Page 95 of Lovely War
Cassie’s got a strange, tense look on her face, and she keeps nodding aggressively. “We can go to my parents’ house,” she says. She’s standing very still. Like she doesn’t trust herself to move.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Sure as shit.” She claps a hand over her mouth.
“I’ve never heard you curse,” Kat remarks.
That’s when it dawns on me. “You’re drunk!”
Cassie steps to the side, swaying a little. “Alittlebit.” There it is, a hint of a slur. “All the relatives were there. Uncle Henry made his special red punch. I get drunk maybe twice a year, how was I supposed to know my friendship services would be needed today?”
I laugh, and Cassie raises a finger. “Joke’s on you because I am extremely useful, even when intoxicated,” she says. “My cousin went to her office after she dropped me here to do some work. Workaholic lawyer, sound familiar? Her office is on Poydras. We can take her car to the hotel and then to the house.”
She holds her hand up for a high five. Kat obliges.
“Only problem is, my BAC is way too high. Obviously. Whoever drives has to be careful. Traffic normally isn’t toobad here, but with the tournament it’s pretty chaotic today, especially near the hotel. And watch out for streetcars.”
Kat and I exchange a look. All those rides to and from school, the mall, the movies. The hours of sitting in strangers’ driveways, at houses withfor salesigns on the front lawns. Unnecessary lifts to train stations and airports when public transportation or rideshares would suffice. Mom can’t help it; it’s her love language.
She’s already pushing up her sleeves. Her jaw is set. This is the moment she’s been training for her entire life. “I’ll drive.”
THIRTY
It’s dark when I finishthe video. It ends on a shot from practice, the camera zooming out as the players stretch on the court like they do every single day. “This is your moment,” Michael B. Jordan says. “Go take your shot.”
I send it to Taylor. While I wait for a response, I lean on the windowsill in the second-floor office and peer outside. The patio behind Cassie’s parents’ house is weathered stone, illuminated by bronze lanterns. A thick swath of ivy climbs the back fence, and creamy white flowers bloom on the magnolia tree below the window. It’s only a few miles from the hotel, but it’s a different world.
It’s seven thirty. The last team dinner of the season probably just wrapped up. A twinge of anxious longing hits me, the feeling that my life is happening elsewhere. I should be eating bland chicken and listening to motivational speeches with everyone else.
Taylor: It’s AMAZING.
Taylor: I’m crying!
Taylor: Posting at 9am.
Peace settles in. That’s it, then. The best thing I’ve ever made is done. Ben was right, I couldn’t have created something like this five years ago.
Taylor: We missed you tonight.
Jess:
A heart emoji? From Jess? Things are truly dire. Maybe it’s best I’m not with the team. The last thing I need is people fumbling for how to treat me.
I take my time descending the creaky wood stairs, making the transition from my editing cocoon back to the real world. Not that this version of the real world is a hardship to endure. Cassie’s parents’ house is a gorgeous Greek revival, with original moldings, towering ceilings, and an eclectic art collection. I find her sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, hugging a bottle of coconut water like it’s a life raft. A bag of ice sits nearby, melting.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
Cassie groans. “Day drinking is fun, they said. You’re starting your own practice, let’s do shots, they said.” She rubs her forehead. “Nobody mentioned the sevenp.m.hangover.”
“Oh, you sweet, innocent girl.” I pick up the ice and hold it against Cassie’s temple. “On the bright side, you’ll be fully recovered by the morning.”
“On the bright side, even if I’m not, I don’t have any work to do tomorrow before the game.”
“What’s the next step, after you give your notice?”
“A trip somewhere nice, since we didn’t take a honeymoon. I’m not thinking about anything else until after that.” She takes a sip of coconut water and makes a face. “So. How was Ben?”
I trace a crack in the old table with my finger. “Pretty sure ‘shattered’ about covers it. I think he’s mad at me for not telling him.”
