Page 75 of Cherry Picking

do you know what a burial vault costs?

Briggs

I do, actually. recent discovery. why?

Evie

shit. sorry. forgot who I was talking to

Briggs

it’s fine. why do you ask?

Evie

family today tried to haggle. I get being on a budget, but dad quoted them and the son goes “what if we skip the vault” like it’s extra guac

Briggs

what’d Ray say?

Evie

he took $200 off and threw in the guestbook. he always caves. it’s why we’re broke and beloved

Briggs

beloved’s not nothing

Evie

spoken like a man with plenty of disposable income

Somewhere in the second week, the texting stops being enough. During our home game against Dallas, I score twice. Instead of typing it out, I call Evie from my car in the players’ lot with my hair still damp from the shower.

She picks up right away. “Two goals.”

My chest loosens. “You watched the game?”

“I was in the room while your dad watched, allegedly tidying.” A door closes on her end, and the background noise drops away. “The second one was showing off.”

“It was a professional shot.”

“You looked at the bench after. Who were you looking at?”

“Augie,” I reply, kicking the heater down a notch. “He bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t beat that goalie glove side.”

“So you’re up a hundred bucks?”

“He’ll claim the bet was blocker side. He does this.”

“You should write it down so he can’t lie later.”

“Ah,” I reply, “that would be against the rules.”

She laughs warmly, and the sound fills the whole car. Just like I thought—this is so much better than a text. I put the phone on speaker for the drive back to the condo.

She stays on for the entire ride, telling me about a widow who requested a Jimmy Buffett processional and a casket spray shaped like a parrot. Phil, apparently, promised the family they could deliver.