I lead with an apology when I get close to them. “Sorry to bother you,” I say.
“No worries,” Blaine says. He’s not smiling, exactly, but he’s not glaring at me either. He leans on his golf club like it’s a cane. I want to tell him he can sit down in his chair if he wants, since this ground is uneven, but I don’t want to insult him, and I’m sure he knows his own abilities better than me. “This is my wife, Gloria.” He touches her arm. “Gloria, this is Grant. I think you’ve met his parents before. And his grandmother, I believe.”
Ugh. Well that’s great. She’s not from here, and her only impression of me involves someone who probably looked down their nose at her. At least my grandmother would have been pleasant to her.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, nodding. I look at Blaine again. “I just wanted to, uh, apologize to you. For how I treated your family and your sister in high school.”
He stares at me for a moment, eyes narrowed.
“That’s all. Good to see you,” I say, then start to turn.
His voice stops me. “Thanks for saying that.”
I pivot back again. “I mean it.”
“Yeah. I can tell.” He chews on his lip as though considering something. “Kendall must have liked you a lot, I think. Too bad it didn’t work out.”
My brain feels like it’s lifting out of a fog, like there’s a ray of light shining on me for a moment. Hope is an awful, tortuous thing. There’s something buried under his words, something he’s hiding out of loyalty to his sister. He wants me to know she’s hurt by what happened, maybe as much as I am, but he doesn’t want to tell me things she’d rather keep private.
“I still like her a lot,” I say. I clear my throat. “And I miss her.”
Gloria’s eyes look a little shiny as she stares at me. “That’s sweet,” she says.
Blaine’s head whips over like he has a comment on that, but he doesn’t respond.
“Did she say anything else? I sound desperate, I know, but I can’t help it.
“No,” he says. “She’s keeping this pretty close to her chest,” Blaine says. “Uncharacteristically, I’d say.”
My hope deflates a bit. Maybe she’s not pining the way I am, after all.
“I’ll leave you guys to your afternoon,” I say. “But I just wanted you to know. How sorry I am, that is.”
Blaine nods at me, and I go back to my hitting. I put as much power as I can into smacking the ball. What do I do now? Would she still want to talk to me if I tried? Or do I leave this to fate?
It feels like I’m living with a chest wound without her. And if there’s some way, any way, for her to accept me, I’ll take it.
25
KENDALL
Joan and I inspect each other before we step out of my apartment door. The temperature has started to dip into winter territory, so we’re dressed in layers, but I’ve tried to jazz things up with a sparkly top. Joan’s wearing a more practical sweater.
We’re going to a party for some of the incoming med students—the ones who live near enough, that is. I wanted a friend with me for moral support, especially given my fragile emotional state. I don’t want to drink too many Palomas and sob to one of my future classmates. Maria was free tonight, and she said she’d go if I really needed her to, but that in actuality she’d rather “carve out one of her kidneys” than go to a party where she didn’t know anyone. Graphic, but effective. I won’t subject my introverted friend to something that will make her uncomfortable, so luckily Joan ended up being free.
“Are you sure we won’t know anyone there?” Joan tucks her hair behind her ear on our way to her car. The full moon highlights her blonde mane in the dark parking lot. “Is this just for other med students?”
“As far as I know, there won’t be any faculty there. I do think some of the more senior med students will be around. One ofthem organized it, actually. Not sure who else they invited.” I open the passenger door to Joan’s car. “I hope I’m not, like, the oldest person here.”
“You’ll be the coolest person there. That’s the important thing.”
I laugh. “Whatever you say.” I stare out my window, up at the night sky.
“I hope this cheers you up,” Joan says. “I’ve been worried about you.”
I turn back to her. We drive through a nice neighborhood with large homes and little lights framing walkways, and I think of Grant’s place back home. I think we gave him way too much power, honestly. Huge homes, wealthy zip codes, are common in the city. He would have been just another reasonably well-off kid here.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
