Page 3 of The Player's Obsession

Penelope

As I munch on my lunch, the sports channel replays familiar scenes. The infamous clip of Oliver Rowe hurling his helmet in frustration after a botched catch is now just background noise. It wasn't until weeks later that the plot thickened—his fiancée popping up in a teammate's social media feed. I bet that locker room is awkward.

I can’t imagine what that’s like, but With the kind of money he has, consolation is just a shopping spree away.

My life was going great when I got here. My bills were manageable. I took this job mainly to distance myself from my family. My parents live their lives in denial about the obvious dysfunction in the family. I’m the only one with common sense, and I began to see how I was being used. Tired of the dramatic roller coaster, I couldn’t wait to move away. I hate being the only adult in the family and being used by people. Leaving New York was like shedding a second skin woven from drama and disillusion. Maine is my fortress of solitude, where the past is a closed chapter. I closed the door on all the drama and bullshit.

I left my past behind, and my present life is without drama.

My phone pings with a text.

Carlo: I need money for food and gas. I won’t be paid for two weeks.

Sounds like my brother, Carlo, got a job. Is he finally getting his life together? He’s young enough to turn his life around if he wants to. He’s disappointed me many times over the years. We have a co-dependent unspoken agreement whereby I believe he can do better, and he continues to prove me wrong.

Addictions run on both sides of the family. It didn’t help that Mom was never one to give consequences. She thinks Carlo will get over it and come back to us. Dad has his demons with hard liquor. I hated it when he drank anything other than beer. He tended to snap and fly out of his recliner at the slightest provocation. He was an angry man. I hated living around his explosive behavior. I’m sure it’s why I was an introvert around others, especially at school. I was a socially awkward child, and my self-esteem was lacking. I didn’t understand what self-esteem was and that my home life had ensured I would be susceptible to trusting the wrong people. In retrospect, I was better off staying to myself than attracting the type of men who would take advantage of me. Steering clear of people seemed a safer bet.

I spent hours reading books as a kid. Books offered me a world where I could be anyone I wanted to be. It didn’t matter I wasn’t happy with my life, as long as the heroine in my book got her happy ending, I was fulfilled. I hoped I would get mine one day. I want a house and, one day, kids. I want a man to compliment me when I’m dressed up or just because I walked into the room.

I don’t know how I dodged the drug and alcohol bullet. My parents have governmental jobs in New York. When I took the job in Maine, my brother naturally followed me. I couldn’t afford a home because I have student loans, and I’m always helping Carlo.

I made myself a promise I was not going to help him again. I can’t be responsible for him dying over another snort of something. Almost every illegal drug has shit mixed into it. I’m still getting over the financial hit when I paid off his dealers two months ago because they threatened to break his legs.

My friend Lucinda told me it was bullshit, but I couldn’t be sure. I don’t know why I repeatedly get sucked into his drama. Do dealers beat people up? Lucinda told me that I needed to cut him off. She’s right. I have loans to pay off, and all I do is work to catch up, which isn’t how I envisioned my life. Somehow, I will get my happily ever after, I tell myself.

I’m used to Carlo lying to me. He knows I’m gullible. I can look at a building that is for sale for fifty million dollars, and if my brother said it cost fifty thousand dollars to build, I’d believe him. I’m a financial person working for a pharmaceutical company, and I still believe everything that comes out of my brother’s mouth. What the hell is the matter with me?

This is why I distanced myself from him as much as possible. I thought I could leave these issues behind if I moved to Maine.

I quickly texted Lucinda, inquiring about any cleaning gigs she might have. Desperate for some grocery money, I was counting the hours until my year-end bonus hit my bank account tomorrow night, ready to sweep my credit card debts clean. Then, I can breathe again. Scrubbing floors and dusting shelves wasn't exactly my dream job, but it was honest work with a fair wage. With Lucinda under the weather this week, I know my help would be a welcome relief.

The frozen steak bones began to simmer gently on my gas stove, sending wafts of rich aroma through the kitchen as I stirred the slowly thickening beef broth. Beside it, I prepared a pot to cook couscous, envisioning the hearty Italian wedding soup Lucinda adores. My evenings often found me mesmerized by cooking shows brimming with Italian delicacies, inspiring me to master the art of cooking from scratch. It’s a healthy diversion to enliven my otherwise static and monotonous routine.

I phone Lucinda.

“I’m making homemade soup for you.”

I hear her cough, and her voice is scratchy. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything at the store?”

“No, I’m fine. If you want to clean a house, I have one that needs to be done today. I know you like the extra money, and it would help me out.”

“Sure. I’ll be over in a few hours.” We ring off, and I return to my small kitchen. I store large pots for pasta in my bedroom closet. Not that my closet is spacious, but the top rack is convenient.

I work from home and only show up to the huge plant when we have staff meetings. I’m not much of a socializer after working hours. When my brother moved here, I was shocked. He was on probation in New York. I had hoped he’d remain in New York. I wished for more time before he was able to follow me. Like a bad penny, showing up at the most inopportune time. I don’t want him to know my friends; I’m afraid he might steal from them. I don’t need his rap sheet sullying my reputation in the neighborhood or where I work. The glassy gaze, the restless fidgeting that betrays the peaks and valleys of his addiction—I recognize these signs all too well. And I have no doubt that someone as astute as Lucinda would spot them in an instant.

The last thing I want is for people to start whispering that I'm in trouble, especially when it comes to money. I’ve never broken any laws, and I’m sure nothing bad will happen, but my brother’s name is getting around the neighborhood. I don’t want it to blow back on my professional life. I don’t want my reputation to be a source of speculation if someone figures out we’re related.

I cook the pasta, empty it into the broth, and add herbs before stirring.

I use a tablespoon to taste the finished product. It has carbohydrates and protein, perfect for flu and colds. It’s just what she needs to feel better.

I work an hour posting worker's hours to projects. I check work emails while the soup cools. When my eyes are tired, I log off. I’ve worked enough for the day. I use a ladle to fill round containers with screw-top lids.

I walk into my bedroom, change into workout clothes, and pull a sweat outfit over it. I anticipate getting hot while I clean this upscale house. Lucinda has affluent clients. The Indian casinos bring in needed revenue and jobs. The local hockey and football teams give tourists things to do when they visit in the fall.

I balance on one foot and tug on a sock, then put the foot on the floor, and do the other. Most people would sit and do it properly, but I’m a rebel. It’s as exciting as my personal life gets. When I’m done, I slip my feet into old running sneakers and pull the back of them over my heels, I didn’t untie them from the last time I wore them. I’ve never seen any benefits of running. It’s supposed to be good for me. I had a membership in New York to a yoga studio but decided it was money I could save if I did it at home.

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