From all the way across the front yard, I saw Ben's full-body eyeroll. "And here I thought you believed in the dynasty."
Rob shrugged. "I mean, yeah. I do. But I can deal with a rebuilding season or two. I'm not about to cry over it. We've had a good long run, you know?"
"That's convenient," Ben muttered. "Didn't peg you for a fair-weather fan."
"Oh, come the fuck on," Rob replied. "I'm here for winning seasons and I'm here for losing seasons. You're the one with all the end of days talk."
"You're a fuckin' drama queen," Ben shot back.
"I'm the drama queen? You were the one pissing and moaning about all the off-season trades. I mean, that shit happens. Good players get traded but the game goes on."
Ben glared at him. "Is that supposed to be some kind of spiritual lesson? If it is, I'm not here for it. I'm in no mood for any millennial meditation horseshit."
Rob's shoulders bounced as he chuckled in response. "Listen, man. My firm has some preseason game tickets. You wanna go?"
Ben bent down, picked up a twig fallen from the maple tree overhead. He swiped it through the air like a tiny sword. "Fuck yeah, I wanna go. When?"
I blinked hard and fast as they pulled out their phones and murmured over schedules.
This wasn't cups running over. This was unfuckingbelievable. They—they were turning into friends. If I hadn't witnessed this, I would've doubted the shit out of it.
"What the hell are you doing?"
I lost my balance when I heard those words over my shoulder. I ended up on my back in the dirt, glaring up at Sam Walsh.
He held out his hand to me, and since I was awkwardly wedged between the house, the bush, and the dirt, I needed his help.
I didn't want to accept it. Not because of him but because of me. Even now, years after I imagined a flirtatious relationship between us, I didn't want to need anything from him. I wanted to be competent without him, even when I was sprawled on the ground.
"Come on, Gigi," he said, thrusting his hand toward me again.
I dug my elbows into the dirt, pushing up on my own. "I'm fine," I replied, still crouched behind the boxwood. "Thanks though."
"At least tell me what you're doing," he said, dipping his hands into his pockets.
Before looking at Sam, I shot a glance over the bush at Rob and Ben. They were huddled together, pointing at their phone screens. "The root ball wasn't level," I replied. "That led to the groundcover settling in uneven patterns."
We'd talked out our issues years ago. Apologies accepted, hatchets buried. But even when you glued the shards back together and made the plate whole again, the cracks remained.
"Did we run a rainwater irrigation system?" he asked, turning his attention to the roofline. "This seems like the perfect property for that kind of setup."
"Yes," I replied softly, glancing back to Rob and Ben. Rob was gesturing down the street now and Ben was leaning in the same direction. I couldn't hear their conversation anymore.
"Why do I get the impression I have no idea what's going on here?" Sam asked.
I wasn't certain I was meant to answer him. He always loved a good rhetorical question but I wasn't the person who could do that with him anymore. We were relative strangers, even with our apologies accepted and hatchets buried. With all that acceptance and burial came distance, a yawning gap between who we used to be and who we were now.
"You don't," I murmured, mostly to myself.
Sam swung a glance between me and the men on the sidewalk. "Those guys aren't with the transport company."
"They're not," I whispered, still watching them.
"Friends of yours?" Sam asked. I murmured in agreement and he continued, "And why are we watching them?"
"Because I'm not ready to—to—I don't know," I stammered. "Because I am. Because this is where I'm sitting and it's fine. I'm fine. You don't have to be part of this. You can go because it's fine. I am fine."
Sam considered this for a moment before saying, "All right." He sanded his palms together and dropped down beside me. "It's nice back here."
