Page 96 of Lovely War
“It’s all going to work out. I know it will.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “A lot has happened. A lot is happening. The Maynard stuff, and work—I have no clue how it’s going to turn out for either of us. We’ve never even had an honest conversation about what we want from each other. Our relationship is so new I don’t know if it can take all this. You think…he believes me, right?”
Cassie sits up straight. She looks horrified that I’m even asking. “I’msurehe does.”
She’s right. He believes me, of course. It’s just…I haven’t heard from him all evening. And I keep going over some of the things he said, his facial expressions, the fact that he didn’t try to leave with me. What if, when he askedHow could I not have known?, he meantI don’t believe this could’ve happened without my knowing? What if, when he saidI can’t believe this,he meant it literally?
I force a smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Well, I’m rooting for you guys,” Cassie says. She takesthe bag of ice from me. “I think my eyeballs are sweating. Is that normal?”
In the living room I find Mom watchingJeopardy!while Kat lies on the couch frowning at her phone. “I’m updating Fuckwaffle’s Wikipedia page,” she says without looking up.
“Is that wise?” I ask.
“Well, I could go back to fighting with trolls. This seems better, doesn’t it?”
“She sent pictures of one guy’s rude comments to his employer,” Mom says.
I cringe. “Oh, god. Please don’t tell me what they’re saying on the Internet about this. I don’t want to know.”
Cassie’s thumbs fly across the screen. “Most of the response is good. But the rest need to pay.”
“They’ll drag you down to their level, you know that, right?”
Kat offers a cheery smile. “We’re past that point. I’ll be down here in hell for another couple hours. See you on the other side.”
Mom pats the seat next to her. “Come over here.” I sit. “I don’t want you doing anything basketball-related from now until you leave for the game tomorrow. You need to decompress.”
I look at the TV. “If I even go to the game,” I say, a bitter taste flooding my mouth.
“Annie, it’s the national championship.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be allowed. I may be blacklisted by now.”
“I don’t think they’re going to be that harsh. And lucky for you, your lawyer is in the other room.”
A loud banging sound echoes from the kitchen. “I’m fine!” Cassie shouts.
“She’ll be sober by tomorrow,” Mom adds, wrapping a reassuring arm around my shoulder.
“I don’t want to be a distraction. I don’t want to see Maynard. And I especially don’t want him to see me. It’s better if I stay away.” I try to say it with confidence, but my bottom lip trembles.
Mom mutes the TV and studies the remote. She turns it over, opens the battery compartment with her thumbnail, clicks it back into place. She sets it on the coffee table. “You were my bold child,” she says. “You threw yourself into everything from a young age. It terrified me. I was always afraid of you getting hurt. And then you did get hurt, and you stopped being bold, and that was worse.
“But your fearlessness still came through when it was for other people. It wasn’t gone, you just reserved it for the rest of us, not for yourself. You’ve always shown up for the people who matter. I think it’s so important to do that. I don’t really like basketball, do you know that? But I’ve been to more games than most people who love it passionately.”
I open my mouth, but Mom holds up her hand. “Don’t look so surprised. I don’t like shopping all that much either.”
“Mom!”
“But I love my family, so I went to basketball games, and I take my daughters to the mall so I can spend time with them,” she says. “I still remember the way you yelled at that guy who was criticizing your father’s coaching from the bleachers a few years ago. And when you marched into that frat party to confront that kid who was spreading rumors that he had nude pictures of Kat on his phone.
“Lately, you’ve been my bold girl again, more and more, just older and wiser. Don’t stop now. You have to show up for the people who matter, and this time the person who matters is you. This is the national championship, and you should be there.”
Fine. After this trip I’ll sit down and help her figure out that ancestry website once and for all. I rest my head on Mom’s shoulder, wiping my eyes with the poor beat-up sleeve of my sweater. “Ah, god, Mom. You’re such a Pisces.”
She laughs and wraps an arm around me. On the other couch, Kat is still poking feverishly at her phone, her eyes alight with mischief. It’s almost a perfect moment.
