The Art of Losing(23)

“Yeah, I got called in for a pretty nasty compound fracture of the tibia,” Dad said.

I sidled up next to him.

“Come on, kid,” he said, sniffing near me. “Smoking?”

I shrugged. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just . . .” But there wasn’t anything to say.

“Who were you talking to out there?” he asked.

I looked up from the Post-it note I was shredding. “Raf,” I said. “He bummed me a cigarette.”

“Rafael?” Dad said, raising his eyebrows in the direction of the dish. “What’s he up to?”

“I think he’s just figuring that out,” I said.

“I remember those days,” Dad said wistfully. “Before college and bills and kids who made my hair turn gray.”

“Totally worth it, though, right?” I asked as I hopped up on the counter next to him.

“Hm, that depends on your definition of ‘worth it.’” Dad put his plate in the microwave and turned to me. “Did you pick up this week’s issue of The Walking Dead yet? Your dear old dad is waiting to find out what happens.”

“Yeah, do you want me to tell you?” I said, trying to look innocent. Dad hated spoilers and would run from me if I tried to talk to him about something he hadn’t read yet.

“Do it and you’ll get a plate of hot chicken divan to the face,” he said. He took his plate out of the microwave menacingly.

“Your loss,” I said, jumping down from the counter. I stole a piece of chicken from his plate before heading for the stairs.

“Leave it for me in the hallway, will you? And wash your hands and face before you go upstairs,” Dad said. “Your mother is still awake, and if she smells that smoke on you, she’ll put you in a coma.”

“Boo,” I said, deadpan. “Too soon.” But we were both smiling.

I took it as a good sign that Dad was joking again. The man never met a pun or a joke he didn’t like, but he hadn’t been particularly funny (or unfunny) since the accident. Progress.





One Year Ago



Mike and I were in the basement watching a movie when Audrey and Neema came downstairs. They were lucky we were clothed, since “watching a movie” was usually a euphemism for “having sex.” But it was early and Mike didn’t have to leave for a while and, frankly, I hadn’t felt like it that night, so Audrey and Neema were more welcome than they normally would have been.

We were watching a horror movie, one of those ones where people get killed in the goriest ways, which at any other time would have sent Audrey running for her bedroom. But this time, she and Neema settled in on the love seat next to the couch Mike and I were cuddled on. They whispered to each other occasionally, sneaking glances at us every now and then.

Finally, I grew tired of their furtive looks. “Is there something you guys wanted?” I asked.

Color bloomed in Audrey’s cheeks. “No, we just wanted to watch the movie with you,” she answered.

I rolled my eyes. “Audy, you’re totally lying. It’s because that guy you like is in this movie, right? What’s-his-name from that movie you made me watch a few months ago.”

“Bradley Cooper,” Audrey and Mike answered in unison.

I snapped my head back to look at Mike. “How on earth do you know that?”

He only looked mildly embarrassed. “It’s a decent movie,” he said. “I watched it with my mom.”

“You saw Silver Linings Playbook?” Audrey asked.

Mike nodded. “Yeah, I liked it.”

“Even the dancing?” Neema chimed in.

Mike sat up, nearly pushing me off the couch as he extricated himself from being the big spoon.

“Totally the dancing. My mom made me take cotillion when I was in middle school in Atlanta, so I can do the waltz, the fox-trot, the jitterbug, even a little cha-cha.” Mike stood and demonstrated his cha-cha, sending Audrey and Neema into fits of giggles. They were freshmen, after all, and neither had even kissed a boy.

“There were so few guys there that I had to dance constantly,” he said. “I got pretty good.”

After a few cha-cha-chas, Mike pulled me up off the couch and tried to get me to dance with him. I tried to keep up, but I wasn’t a dancer. I wasn’t much of anything that required coordination.

He gave up quickly and pulled Audrey up instead. She actually was a dancer. Not ballroom, but ballet, tap dance, jazz, hip-hop. She was the type of kid who had to be perpetually in motion, and dance got some of that energy out.

For a second, when Mike held her waist, I wished my stomach were as flat as hers and wondered if he thought the same thing. But it didn’t matter because I was absolutely not the exercising type. I’d take my muffin top with a side of muffins, thank you very much.

Audrey looked so happy and graceful, even while doing the jitterbug with Mike that I almost didn’t feel jealous of her. She laughed out loud when he spun her out and pulled her back in against his chest. And I laughed with them.

That might have been the first time Mike saw her as more than my little sister. She was more fun than me, prettier than me, thinner than me. How could I blame him?





Chapter Seven



Very early the next morning, the faint ring of the landline pulled me out of bed and sent me running for my parents’ bedroom all over again. I stood at the foot of the bed watching Dad’s face. Mom sat close to him, squeezing his shoulder. As his features relaxed, my heart leapt. He put the phone down and turned to us.