‘Says you. Remember when Ma had to threaten to leave you at Chester before you ate your fifth one of the game?’
Savannah scoffs. Taking after our dad, she’s got what I like to call judgemental eyebrows and piercing green eyes that’ll tell you exactly what she’s feeling even if you don’t ask. And if you do ask, she, like Pop, won’t hesitate to be plain about it. ‘Yeah,right. That’s Ma.You’dbetter be nice to me. I won’t be making you any more matching-your-girlfriend ties otherwise.’
I peer at the tie in the mirror. It’s a perfect complement to the photo May sent of her pantsuit. The tie is simple and effective: the exact same shade of red as May’s flowers to complement my black button-up. Sav’s ever-so-subtly incorporated the lightest of white embroidery, threading vines to match May’s. I turn to my sister. She plants her hands on her hips, prepared for a sassy remark.
‘Thanks, Sav.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘You feeling okay?’
‘I’m just fine. Although I was scared,’ I add, ‘to ask you for this tie.’
‘Serves you right!’ Sav elbows me with a huff. ‘And?’
‘And then I realized I’m probably scared because I didn’t treat you as well as I should have. All these years.’
Sav’s jaw goes slack. She fully whips her clear, pink-framed glasses off her face so she can squint at me. ‘Oh, my god. You’re figuring it out.’
‘Shut up.’ I swat at her glasses, which she tugs away before I can snatch them.
My sister smiles wryly. ‘It’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?’
I feel my ears getting all dumb and warm before she gets the chance to call me out on it. ‘Well …’
‘Itis.’ Sav just chuckles in awe. ‘Man. I always knew May had a good head on her shoulders, but I didn’t know it was possible for rational thought to rub off on you.’
‘Hey!’ I whine.
‘It’s true! In what universe is moving to the East Coast rational?’ My sister rolls her eyes so hard I can see the whites.‘Lots of people here don’t have options. May definitely didn’t. Hell, your own friends on the lax team, you know they didn’t, either. But you did, and you took the option we were kind of afraid you’d take. Staying there. It’s just …’ She almost grumbles out her next words. ‘I missed having you around.’
‘What? What? I didn’t hear that the first time,’ I tease her, and she just sighs dramatically in that younger-sister way.
‘You get it once,’ she says with the air of someone’s grown mother.
‘Alright. Come here.’
For the first time in what’s probably years, Savannah lets me give her a hug, and for the first time in what’s probably years, she hugs me back.
There are still pencil marks in the wall downstairs at the entrance to the kitchen where Ma and Pop would put a dash for each of our heights every month. Old magnets stuck to the fridge have pictures from when Sav played lacrosse for a year, too, the both of us in uniform, taking a knee side by side. They’ve hung tons of photos of us all over the house – in the fire truck that came around during block parties, in matching Riders cowboy hats and bib overalls, at OKC games on our parents’ shoulders. But all of that is from when we were little enough that the rift between us hadn’t formed yet. When that rift shot up, it separated my dreams of getting out of here, and hers of staying and cultivating everything our parents built. We just couldn’t find a way around it. Until now.
It’s been a while since I felt like we were kids again, and I feel it right now. I’m kind of glad Sav can’t see my face, because I wouldn’t hear the end of it if she knew I was getting teary-eyed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Roper Rivalry
May
The stomping of feet in the stands, and the first few chords of ‘Riders in the Sky’ by Johnny Cash, the two sounds that any Oklahoma City Riders fan knows like the back of their hand, fill the stadium, audible from half a mile out as we make our way through the gates in full formal. Dressing up on game day is one of those time-worn professional sports traditions, and out here, the rivalry absolutely demands it. Every single one of us has shown up in two-piece pantsuits, detailed in subtle ways that speak to our journeys to collegiate sport.
My pantsuit, not quite a pantsuit, was made by Tía Juana back when I was in high school, and since I stopped growing around junior year, I’ve never needed a new one. She tailored it off her brother and the youngest of the three siblings, Tío Pablo’s, old mariachi outfit, but with the cut of Mumma’s favourite Indianoutfit from the 1990s. The trousers are wide legged and high waisted, and the top is technically another two pieces. One is the solid black crop-top blouse, matching the plain trousers, and the other is the black duster jacket. Tía and Buela embroidered it themselves, with white vines and gold edging modelled from Tío’s mariachi jacket, and red roses on the shoulders. It’s what I’ve worn for years, and I don’t plan on switching things up anytime soon.
I’m taken aback when Colt shows up at my side for the walk into the stadium, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses resting on his face, sports jacket ironed, matching black to my suit, and most surprising of all, a tie with the exact same embroidery as my duster. I hadn’t expected him to actually work up the courage to ask Savannah about it, especially after he went to hide in his mom’s garden, but I sent him the photo when he asked, and apparently, here he is. It doesn’t spare my attention that this is the first time I’m seeing him in formal wear since as far back as myquinceañera, and that he certainly cleans up nicely. Really nicely, honestly. I curse my easily distracted brain.
He tips his head my way with a sheepish smile. ‘You look good, Red Card.’
‘Not so bad yourself, New Haven.’
Someone’s big camera flashes our way, a sobering reminder that this is not only one of the biggest events for Oklahoma sports, but also one of the best-covered. And that means Colt and I can’t be lacking at any point this weekend.
