Chapter 1: TARAN
“Youoweme,”Isaid, trying to look super serious about it and failing.
“You look very handsome,” Mom assured me, straightening my tie.
“Flattery will get you one hour.”
“Two.Come on, honey, I didn’t make you go to the church.”She reached up to pat the side of my face.“That’s the boring part.”
“I mean, we’re about to spend our Saturday night eating lukewarm chicken and rigatoni in a glorified high school gym.And it’ll be full of people who know us.This is also the boring part.”
“It’s the Serbian Center!”She tried to look offended but couldn’t help laughing.“Your grandfather was on the committee to—”
“Totally beside the point, but nice try.”I chuckled and started toward the giant block of a building.Felt like half the graduation parties, baby showers, and weddings of my entire childhood had taken place here, and I still had no idea what it was even supposed to be.A catering place, yeah, but why was it here in the middle of nowhere in Stanley County, West Virginia?And what was Serbian about it?Dad’s family were mostly Serbian, and they were the only ones whodidn’thave parties here.“Whose wedding reception is this, again?”
“Annie’s oldest.”
“And who is Annie?”
“One of my mahjong girls!”
“Riiiight.”I opened the door for her and waved grandly.“After you.”
She smiled at me, the crinkles around her eyes deepening.“Thank you, sweetie.”
“My pleasure.”I followed her inside.Predictably, the lights were dimmed to an atmospheric purple tint, fairy lights were strung around a central dance floor near a DJ booth, and the walls and round tables were swathed in a sea of purple and white cloth flowers.On each placemat sat a little violet satin pouch tied up with a bow.
Damn.I hadn’t been mad about it in months, but this made mehappyI’d dodged the whole wedding bullet.Yikes.
Mom dragged me to a table half-full of her mahjong friends, and I let them all pat me on the face and tell me I looked so grown up, like a good son.People filtered in slowly at first, but after ten minutes it started to fill up, and one of the mahjong ladies’ husbands took pity on me, catching my eye across the table and nodding to the bar.
I was out of my seat so fast, it screeched against the floor.“Can I get you something?”I asked Mom.
“Vodka soda?”
I nodded and beelined for the bar with this random old guy, my savior.Okay, not actually old.He was probably only in his fifties like Mom, but he had a reassuring amount of gray in his beard.“Arthur Jakes,” he said with a sideways smile.
“Taran Kovacs,” I said back.
“I know who you are.Used to watch you every Friday night.”
Of course he had.I plastered a smile onto my face.
“Had a great season your senior year.But I’ll tell you what: You’re better off not playing at a higher level than that.”
I nodded and dissociated a little while we queued up at the bar, and he told me that I probably would’ve ended up with CTE if I’d played my whole college career, and definitely if I’d gone pro.As if there’d ever been any idea of me going pro.
Okay, I’d definitelywantedto go pro.What high school football player didn’t have a little spark of hope that he’d be the lucky one?
“I don’t think those new helmets are doing a damn thing, either,” Arthur said as we finally got to the front of the line.“What are you drinking?”
“Uh, vodka soda for Mom.7 and 7 for me.”Because that was what passed for a whiskey-based cocktail in these parts.
“Bill!Hey, Bill, look who I got here.”Arthur said to another middle-aged dude.
Bill diverted his path to join us.“Kovacs?Your mom here?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, wondering who the hell he was.Mom should run for mayor, honestly.
