Heather puts the car in park and then pulls down the mirror to inspect her face. “Do I look pale to you?” She turns to me.
“No, but if you don’t feel well, you should lie down.”
“I feel sick.”
“It’s called nerves,” I explain wryly. It’s somewhat heartening that Heather has some. For a time there, I felt like she was impervious, a hardened shell built up as a defense against her dad’s careless neglect. “Tomorrow’s the Championship round, and you’re feeling what commoners call anxiety.”
“Could be.” She looks doubtful. “I think we should do something to really psych ourselves up for the big match.”
“You just said you felt a cold coming on? Shouldn’t a good night’s rest suffice?” I sounded like a fifty-year-old mother already. I should’ve bought a pair of orthotic insoles at the drugstore along with some menopause medication.
“No, because we’re in Chicago, duh. Or—” She snaps her fingers and smiles brilliantly—evilly almost. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “We could go on a road trip.”
I know immediately what she’s talking about. “No.”
“I heard a certain football team is having a retreat an hour away.”
“No.” Except this time my no isn’t as firm because I miss Matty so much. I want to see him, but I figured I’d get the tourney out of the way and then throw myself at his feet and beg for him to take me back.
I’m not sure of my reception, and I didn’t want to suffer a crushing “no” blow right before competition started. If I’m lacking confidence, that wouldn’t be the way to go about gaining more.
But, as Heather knows because Hammer waited for me outside of our last practice—does everyone know my effing schedule?—Hammer thinks Matt would forgive me in a heartbeat. Since then Hammer’s been texting me.
Hammer: Matty’s a good guy.
Hammer: I was there. He didn’t touch those girls.
And
Hammer: Luuuucy. Not saying he misses you, but if you don’t come soon, he’s gonna turn into a pickle.
Pickle? I assume that’s due to heavy drinking. But regardless of his preserved status, Matt has not texted me once. Or called. Or showed up anywhere he’s showed up before. Even Keith noticed it at the Brew House, asking where the jock crew was. I pretended I was too busy making foam angels to respond.
“Come on, Luce,” she cajoles. “You know you want to. Plus, you getting back together with Matty would make you soar tomorrow.”
“Soaring isn’t a thing. Soaring is what happens to your brain on some quality molly, not from confronting your ex.”
“Hammer’s his best friend. He wouldn’t be texting you if he didn’t think you had a chance.”
“Maybe Hammer’s playing the long game and this is Matt’s revenge. They get me to show up and then I’m confronted by a full-on orgy in the living room. Hammer jumps up, ‘Surprise, bitch! No one here really misses you, but if you want a piece of Matty, you can stand in line behind ho number two.’”
Heather smothers a laugh. “Do you always skip to the worst-case scenarios?”
Probably. That’s what you do when your entire life is one risk assessment after another. “Even if I did want to go, I’m sure it’s a closed, players-only thing. They only do these retreats when there’s real problems and they want to get everyone on the same track.”
“I wonder if you have anyone in your contact list who might be able to help you. Let’s think, hmmm.” She taps the corner of her mouth in mock thoughtfulness.
“I’m not calling Ace.”
“Hmmm.”
“Or Matty.”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
“This is totally irresponsible,” I say as I pull out my phone.
“Mmmm.”
Me: Hammer, it’s Lucy Watson. I’m an hour away. Would Matty see me?
Hammer replies before Heather can hum again. Thank Fucking God. I was Googling ‘how to hold an intervention,’ and that shit don’t sound fun at all. Zero fun, Lucy.
Me: What about your coaches?
Hammer: Get your ass here. I’ll worry about the coaches.
I stare at the phone for a minute while Heather drums out the beat to The Replacements’ “Can’t Hardly Wait.”
“So we going or we spending tonight wishing we were somewhere else?” she asks impatiently.
I put the phone face down. “We’re going.”
She starts the engine and backs out of the parking lot.
“Don’t you wish it was summer and we had a convertible?” Heather says as she speeds toward Matty.
“And we’d wear scarves and Brad Pitt would be shirtless in the back and then we’d drive over the cliff and die?” I add sarcastically.
“I was with you until the cliff thing.”
* * *
“LUCY?” Matty’s expression is one of surprise and not the joyful you’ve made my ever-loving week surprise, but more of the what the fuck are you doing here version.
“I’m...” Here to apologize, to admit that I totally overreacted and that I’m trying to start taking all those risks that I keep saying I’m going to take but never do, but I already feel so vulnerable and stupid hiding in his closet, I can’t bring myself to blurt any of that emotional stuff out. I settle for, “I’m here to see you.”