“Shock? Nathan, Joe’s been sick since you were a kid. You had to know this was coming at some point?”
“I know, it’s just … I don’t know.” I run a hand over my face, painfully aware of Priestley’s eyes on me. “It kind of started to feel like it’d never happen.”
A little sigh escapes before she speaks. “I know. But it was no kind of life-”
“When’s the funeral?” I cut her off. I want her to stop talking now. Don’t want to think about Joe Flannigan in that hospital bed.
“Next Friday. You don’t have to come if you have class.”
“I’ll make it. I should be there.”
“Okay. We’ll go together. I haven’t seen Theresa in a long time, but.…” she trails off. I get the feeling she’s mostly talking to herself now. Making plans in her head.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Was Evan there? When it happened?”
My face floods the second I say his name. My skintingling.
There’s a hardness to her voice when she speaks again. “Nathan, I don’t want you getting involved with that boy again. You know what happened last time.”
My stomach clenches. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from reminding her who’s fault that really was.
“I know, I just … I just wanted to know. I’m not going to get involved with him.”
“Promise me.”
I take a deep breath and promise her.
She sighs. Her nails tapping on the keys of her laptop. “It says he died at home peacefully, surrounded by his family.” She starts reading straight from the obituary and I imagine her at that waterfall island counter she saw from Hillary Duff’s house onAD Open Doorandhadto have.Tapping her acrylic nails on the granite worktop while she reads about a man’s death on her rose gold MacBook Pro. I stop listening until she says Evan’s name. “ … son Evan and daughter Stacie.”
“Say that part again.”
She lets out an impatient huff and I imagine her slamming the laptop shut, the look on her face telling me she’s done with this nonsense now.
“Nathan, are you okay? I didn’t think this would hit you so hard. You haven’t seen Joe Flannigan for years.”
A twinge of guilt surfaces, because that’s not exactly true. More lies. “I know. I’m fine. I just … I guess.…”It brought back memories.“Nothing. It’s been a long morning.”
“You know … ” There’s a long pause and I imagine her biting her lip, grasping for the right words to say. “ … at least he’s at peace now.”
“I’d better get to class Mom. I’ll see you next week.”
Priestley’s on me as soon as I hang up the phone.
“Has something happened?”
I focus on putting my racket back in my bag so I don’t have to look directly at him. “The father of an old friend passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” He pats me on the shoulder with that practiced sincerity people of his breeding are taught from a young age.
“Thanks.”
Barely a beat passes before he adds, “You’re not going to miss any tennis are you?”
“No matches,” I assure him. “But I need to go to the funeral next Friday.”
