“We always are,” her dad says.
“Thanks. Just sorry we didn’t win tonight. Especially since you were there.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” he says jovially. Then something painful flashes in his eyes—the same green as Heather’s. Maybe it’s the awareness, for her, there was no tomorrow.
“Yeah, there is.” I sit and grab a menu so I can avoid the truth about tomorrows.
I barely notice the menu as guilt sits heavily in my gut.They think I’m grieving more than I am, but correcting that assumption would hurt them more.
They like to talk about their only child. And I’m not going to deny some grieving parents the chance to take a trip down memory lane to better days.
Once we order, her mom talks about the game, then says, “Heather really loved playing at that arena.” She’s wistful and understandably so.
“She did,” I say, and so it begins.
I do my best to honor her memory. For them and for the eight years I spent with Heather, both in college and after.
Chiming in now and then, I listen as they talk about her, what she was like, what she enjoyed, what made her laugh.
I eat my pasta primavera and nod, but my thoughts are back in San Francisco, with the woman I can’t wait to see again.
20
VACATION FLING
REMY
“They love the MOH.”
The bus just dropped me off and I’m walking into the arena with my sister in my ear, her voice a little husky as she tells me how her audience is liking the videos.
“And are they saying MOH too?” I tease.
“Argh! I can’t believe Fallon is rubbing off on me like that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I was worried you were going to start talking in abbreviations.”
“Nope,” she says, then must tug the phone away, since she’s now coughing faintly in the background.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect. I’ve got vitamin C, some tea with honey, and my mind vise to put this cold into.”
“Where you’ll crush it in seconds?” I ask as I grab the door to the employee entrance and tug it open. The second I’m inside the arena my chest flutters, as I wonder if Lake’s here too. But I try to ignore those feelings, and those questions. I’m just going to work. That is all.
“Ideally. I don’t permit sickness,” she says, all stoic and badass.
“Dude, I can’t stand germs.”
“I know, Remy. Your mind vise is stronger than mine. Miss Perfect Attendance who was never sick.”
Well, the youngest had to excel at something. But I don’t say that out loud, since it’ll sound like I was competing against Caroline as a kid. We were too far apart in age to have that dynamic. “I’m sure your mind vise has already destroyed it,” I say, then tell my sister to give me a second as I stop briefly at security, where I say hello as they scan my bag and I walk through the turnstile.
On the other side, I tell her I’m back.
“Good. And as I was saying, they love the maid of honor. They being Fresh Face, my viewers, and the producers.”
“That’s nice,” I say, since I don’t want to get too excited over something I have zero control over—whether my sister’s fans like me or not. And sure, I’m vaguely tempted to suggest that maybe Fresh Face will sponsor my fledgling podcast too, but I’m not going to start poaching my sister’s sponsors or begging for them.
