Goldie giggles.
I sigh. “Go on. Hit me with it.”
“Are you physically able to make it through the season based on how your body feels right now?”
“Yes.”
“Mm.”
“What doesmmmean?”
“I acknowledge your answer.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Should I not believe you?”
No.
She shouldn’t.
I could get tied up in the technicalities ofcans andshoulds, but it’s not her turn to ask another question.
I grab the dice and hand them to her.
And she rolls a ten.
A fucking ten.
Which puts her on the next railroad. “How the bloody hell are you doing that?”
“Is that your question?”
This is torture.
I hate it.
And I’m having a better time than I’ve had since I went to a wedding with a rash all over my body to play the role of the hotter, sexier, better boyfriend that Goldie got herself after the nincomtwat now known as her ex screwed around on her.
I shake my head. “Not my question. This is my question: how old were you when your parents got divorced?”
She doesn’t hesitate. It’s like she’s worked all of this shit out in therapy. “Fourteen. Silas was ten. It wasn’t super pleasant. Accusations of cheating on both sides. Fights over the validity of the prenup. My father doubled down on making sure Silas and I had the best equipment and were signed up for all of the sports camps and had every opportunity in the world because he only knewhow to show love through demanding we achieve in athletics. He was pretty high up in management for the football team here, so he could afford whatever he wanted. My mother had the trust fund and she’d made a name for herself as an artist, so she could afford whatever she wanted too. By the time my father was done with her, most of what she wanted to afford was gin and tonics with pool boys.”
This isn’t something I’ve ever read in her books.
And she says it like it’s mere fact, but there’s a waver in the way she looks away that says she still hurts for the teenage her who went through watching her family fall apart.
“That’s how old I was when my mom died,” I say quietly.
“I read that in your bio. And I’m sorry. Parents are supposed to be there for us until we can take care of ourselves.” She tucks her knees up to her chest. “My parents are still alive, but I don’t see them much. They’re…not healthy for me. And I don’t know if I’m healthy for them either. So it’s just Silas and me for Thanksgiving presents.”
“They don’t call to tell you they’re proud of you?”
“I ceased to exist as a useful part of my father’s life when I broke my hip and left soccer. Silas sees him regularly, but Brittany doesn’t let him have much to do with Hallie. Which is apparently fine with him since Hallie can’t win at sports yet. And my mother—she’s been on a journey to finding herself since Silas graduated high school. Last I heard, she was somewhere in South America working on a mural or something.”
I know what she’s doing.
I’ll tell you something deep so you’ll trust me to tell me something deep back.
