Page 5 of Playing for Keeps

Grace bit back a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

“She doesn’t quit,” I said. “I’ll give her credit for not giving up. But it’s not happening.”

Grace’s smile turned softer. “She’s strong and independent, Max. Those are good qualities.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She is. Too smart to keep chasing someone who won’t meet her halfway.”

Grace studied me. “That doesn’t mean she’s wrong for wanting more.”

I looked back at the yard. “No. It just means I’m wrong for her.”

I sighed. “I want someone… warm. Kind. Bridget’s fire. She burns hot, sure, but I don’t want to spend my life avoiding flames.”

Grace studied me and then nodded. “Fair enough.”

We let it go quiet again. Lucy swung lazily. Lucas laughed in the dirt. I sat back and took a deep breath, listening to the cicadas and the soft creak of the swing, and let myself imagine a version of my life that didn’t feel so temporary.

3

EMMA

By late afternoon the house was a bit too warm. I propped open a window, letting in the Toronto humidity – a mix of sun-baked pavement and cut grass. The street sounds followed: car doors, a bike bell, a neighbour calling for their dog. I leaned on the windowsill for a minute, taking it all in, and then the reality of my new surroundings hit me. Moving around was fine – unpacking not so much.

I dragged in a box labelled Books and Kitchen, an odd combination that made me chuckle. There was apparently a stray oven mitt inside, three paperbacks, and a whisk with a handle that looked like a wilted daisy. This box was the last one I’d packed in London, when I hadn’t cared anymore where things went. I put the books on the coffee table and the whisk on the counter, and I told myself I was doing well. A start was, after all, a start.

I already liked this living room. The floorboards were honey-coloured and a little scuffed, soft under my bare feet. The walls were newly painted in a white that was actually white and not a strange landlord beige. On the windowsill, my snake plant and peace lily were looking slightly judging. I thought of them as Doyle and Poe, though it felt a bit daft to say it out loud. I moved them an inch to the left, then an inch back, before deciding to just leave them alone because I realised I was just procrastinating again.

The kitchen was a revelation: clean shelves and no ants. This kitchen kind of invited me to maybe, just maybe, attempt some actual cooking. Time would tell. I lined up plates, tucked mugs into place and even arranged the cutlery, a small act of order in the chaos. I deserved a cup of tea after that. I lifted, slid, and cursed quietly until I found the box labelled Tea + Emergency Biscuits.

I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, watching the steam rise from my mug. This was nice. The house started to feel a bit more like it was mine.

I checked the time and put the kettle back on. Mum and Dad would be waiting, or rather, Mum would be early and Dad would want to finish reading his chapter first. I balanced my laptop on a stack of books and opened Zoom. My face popped up, a bit pink from the lifting. Good, that meant Mum wouldn’t fuss over me looking peaky. My hair looked like it had a mind of its own though, so I tied it in a ponytail, then sent the link to our family chat and took another sip while the dial tone went.

As expected, Mum was the first one to appear and of course, at a funny angle, half ceiling, half fringe. “Em! Can you see me?”

“I can see the lampshade,” I said. “It looks very artistic. There you are. Hello.”

She tilted the phone to show her face. She was wearing one of her aprons. “Oh, love, look at you. You look… Canadian.”

“I don’t think it happens that fast.”

“It’s the light,” she said, as if she knew. “Where’s your dad? George! Come on! She’s on.”

Dad shuffled into the frame, wearing his reading glasses and a shirt he only wore to show that he hadn’t lost the patience to button up. “Hello, pet,” he said, and then, before anything else: “Have you eaten? Don’t say ‘biscuits’.”

“Tea and a biscuit,” I said, feeling a bit guilty. “But I will eat after we’ve chatted. I promise.”

“She’ll probably open a bag of crisps next,” Mum said, but she was smiling. “How was your first night?”

“Quiet,” I said. “I heard crickets, and something that might have been a raccoon with a strong opinion, but otherwise fine. I slept like a rock. And I didn’t fall off the air mattress, which was a bonus.”

“Boxes?” Dad asked, peering like he could count them through the screen.

“Many. And you know how much I hate unpacking.” I tipped the laptop to show them a glimpse of the living room and the stacks along the wall.

Dad finally sat down, resting his elbow on the table. “If you’re taking us on a tour, show me your kitchen. I want to see where this alleged cooking will happen.”

“I’ll have you know I cooked for myself yesterday,” I said. He raised an eyebrow that said beans on toast didn’t count. “Speaking of cooking, Mum, how’s the paella?”