And then there’s the bomb that Tiger dropped.
Was Rush actually in a serious relationship with Miranda and lied to me about it? Why would his teammates think he was going to propose if there was no validity to that story? In my experience, where there’s smoke there’s most definitely fire.
Although the previous house manager organized all of Rush’s monthly bill payments to deduct automatically from his main checking account, I cautioned him to monitor it anyway. He agreed and gave me his banking information. Once a month I log in just to keep track of outgoing payments and to make sure that there aren’t any questionable charges.
I log in his account and scroll through the transaction history. Everything looks normal except for one noticeable difference. There’s a charge for $125 to a flower delivery service and last time I checked it wasn’t Mother’s Day and I received nothing. But there could a million reasons for this. Maybe he surprised his mom with flowers. Maybe he sent them to a sick friend. I can’t start playing this game with myself. The reason why our friendship has always worked is that it was built on a bedrock of trust. I will not ruin it now.
The next day Rush and I ride together to work. I’m not angry or anything, but he can tell that there’s a part of me that’s distant.
“You, okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Did you and the surgeon decide on a date for the procedure?”
Rush thinks it’s my knee that’s bothering me. Maybe that’s for the best.
“If you guys win this season, then the surgery won’t be until the offseason. If you guys go home early and don’t make the playoffs, I may push it up earlier.”
“And you’re sure you like this surgeon?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s your third surgery. They can’t open up your knee a fourth time to correct mistakes. I just want to make sure that you have the best that money can buy this time, so it’s the last time.”
“I did my homework. This guy is one of the best. I’m confident that he can patch me up.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t seem pleased with my answer.
“Will you let me at least be there?” He asks.
“Of course, Rush.”
“Okay.”
We’re both quiet for a moment before he brings up another long running topic of conversation between us.
“Did you decide what you want to do with the bedroom?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I thought we decided on an office.”
“You decided on an office.”
“Well, that’s why I’m asking what you want to do with it?” He taps his palm on the steering wheel with frustration.
“Why are you getting upset with me, dude?”
“Don’t call me dude.”
“I’ve been calling you that since we were eighteen-years-old.”
“But we’refuckingnow.”
He puts emphasis on the word fucking and somehow it doesn’t sound as sexy as it usually does but instead sounds distant and cold.
