He pulls his phone out of his pocket. His flip phone. That has the antenna taped on with gray electrical tape. Yep, an actual antenna.
“Right, you still use that antique product. Why don’t you upgrade?”
“I don’t trust a phone without real buttons. Hell, I still drive a car that has an ashtray in the armrest.”
I gasp. “No you don’t.”
He smiles. “I don’t, but I had you believing it for a second.”
I let out a small laugh. He’s trying so hard right now. It’s kind of sweet.
He places reading glasses I didn’t know he wore on his face as he begins rolling through his contacts, one at a time. Half the index cards are torn or stained. He eventually pulls out the one he’s obviously looking for but scrunches his face. “Crap, I spilled coffee on this one. I can’t see all the numbers. Let me call your mom. She’ll have Ray’s number.”
Ray Delgado. That makes sense. My father used him at the beginning of his career. He runs a small agency, but he’s a good guy from what I remember, and he represents several lesser-known athletes. He stayed friendly with my dad after my father moved to Leo’s bigger agency.
He opens—yes, opens—his phone and begins dialing before placing it to his ear. “Hey, Gin. Can I get Ray’s number? I spilled coffee on my copy.”
I can’t hear what she’s saying. He listens for a second before responding. “Kennedy needs it.”
And then, “Yes, she stopped by.”
After another pause, he says, “I’ll tell her. Can I get the number, Gin?”
He pulls out a golf pencil stuffed into the Rolodex and begins writing on the stained card.
“Thanks, hun. Yep, I’ll tell her. I said I would.”
He closes his phone and holds up the card. “Here’s Ray’s number. And your mom wants you to stop by the house after you leave here.”
I scoff. “Fuck. No. Not happening.”
“Ken, we’re your family. Let us in. Don’t act like this.”
“For complaints about the product, please see the manufacturer.” I stand. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”
I begin to turn away, but he grabs my arm. “Stop. I’m sorry. I promise not to pressure you. I’m happy you came to me.” He places the card in my hand. “Call Ray. He can help.”
I give him a small nod and mumble, “Thanks.”
He visibly swallows. “Did you get my email about the pickleball tournament? It’s after your season ends.”
I sigh. “I did. Let me think about it.”
“Okay, Marshmallow. Anytime you want to practice, just let me know. Anytime at all. I’m always here for you. Whenever you need me.”
Except for my entire childhood. I think it, but I don’t bother to say it aloud. It won’t change anything.
SIX
DAYLEN
“What’s the difference between Iron Man and Iron Woman?” I ask at the poker table while examining the hand I was dealt.
Tanner raises a thick, dark eyebrow as he blows out a plume of cigar smoke. “What?”
I answer, “One’s a superhero and one’s a command.”
All the guys start laughing.
