Block Shot (Hoops #2)(104)

Not yet, I won’t. She didn’t see his face creased with agony after the bone marrow biopsy. She hasn’t caught him staring blankly at the stranger in the mirror with the shrunken frame or witnessed his helpless anger when the diarrhea is so bad he has to wear adult diapers just to leave the house. A man so proud, so regal, brought so low. I’ve seen Zo’s cracks and know how close he is to breaking.

No, it’s not time for me to cry. I don’t get to break yet.

“Mama, I’m fine.”

“You’re not wavering, are you? I mean in your love for him. I know it is hard to see the man you love so weak, but you are not a fragile woman.”

“No, I’m not fragile.” I leave the love alone. I do love Zo, probably more than I ever have, but I know what kind of love it is, what it should always have been.

“I’ll come back up soon,” Mama says. “I’ll cook all his favorites.”

“He can’t keep anything down. I make him vanilla smoothies with a little pineapple. That’s about all he can tolerate. Everything else just comes back up.”

“He loves pineapple and you hate it,” she says with a little laugh. “Surely there’s something I can make for him or maybe I could . . .”

I feel her fix-it from here. I get it from her.

“Mama, just come,” I say softly. “You don’t have to do anything or try to make it better. Zo loves you. That’s it. He doesn’t get to see many people because his immune system is shot, and he would especially love to see you.”

“I just want to do so much.” Tears soak her voice. “He cannot die. I’m praying. I go to Mass. He is in God’s hands. Tell me you believe he will be okay.”

My faith is a coin toss. Heads. Tails. Fifty-fifty.

So I do for her what I do for myself every single day. I toss the coin in the air, hope for the best, and make myself sound certain of things over which I have no control.

“Mama, I believe.”





34





Jared





So this is what twenty years with the same woman looks like. With the right woman. My father and stepmother literally glow when they’re together. I saw it the first time he brought her home, and twenty years later, they’re just as bright.

I never resented Susan West marrying my dad. Losing my mother took something from him, made him sad in a way I thought would never go away. With Susan he was happy again, and that was all that mattered to me.

Also, she made a mean pot roast.

“Oh, Jared,” she gushes, one hand over her mouth the other hand holding the tickets to Hawaii I gave them as an anniversary gift. “It’s too much.”

My dad catches my eye and silently mouths, “It’s not too much.”

We share a smile, and I can’t help but remember the conversation Banner and I had about my father that night at dinner. I’d never considered that he retired for me, but now I realize he probably did. I touch his arm to keep his attention before he goes back to opening more gifts from the pile in front of them.

“Hey,” I say, waiting for him to look at me. “I just wanted to . . .”

He lifts thick fair brows in silent inquiry, waiting for me to do something I never do.

“Just thanks for all you sacrificed for me,” I mumble, dropping my hand from him and feeling like an idiot. I glance at Susan, who is smiling and tearing into a brightly wrapped box. “I’m glad you found her. You deserve to be happy.”

I’m ready to move on, feeling awkward. Why am I so bad at being nice? My dad, though, excels at kindness, at connecting with people in a way, despite all my agent’s charm, I never could. He clutches my shoulder, his eyes not brimming with tears but with emotion all the same.

“Nothing I ever did was a sacrifice, Jared,” he said. “It was a privilege raising you, one I took very seriously.”

I usually hate this burning sensation in my throat and this pricking behind my eyes, but tonight I don’t. It’s evidence of the love I have for my dad, of the love he has always made sure I felt from him. There is an understanding in the grin we share that maybe we’ve never shared. Probably because I never took the time, but having Banner in my life carved out something in me that wasn’t there before. I’m not less of who I was, but she’s added something. One of the things I love about Banner is how she flips things around so I see them in new ways.

One of the things I love about Banner is different from saying I love Banner. I’d be a fool to let myself say that with things as they stand right now. I haven’t seen her in six weeks. We’ve barely talked. The whole world is planning her deathbed wedding to Zo. It’s morbid. I can’t stand it. I hate that they don’t know she’s mine. That everyone thinks she’s some tragic heroine so deeply in love with Zo she would never leave his side—when she touches herself at night and thinks of me.

God, I hope she does.

Or am I alone in this pathetic farce, the one in which I don’t even know the role I’m playing? Maybe I’m reciting my parts, hitting all my marks, the whole time thinking I’m the lead when I’m actually the chump pining for the girl, not the one who gets her in the end.

They open the rest of their gifts, and we cut a huge cake and there’s dancing and it’s all wildly romantic and the last thing I want to do. It’s a reminder of my limited options. The woman I want isn’t here meeting my family like I had planned, but she’s in Palo Alto with her . . . boyfriend? I don’t know what to call him. I don’t know what they are.