Page 64 of Fighting Spirit

I don’t know

MOM

At least think about it, it might be nice to have a buffer.

She doesn’t bring up why I might need a buffer, but I don’t call her on that small hypocrisy.

“I’m not going,” Trevor pipes up.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Sure, but I’m saying if you did, I’d say no.”

“I’m not gonna.” I frown at where he’s stood in the kitchen, starting to pull out ingredients.

“Just so we’re clear.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask!” I yell, throwing a cushion that bounces harmlessly off the island.

“Okay!” He’s in full fits of laughter now, the asshole.

“You think I can get out of it?”

“Based on your track record, I’d say it’s not likely.” He’s not wrong. Every year, I bitch and whine about this game, saying I’m not going to go, that finally I’ll tell my dad to just let me live my life. But every year, I’m next to him in the stands, cheering on Northridge. “You should ask Ruth.”

I look up to see his shit-eating grin, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Why?”

“I’m not letting my dad anywhere near her!”

“You said she’s nice! And talks a lot!” he exclaims. “She can talk to your dad, and you can just sit there and pretend you’re somewhere else.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to sic my father on her.”

“What are you worried about?”

“We’re barely friends again. We’re not exactly at the ‘meet the parents’ stage yet.”

“Yet?” Trevor raises an eyebrow.

“Fuck you.” I’m not having this conversation right now.

“She’s not just gonna let Keith walk all over her.” Trevor rounds the island to stand in front of me on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’ve never met her,” I protest.

“All you do is talk about how she’s always giving you shit, how she doesn’t let you get away with anything.”

Do I really talk about Ruth that much?

“From what you’ve said, she’ll have your dad eating out the palm of her hand before the third quarter.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Answer me this: would you have a better time if she was there?”

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