Cricket slaps her hands against her thighs. “Welp, looks like we’re finished. Thank you for another successful swag swap, everybody. You never disappoint.”
“Because we all have great taste,” Angela says.
I reclaim Chucky and make a beeline for my cabin. I expected people to unload shit they didn’t want. What I didn’t expect was for swag swap to become so personal. In my world, negotiations and deals are numbers-driven. Emotion and sentiment don’t factor into the decision-making. I can see why LandStar has hit a snag in its attempt to acquire Cricket’s property. Riggieri is wholly focused on numbers whereas Cricket is wholly focused on emotions. I’m more of a numbers guy myself, although I hate to think I’m anything like Riggieri.
I hear the quickening of footsteps behind me and crane my neck to see Cricket hurrying to catch up. “Hey,” she says.
“Did I forget something?”
She gestures to Chucky. “Not the most important thing.” When I don’t laugh, she continues, “I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you, of the way you participated tonight.”
“Everybody participated. It would’ve been strange to sit this one out.”
“I know, but you shared. You really shared. I’m glad.”
I feel a tightening in my chest. “Cool. Well, I’m nothing if not a joiner.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to take anything. The numbers aren’t always even.”
“I don’t mind.” I notice the Buffy comic book in her hand and gesture to it. “What’s the story behind this one? Gloria didn’t elaborate, but everyone seemed to understand.”
Cricket seems to have forgotten about the comic she’s clutching. “Oh, this? Gloria’s dad bought it for her. She held on to it for years as proof that her dad knew her better than her mom. Her mother wouldn’t have bought one for her. Comics are for children,” she says, presumably mimicking Gloria’s mother.
“Then why let it go?”
“Because her dad sucked worse than her mom. He left them when she was eight and only came around once a year or so. He’d bring a favorite toy or a beloved present and then ride off into the sunset again, leaving her mom to do all the real work of raising a child without support, which is the main reason Gloria is determined to support her mother now.”
I got the gist. “She’s releasing the fantasy version of her father.”
Cricket nods. “Her dad died a few years ago, and she’s held on to this idea that he would’ve been the better parent to her, but the truth is he had every opportunity to improve, he just didn’t take it.” She flicks the cover of the comic. “And even a stopped clock is right twice a day. This proved nothing.”
I try to think of the gifts I received from my parents over the years. If I were to draft a list, I’d bet good money that most of the presents reflected my parents’ needs and wants, or were designed to make them look good when the anecdotes were shared at cocktail parties or on social media.
“You all seem really close for people who only see each other once a year,” I tell Cricket.
“We have a group chat. That helps.” She falters. “We can invite you if you want, but I figure I’ve got you pegged.”
My eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”
Even in the shadows, I can see spots of crimson dapple her cheeks. “God, no. Not urban dictionary pegged. I mean that you don’t seem like the type of guy who enjoys…”
“Pegging?” I offer.
She swallows hard. “Group chats.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Good grief, I’m glad Olivia isn’t here right now.”
“Not to worry, I’m sure Angela will explain it to her at some point in descriptive detail.”
The spots of crimson fade. “If you ever want to talk about your dad in more descriptive detail…” She gestures behind her. “You won’t be alone. As you can see, most of us have a story of parental hardship.”
My stomach clenches in response. “I’m good, thanks. Chucky and I are hitting the hay now. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The crushed expression on her face as I turn away is like a punch in the gut. I don’t know why I’m so short with her. It was a nice evening. She didn’t do anything wrong, yet I don’t want to rehash the event. I want to be alone. Well, with Chucky.
I retreat into the cabin and close the door behind me. It feels strange to know such intimate details about the lives of strangers, and now they know something about me too. Something deeply personal that they can use against me at a later point. It’s like I gave away a piece of my soul and I can’t control what happens to it now.
It’s unsettling.
I push the thoughts aside and undress. My mind conjures up an image of Cricket in her sundress. One strap kept sliding down to rest on her arm, exposing her bare shoulder. Each time she tugged it back into place, it would slide down again. I imagine what it would feel like to press my lips along that curve of skin.
