Page 90 of Sweet Thing

I’d thought as much.

“But! Jude got me an interview at the tattoo parlor where he gets his ink done.” Jude Torres was a Chicago firefighter married to Hudson Grey, one of the retired Rebels players.

Summer smiled. “That sounds like it would suit you!”

“Just reception work, for now.” She waved at someone who had just come in. “Hey, sis!”

Franky St. James was Rosie’s stepsister and a lecturer at Lakeshore University. Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she grinned at my friend. “You never call, you never write.”

Rosie hugged her, while doing her best not to crush the cardboard box around her waist. “That’s what social media is for! We kept up with everyone there.”

“Sure, and Vi would like a word.”

Rosie stood back and looked her sister over. “What did you come as?”

From what I could tell, she was a cat, but the makeup on one side of her face was gray green. A cardboard box around her waist was covered in Sharpied question marks.

“Schrödinger’s Cat.”

At my baffled look, she explained, “I’m half alive and half dead to represent the cat’s existence in a superposition of both states simultaneously.” Adjusting her cardboard box, she took a seat beside me. “I heard Lars Nyquist is now a father. How did that happen?”

“The usual way,” I said. “But he’s figuring it out.”

“With your help,” Summer said to me. “Don’t forget he couldn’t do it without you.”

“So did the condom break?” We all stared at Franky, who blinked owl-like behind her glasses. “I’m trying to ascertain if it was a faulty prophylactic, if he’s particularly virile, or if he’s merely careless.”

Franky was known for some outlandishly direct thinking that tended to eschew social norms. I loved her to bits, but she did make an interesting first impression.

“No idea.” Discussing Lars’s prophylactic habits was not on my agenda.

Franky took out her phone and made a note.

“What’s going on there?” It looked like a list of names, a few of which I recognized as Rebels team members. My uncle Jason’s name was on there, too—he played for the Boston Cougars—but his had been struck through. Curious.

“Just some research I’m doing.”

Rosie nudged Summer. “You’re looking at the brains of the family. Franky studies slugs and teaches all about them at Lakeshore U.”

“Gastropods, actually. With a side of mollusks.” Franky pushed back her glasses again.

“Wow!” Summer looked suitably impressed, if a little skeeved out at the subject matter. “You’re probably the smartest person here.”

“She is.” Rosie grinned proudly. “Her IQ is 151.”

“152,” Franky said. She was older than us, in her mid-thirties, and she never seemed completely comfortable at the Rebels parties. No doubt she found the jocks to be awfully tiresome.

“How’s Kat doing?” I asked.

Kat was Franky’s older sister and had recently had twins with her husband, an investment banker in New York. That prompted a review of photos, showcasing the little ones. A couple of minutes later I excused myself to go check on Mabel, and on my way, I ran into my uncle Jason dressed as a … Rebel?

“Addy!” He hugged me hard.

“What are you doing here?” A defenseman with Boston, he should have been at home, getting ready for the Cougars-Chucks game. It was also a little freaky to see him because I had just spotted him on Franky’s mysterious list.

“I’m on IR so I came home to visit my parents and you guys.”

Jason Isner was my dad’s brother and twelve years his junior. My dad hadn’t known their father, Grandpa Nick, for most of his life, and their reconciliation had been bumpy, to say the least. We were all close now, and Jason and my dad were incredibly tight.

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