks in on Grammy too, but we’ve reached the point where she needs round-the-clock care.

Maeve squeezes my hand. “God, I’m sorry, Bri.”

“Yeah, me too. But it is what it is.” I choose a piece of calamari from the plate between us. “Anyway, tell me about you and this new ballet company. You’ll be touring through the summer, right?”

“Yeah, we’re making our way up the East Coast,” she says. “We leave for Miami in ten days.”

“Please tell me there are shows in Boston,” I say. “I’d love to see you perform.”

“Oh, of course! Boston’s our last stop. Two nights.” She plays with a curl that’s escaped her bun. “I’ll get you a ticket.”

“Can’t wait.” Maeve has always been a gifted ballet dancer. We were sixteen when I first saw her perform, and she was stunning even then, passionate and dedicated. “I’m so proud of you.”

She gives me a small smile. Suddenly I notice the faint smudges beneath her eyes, how her fingernails are bit to the quick. Maybe it's the exhaustion of constantly training, or the pressure of auditioning for such a pivotal role in the company's upcoming production.

I reach across the table and take her hand. "Hey, you got this. No matter what happens with the company or the auditions, you'll always have options."

“I know. It’s just.” She mashes her lips together, her eyes flickering away and back like she’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on her mind. “Callum.”

I nod slowly, trying to keep the wariness at bay. Maeve’s long-time boyfriend has never been one of my favorite people. “What about him?”

She knows how I feel, how all of us felt. It was a touchy topic back at boarding school. “He’s living in the Bay Area now, and he wants me to move out there with him.”

“The Bay Area? As in, California?”

She nods.

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