Page 114 of Not Just a Trick Play

“Isn’t that like a biblical reference? They were ready to put you out in the manger, huh?” Yvonne gives a crooked smile before her lips flatten and her voice goes firm, as if exasperated with me. “Amelia. I remember you practically floating on air when you broke the news to your gran you were staying here. Where’s that girl? Is she really giving up?”

I’m exhausted but lay it all out. “I tried, Yvonne. I really did. I called to see if I could return the tour equipment but was told I’d only get half the money. I asked about an extension on the flat. Not a possibility. Looked at more Airbnbs, but no. Can’t even afford that.”

She scoffs. “Have you never heard of couch surfing? Ooorr you could, you know, move in with my brother.”

“Gran took me in when I had nowhere else to go. She had no choice. How can I ask that of Jake now?”

“You don’t have to. He’s already offered.”

“It’s the same thing.”

Yvonne throws her hands up, clearly over it. “Because you’re still a ten-year-old child? You needed help and a home at that point. Of course she took you in. She’s your grandmother. She loves you. She wanted to take care of you. Just like Jake wants to take care of you. Seriously, heachesto.

“I know my brother. When Dad died, Jake decided to ‘man up’ or whatever. How that ended up in his head, I have no clue, but he’s been in fix-it mode ever since. In school, he would go after bullies twice his size. When we were teenagers out on dates, he’d wait up for us—half the time falling asleep on the steps.

“When Beatrice, Carla, and Helena got married, he scared the crap out of Rick, Dave, and Jerry before welcoming them into the fold. And the second he signed with the Titans? He bought Mom a house, paid off all our loans, and cleared our mortgages. Without asking, of course.”

My heart contracts. That sounds just like the Jake I know.

I sigh. Impulsive and maddeningly stubborn, to the point of wanting to hurl something at him, but generous to a fault, endlessly caring, and always able to get a laugh out of you even when you are determined to stay angry. All while sporting that roguish smile that makes it utterly impossible to do anything but love him.

My stomach gives a sickening lurch. Because I do. Love him.

The insight detonates, sucking all the air out of the room, leaving me suspended in a void of numbness, before catapulting me back into a dizzying vortex of “oh-bloody-hell-what-have-I-done?”

Swirling in a storm of desperation and cluelessness, I look at Yvonne, a lump forming in my throat. “What do I do? I let him walk away.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “So go after him. Work it out. Learn to manage him better. I get it. You’re new to the squirrel-taming business. It just requires a little practice to rein him in.” She goes on, “What happened with the tours—it sucks. But there are tons of jobs out there, and if the problem is cash? This is America, land of opportunity. The streets are paved with cheese, as perAmerican Tail. Do you know it?”

I shake my head, lost.

“A story about immigrant mice. Masterful.” She nods sagely before continuing, “Point is, opportunities are everywhere. You could dog walk. Or sing. Or launch a matchmaking service for lonely socks. For fuck’s sake, I’m thinking of starting a blog about the existential crises of houseplants or moonlighting as a psychic for paranoid goldfish. Some ideas will pan out. Others won’t.”

She gives me a wry smile. “But whatever the case, it’s your decision. You’re in charge of your life. You. You’re the one who jumped on a plane and got yourself over here. You figured out the awesome tour idea. And you’ll sort this thing out somehow. Trust yourself.”

Do I trust myself? Can I find a way?

My brain goes into overdrive—train city rats to stage a distraction. Run a decoy tour to head off the press. Or maybe just hire a body double—someone with thicker skin and, ideally, better hair than me.

“Harass Gotham Guides into giving me another shot? Tell them I’ll give tours in disguise?” I say, only half-joking.

“Perfect. Everyone needs an excuse to get dressed up. You can dress up as Slash. And I’ll be Lady Gaga in a meat suit. And if those guys don’t go for it, there’s plenty of cash in New York. They aren’t the only money-hungry company in town. Or license out the idea to them. It’s amazing. Make sure you take abigcut of the profits, and then when things are calmer, you can resume giving tours yourself. People were pestering you because you were new to the scene. Otherwise, New York is full of celebrities who aren’t bothered by locals. You just happened to pick a profession where you were surrounded by tourists.” She shudders. “So, you call Gran, say thanks, but no thanks, and get back to business. Any job near Pencil Dick isn’t worth it.”

“And the inn? It’s my home.”

Yvonne looks at the shoes from the gala. “Ruby red to remind you that you’ve got the power. Only, you don’t need to click your heels to find home. You’re already here.”

A horde of nerves coalesces in my stomach. “And Jake?” I’m almost afraid to hope.

“He’s my brother. And as idiotic as he is, I’m required to love him. And I’d love for you to get back together. All he wanted was to be with you.” Her gaze softens when she looks at me.

“And if it doesn’t work out…?”

“I don’t know why you think it won’t. You don’t get just one chance. You get as many as you make. Sometimes, that means no backup plan, just trusting the universe to show up with what you need when you need it.”

“You mean like Jake?”

“No. I mean likeme.” She flashes me an impish grin. “Because even if you lose the mister, you’re still stuck with the sister.”

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