I brace myself as she reviews the card.
“Would you date your college crush today?”
Oh, shit. Is this game holding up a mirror to my black soul? I swallow uncomfortably, thinking of Heather, the bold, confident athlete I met my freshman year at the college rink. We hit it off, connecting instantly with our passion for the game.
But something changed after we got married right after graduation. We were both so focused on our worlds as pro athletes that we stopped focusing on each other. We were all hockey all the time, and it felt like there was no space to grow, or change.
I think I changed.
I meet Remy’s gaze, earnest and open, making it hard to lie asI pull myself back into the here and now. “I don’t think I would.”
Her lips part, soft, full of concern. “You wouldn’t?” It comes out staccato, concerned. But also clear. She knows what she’s asking. She’s asking if I’d marry my late wife all over again.
I’m keenly aware this answer doesn’t make me look good. But she told the truth and I ought to do the same. This isn’t quite admitting Heather and I weren’t in love—I’ll keep that terrible truth locked up, but I nod and say, “I think I want different things now.”
“What do you want?” she asks tentatively.
To take care of the people I love. But I say something else true. “I don’t want to fail the people I care about.”
She gives a soft, small smile. “I doubt you are.”
I think of my dad staying inside all the time. I wonder. I wish. And I hope.
I move on, too, by grabbing another card. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“Easy. Snakes,” she says, but there’s something in her eyes—a shift—that tells me she’s afraid of something else more than slithery creatures. Maybe something deeper, more emotional. Especially since she turns the question around with a quick, “You?”
“Is that your card?” I tease.
“No, I just want to know.”
“Hurting someone I care about,” I say, a variation on my theme today evidently.
She nods, like she’s taking in that info, then she tilts her head. “For what it’s worth, you’re not hurting me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Did I think I was? No. But do I want to? Hell no. “I’m glad.”
We play a few more rounds, the air a little softer, the sun a little warmer. Thor wakes up as Remy tackles the question of whether she’s ever used a fake ID—the answer is a defiant no. The cat jumps from the sill and sashays past the unfinished cat tower and me to my bedroom as Remy asks one more question: “How are you really right now?”
I’m nothing but truth as I say, “Fantastic.”
Once Thor and his white paws are out of sight, she sets down the cards, checking the clock in the kitchen—a wooden owl cutout with moving eyes. “I don’t want to cut too close to your nap. Do you want me to check out your suits?”
And I’m honest, too, as I say yes.
26
MY, YOUR CLOSET IS SO BIG
REMY
I have serious closet envy. It’s not the size of Lake’s closet though. It’s the organization. Every single thing is neatly arranged. Dress shirts hang crisply on metal rods, wingtips and sneakers alike rest on clean white shelves. Cubbies display pristinely folded shirts and workout shorts. A small wooden watch box sits open on a shelf, showing off a velvet padding cradling several watches.
“I didn’t think you’d be so neat,” I say, looking around.
He scoff-laughs. “You’ve been in my car. It’s not messy.”
“True, but I guess I wasn’t expectingthis,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure why.
