Page 64 of Keeping It Professional

“Just leave it,” I called.

“What?”

“My spare ball.”

He banged on the door again, louder this time. “Dude, I’m not kidding. Open this door.”

I shook out the last egg roll. Set it on my plate. Dusted the ice chips off, and that’s when I heard it, the sound of a key turning in the front door. Next thing I knew, Brian barged in.

“What the hell? Get out!”

He shut the door behind him and took off his coat. Water dripped down and pooled on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” He kicked his boots off and strode down the hall, and stood hands on hips, taking stock of my kitchen.

“You need to get out of here,” I growled.

“Nope. No can do. This is an intervention, so sit your ass down.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’m not on drugs.”

“No, but you’re… look at you. Look at this place.” He sniffed the stale air and wrinkled his nose. I moved in front of the sink to hide the stacked dishes, but that just revealed a flotilla of takeout bags. A few days ago, I’d set out to clean, but been interrupted by a summons to work. Now two sacks of trash sat on the floor, half-filled and stinking.

“It’s not what you think.”

Brian scowled at his hand, where he’d touched my counter. He wiped it on his pants, then with my dishtowel.

“I’ve been busy,” I said.

“Too busy to call?”

“Would you have picked up?”

“Maybe not right away. You were a dick. But we’ve been friends how long now?” Brian pulled out a chair. I’d left a bag on the seat, and he pushed it off. “Come and sit down. We need to talk.”

I could’ve kept fighting. Thrown him out. But pissed as I was, I was glad to see him. I’d been sure he was done with me, and that had hurt, the space in my Sundays where bowling belonged. Long nights at home, instead of the bar. I went to the fridge and grabbed my last two beers, and plunked one in front of him. The other, I took.

“I know it looks bad,” I said.

“No. I’ll go first.” Brian cracked his beer open and took a long swig. “I was going to say to you, this isn’t you.” He waved his beer at the counters, the trash stacked up high. “But I’ve seenthis before. Thisiswhat you do. It’s just like five years ago, you know, after?—”

“Stop.”

“I don’t have to say it, but you know what I mean. You did the same thing five years ago, cut yourself off. You stopped answering phone calls. Stopped coming out. You ditched the gym and got skinny, and stopped eating right.” He picked up a bag that had once contained pork rinds. “These are pure sodium. Pure salt and fat.”

I looked down at myself. “I’m still working out.” But I’d slacked on my workouts. I was losing weight. Soon, I would feel it out in the field, a twinge in my back on a heavy lift. Fatigue setting in as my coffee wore off.

“It’s not like back then,” I said. “I still have my job.”

“But you don’t have Sophie. I heard you broke up.”

My head snapped up. “Where’d you hear that?”

Brian laughed. “Wheredidn’tI hear it? Clive, Jones, your crew, everyone’s worried. They said you dropped off the face of the earth.”

“They knew we were dating?”

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