Page 25 of Not Just a Trick Play

Yvonne picks up the wine bottle and nods at my empty glass.

“Oh no. My alcohol tolerance is on par with a lobster’s,” I declare, envisioning the headline in my mental newspaper: “Drunk Woman Loses Shoes, Humiliates Herself with New Friends, Makes Dubious Life Choices.” Oh wait, I’ve already done all that. Still, I shake my head. With my track record, I’m liable to make things worse. “Sloshed me is not pretty.”

Jake laughs. “It can’t be as bad as what these girls got up to.” He smirks at his sisters. “Remember that one night I held Carla’s hair after she snuck home late, puking her guts out in the bathroom?”

Helena snorts. “What I remember is how at breakfast the next morning, Jake pointed at her belly and announced another baby was coming—Beatrice vomited through her entire pregnancy with our eldest niece.”

Yvonne snickers. “Jake hadn’t learned about the birds and the bees back then…”

He certainly knows about them now.

Jake laughs. “Poor Carla immediately denied it and admitted to being wasted and not knocked up.”

“I don’t remember you being much better when you’d get drunk,” she retorts, scowling at her brother.

“At least when I was old enough to drink, I kept my vomiting restricted to the potted fern outside the side door and buried the evidence with a plastic spade.”

“No wonder it always smelled.” Jeanine’s nose wrinkles in disapproval.

I’m glad I’ve never been accused of puking in potted plants, though there was that one time when I tried to argue Velvet Underground’s influence on alternative rock with a disastrouslyoff-key rendition of “Sunday Morning.” Ben’s face had been a masterpiece of horror and secondhand shame.

Conversation shifts to Helena’s son’s homework. I try my best to show interest, but I’m knackered and can’t stifle a yawn. I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh, excuse me!”

Jeanine gives me a sympathetic smile. “Still jet-lagged?”

“I suppose so. I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard. I’d better head back to my hotel.”

“Are you sure?” Yvonne’s brows knit.

Though I’m reluctant to leave, I don’t want to overstay my welcome when everyone’s been so hospitable. “I think it’s best I go. I have another full day of job-hunting tomorrow.”

Jeanine is determined to send me off with leftovers, so I follow her into the kitchen, where she starts preparing them. Carla bustles in after us with a mountain of plates and loads the dishwasher. I express my gratitude for the delicious meal and say goodbye. Turning to Jeanine, she hands me not one, but two containers filled with food. Carefully, I stack them on top of each other.

“Thank you—” but before I can finish, Jeanine catches me off guard, wrapping me in a hug, containers and all. Temporarily forgetting Americans’ enthusiasm for hugging, I stand there frozen, unsure of how to react. Overwhelmed by her kindness, a lump forms in my throat. Gradually, I allow myself to relax into her embrace. When I thank her once again, my voice is thick with emotion. She simply squeezes me tighter before releasing me with a warm smile.

I return to the dining room to find Yvonne scribbling out intricate math formulas on the back of a cardboard bat while Helena looks on, chewing on her lip.

“Does this make sense?” Yvonne asks, circling one section over and over.

“No,” Helena admits, the lines between her brows deepening.

“Ugh.” Yvonne sighs, putting the pen down. “I don’t understand why you don’t get it.”

Not wanting to interrupt their mathematical showdown, I call out, “It was so lovely to meet you both!”

Yvonne, eager for an escape, begins to rise from her seat. “Right, I’ll go with you.”

But before she can make a break for it, Helena’s hand shoots out, catching her arm in a vise-like grip. “Leave, and the next time you decide to ‘borrow’ a street sign after a night out, we’ll see how well you fare with the public defender, Willie Wilkins.”

Yvonne must have a high likelihood of criminal activity in her future because she drops back into her seat, defeated.

“I’ll see Amelia out,” Jake offers, getting to his feet.

“My shoes?”

“I’ll grab them.”

Before I can follow, Yvonne’s voice halts me. “Give me your number!” She holds out the pen.

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