“I feel like you make that a bigger deal than it actually is.”
“No, it’s real. Plus, I don’t want to sit between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber. Their hulking shoulders make me feel like I’m being suffocated.”
My parents invited a group over for dinner on my last night in town for a small going-away party, and between my parents, my two sisters, Jameson, Lila, and JT, the table is full.
“You’re clearly Tweedle Dumber,” JT says to Jameson.
“That’s the nicest thing Kelsey has ever said to me,” Jameo says in response. “I mean, I’m pretty sure she complimented my shoulders. I’ve been working so hard on them lately.”
JT flexes next to him. “We have been bulking upnicely.”
Everyone at the table, including me, laughs as Lila reaches over and squeezes JT’s shoulder, causing him to giggle.
“Why are you not somewhere golfing?” I ask the hulking brutes. I swear, for professional golfers who supposedly play in twenty to thirty tournaments per year, these men are always around.
“We start up again next week. We’re in California, which isn’t a bad place to be in early January.”
“Are you going to see your folks while you’re out there?” I ask JT. His relationship with his parents is rocky at best—likely because they are the worst humans on the planet—but he still wants to have them in his life no matter how many times I suggested he just cut them out completely.
“One dinner.”
“I’m going to go with him,” Jameo pipes in, shooting me a knowing look.
And, fine, he’s right. I was going to tell JT not to go. JT has worked really hard to get himself to a better place in the last six months, and I’m worried seeing his parents will cause him to regress. I don’t want him to put himself, or Lila, through that again. I’m sure he talked to his therapist about it before agreeing, so I should probably let the expert do his job, as much as I hate it.
Though, how much does his therapist actually know, anyway? Maybe I should run a background check on him and reach out to a couple of sources in the area. Just make sure he’s as good as JT thinks he is.
“Not to worry, Kelsey. You won’t have to miss us too much. We’re still planning to see you in Sydney in a few weeks,” JT says from across the table, pulling me back from my wandering thoughts.
“I still can’t believe one of your tournaments lined up with a concert,” I say.
“Have you asked about getting us tickets?” JT asks.
“No. And I’m not going to. I’m not going to use my position for favors before I’ve even started.” I hold up my hand at the question on his face. “I’m not asking once I’ve started either. I don’t like asking for favors. Plus, you two buffoons can afford a couple of tickets.”
“But four tickets together are so hard to find!” JT exclaims. “Jaxon’s concerts sold out months ago.”
I glance at my other sister, Izzy, at the use of Jaxon’s name. We, like most of the people in town, don’t use it often, and especially not around Izzy. She seems to be okay, though, if not a bit quiet.
“So you two decided to tag along?” I ask Lila and Bryn.
“Yes,” Lila responds. “And Bryn and I talked about meeting you in Melbourne and then reconnecting with the guys in Sydney. It’ll give you and me time to connect about other clients, and you can show me the ins and outs of being the on-site head in case we get the full contract or another contract like this in the future. I want to be able to help you. I don’t like that you have to do it all on your own.”
I know it’s smart to train someone else on my team to handle managing something as complicated as the security for an entire stadium concert, even if the venue supplies the majority of the actual manpower, but I also know myself, and there is no way I’m going to give up the reins for something as important as this.
“Sounds good,” I reply anyway.
We talk about my upcoming trip for a few more minutes until my dad directs the conversation away from my impending departure, andI let my mind wander, mentally double-checking the list of preparations I need to have done before tomorrow morning.
I shovel another forkful of spaghetti into my mouth as I try to decide whether I need two pairs of black tennis shoes or if the one I currently have packed will be enough. While I’ll spend most of my days in blazers and dress pants with a pair of chunky-heeled boots on, I refuse to be in something I can’t run in during the concerts. If something were to go wrong, I need to be able to jump in at a moment’s notice, so black pants, a black polo, and black tennis shoes it will be. I don’t miss much about the military; it was just a good way to pay for college and bulk up my résumé—a female officer in the Marines is impressive no matter what industry you’re going into—but I did appreciate the simplicity of knowing what to wear to work every day.
I grab one last slice of homemade bread as my mom walks by, starting to clear the table. I slather butter on the slice as Izzy hops up to join her, grabbing the plates from in front of JT, Bryn, and Jameo. I follow her, still chewing the chunk of bread, with the rest of the plates. I deposit them in the sink for Izzy to wash. I tend to help Mom cook, and Izzy usually helps with the dishes. Bryn, like the youngest child she is, rarely helps with the cooking or the cleaning unless asked directly. At least when she’s at my parents’ house. When she was nomadic and living with me regularly, she did her own dishes, so she’s likely not a lost cause.
“You’re sure you don’t want to join the whole crew in Australia?” I ask Izzy. I know she probably doesn’t, but I want to make sure she knows she can come if she chooses to. It would be a lot for her to face her old best friend for the first time in a stadium with 83,000 otherpeople. Or maybe that would make it better. She wouldn’t even have to talk to him.
“I don’t think so.”
I wait, pretending to be very interested in one of the dark veins that runs through the white granite countertop. Izzy doesn’t do well with long, awkward silences, so I like to use them to my advantage when I’m trying to get her to tell me something.
