Page 78 of The Game Is Afoot

He sucks his teeth and then cracks a smile. “And yeah, I’m nosy—just like you, girl—so it scratches that itch, too. But I’m trying to maneuver in the most respectful, human way possible, doing these interviews.” His grin grows. “And Bert, well…he’s not the best interviewer, but he figured out how to get us up on the—the Spotify? So that’s why he gets a co-credit.”

“What if…what if other people don’t understand it?” Again, another question that’s more for me than for him, because he’s made it very evident no objections are going to stop his project, even his judgy daughter’s.

“That doesn’t matter, because I do. And your mom, she would understand it, too. She didn’t get her chance for her second act, so I better live mine well, instead of watching TV or taking a nap.” His eyes are still wet, but his face is playful. “I owe it to her—and to myself—to do what I want to do right now, instead of putting it off.”

It makes me think of the goalpost I keep moving for myself, pinning all my hopes on a finish line many years ahead of me. I look at his computer screen, instead of our family picture or him, so I don’t start crying again. And the big logo projected there, of him and Bert holding up magnifying glasses with matching deerstalker hats like Sherlock and Watson, does the trick.

I nod to it. “So, a true crime podcast is your second act.”

“It is.”

“Then I’m glad you’re doing it. But maybe just…not at Pearl’s soccer practice?”

“Ah, hey! No promises,” he jokes, but then his face is suddenly serious. “And what about you, Mavis? What would makeyouhappy?”

“I am happy.” It comes out quickly, a reflex, and Dad fixes mewith one of his X-ray looks, instantly seeing through all my fronts and defenses.

Is he asking about my job? My romantic life? The panic attacks? Knowing him, probably all three—plus two more things I haven’t thought of yet. But he’ll let me get there on my own. The look is just to let me know that he knows…whatever it is he knows.

“Well, you deserve a life that makes you happy now. You deserve todowhat makes you happy. Don’t put it off.” He taps the picture in my hands. “Why don’t you keep that with you while you think about it?”

And I do think about it. As I walk back to my room and shut the door, throwing myself on the bed like a petulant teenager.

What would make me happy? What do I want?

I feel like I ask myself this question all the time and then ignore all the answers until a more convenient time. Andthat’sworking out great for me…

I want to feel calm. I want to feel…whatever the opposite of overwhelmed is—underwhelmed. I want to be underwhelmed! I want to feel cared for—by myself and others. And really, the others are already doing their job just fine. Jasmine and Dyvia. Jack. And…Corey. So, it’s me that needs to step up to the plate, finally. I’m not trying to make it my life’s work, like Bethany, but it should definitely move up the priority list,at leastabove cutting out hearts and faking a hand-sewn costume for Mrs. Tennison. (Side note: I want to email Mrs. Tennison my two weeks’ notice.)

I don’t want to push the goalpost anymore. I want it right now. But how? How do I do that when everything else is still the same? I still need a job. I still don’t know if I’m cut out for being in a relationship. I still need to give Pearl my everything,always. And there’s still this mystery that I can’t just forget—Cole deserves justice; whoever did this deserves consequences.

How do I claim everything that I want and choose my own happiness, unapologetically? Like my dad is doing. Like my mom dreamed of. It feels like an impossible equation, and yet I’ve already given myself the final answer. There’s a finite number of variables and operations that’ll get me there. I can figure them out if I want to.

Later, after I’ve gotten through pickup and homework and McDonald’s drive-through for dinner, Pearl finds me on my bed, looking at the picture again.

“You’re in the blue zone.”

“I am.”

She crawls on top of the covers and curls into me, her head on my shoulder, her legs tucked into my side, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

“Because you miss Nana?”

“I do.”

“It’s okay to be in the blue zone about that. You can stay there for a while, and I’ll stay with you.”

She kisses my cheek, and I feel something sticky left behind—probably the remains of that hot fudge sundae she had for dessert. I kiss the top of her head and rest there, breathing in the scent of my baby girl.

Mom and I didn’t get to be together like this, and that’s a loss that’ll be with me forever. With all those dreams for the future, she didn’t get her second act. But I get to be here for my kid. I get all these moments that are small, but sacred, that require nothing at all from me but to be here—reallylet myself be here. And maybe that’s the first step in this impossible equation I’m trying to figure out: being present in each moment. Instead of finding a distraction, instead of trying to follow every decision Imake down long and winding paths to inevitable disappointment and failure.

I can allow myself to just be. To breathe. To trust that I’m doing the best I can and I’m good right now, in this moment.

I tell myself that now in my head, repeating it over and over with each breath.

I’m good right now, in this moment. I’m good right now, in this moment.

I hear Pearl breathing deeply along with me. And my chest finally releases fully, my heartbeat is slow and steady, and my body is light like I could float up to the ceiling.

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