by M. F. Lorson
“Don’t remind me,” I groaned. “Thanksgiving is like my least favorite holiday.”
Mackey clasped his hand over his left arm, feigning a stroke. “How can you say that Cub? All that gorging. Pie for days! Who hates Thanksgiving?”
“This girl,” I said pointing both thumbs at my chest. “This girl who has to spend it in Denver with dear old Dad and his replacement family, that’s who,” I said, jutting out my bottom lip.
Mackey’s expression went from slightly jolly to outright beaming.
“You know you are supposed to act sympathetic right?” I asked, grossly offended by his enormous smile in the face of my distress.
“No need,” said Mackey. “I am going to make this Thanksgiving the Thanksgiving to surpass all previous Thanksgivings. By the end of the weekend, you won’t even remember your family was there.”
“How do you plan to do that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Oh, I have my ways. You’ll just have to wait and see.” He was being silly. Friendship silly. Nothing else. But my pulse quickened a bit at the thought of a weekend with Mackey outside of Marlowe Junction.
“What kind of reporter are you anyway?” he continued “How can you not know the tournament is in Denver?” The thing was I did know the tournament was in Denver I just wasn’t keen on the idea of spending the weekend talking basketball with Dad or introducing him to any of my new friends.
“You think the tournament is worth writing about?” I asked. “Didn’t you like...get clobbered there last year.”
Mackey shook his head, “Ye of little faith. This year is going to be different. I keep telling you that!”.
Maybe it would, I thought. Maybe this year Rosemark would turn the basketball season into a Hoosier moment. Maybe all that team bonding and camaraderie (minus the punching of course) would result in success on the court. But, I doubted it.
“I’ll tell you what. I will go to the tournament and write about it, but you have to promise not to enter into a semi-permanent state of the doldrums if you lose.”
“I can try,” said Mackey with a smile that left me thinking about him the rest of the afternoon.
That night I called Dad to set up our weekend. I guess I should have been relieved he only required Thanksgiving, New Year's Eve and two weeks in the summer. I certainly didn’t desire to see him more. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that sting of rejection knowing he didn’t want to see me either.
After a short but awkward conversation with Judy, Dad finally picked up the phone. I never understood why she answered his phone, anyway. Wasn’t half the perk of having a cell phone that you didn’t have to say “put Dad on please?” I rolled my eyes, wishing he could somehow sense my annoyance through the phone.
“Looking forward to having you, kiddo,” said Dad.
“About this weekend,” I started, no time or desire for small talk. “I have this thing I need to do for the paper.” There was a beat of silence.
“I don’t know Lane. One weekend with your dad shouldn’t be an issue. Whatever it is can surely wait.” I curled my hand into a fist, reminding myself to breathe before I answered.
“You can always say no. But I’d recommend hearing the question first.” Across the phone, Dad let out an audible sigh. It must be so tough, I thought, having a teenage daughter a grand total of 20 days a year.
“The thing is in Denver.” I pleaded. “So it’s not like I’m trying to bail on my visit.”
“What is it you would like to do?” he asked, his patience waning. I almost didn’t want to tell him. I should have made up something that would really irritate him. Instead, I had to give him news he was going to enjoy.
“As you know, I am in my fourth year as a staffer for the Rosemark Gazette.” Dad remained quiet, so I continued. “And due to a shortage in writers,” (not true but better than admitting someone else had been assigned the beat I wanted) “I’m covering the sports section this year. Boys basketball in particular,” I said.
“Boys basketball,” he repeated, clearly taken aback.
“Yes, and there is a tournament in Denver on Thanksgiving Day that I would like to go and watch.
“Absolutely.” cried, my father. His excitement was radiating through the phone. “Absolutely. You need to.” There was a catch coming. I knew it. My Dad was never this enthusiastic about something I wanted to do. “I’ll have to talk to Judy, but I’m sure she can handle dinner preparations on her own. How many games would we be watching?” There it was. We.
“Three,” I said with a sigh knowing full well that there was no getting out of his escort. “Eleven am to four pm. Are you sure you’re up for that long of a day? Judy and Quinn won’t miss you too much?” I said, only slightly biting in my tone.
“Lane,” said my father starting his favorite be nice to Judy and Quinn speech. Per usual I tuned him out until he’d gotten it out of his system and was ready to nail down details again.
I hung up as soon as everything necessary was sorted. We weren’t the chatty type, he and I. We both preferred text. Him because he had an affinity for answering in emoji’s me because I could skip answering at all.
Of course, Dad was excited about attending the tournament. I could just picture him in his college sweatshirt, crunching down on stale popcorn and yelling at the players as if he’d ever see any of them again. He’d have made a great sideline parent. Which is probably why the only sport I’d ever played was 2nd-grade soccer. Three games, three “you’ll never go pro if you don’t” lectures, and one goal made for the other team had been enough of an experience for me. He had family number two to torture now. Not that they seemed to mind. Based on the many team photos adorning his stairwell, baby half-sister was dutifully fulfilling the roles I neglected.
I knew Mom was anxious to hear about our conversation. But I didn’t have the energy for the same old routine — not tonight. We’d been playing this game since Dad left. She would start by asking about the trip, what time I was supposed to be there. How long I was expected to stay. If there was anything special, I needed from the store before I started packing. But, eventually, the questions would delve into more personal things. What was Judy making for dinner? How did Dad sound? Happy she hoped. Did I talk to my sister? Every time I talked to Dad, Mom got like that.
Tomorrow when she asked about my conversation with Dad I would steer the topic elsewhere. Like, in Mackey’s direction, perhaps. What exactly did he mean by “this would be the Thanksgiving to surpass all Thanksgivings?” And more importantly, what did I want it to mean?
Chapter Thirteen
The weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving passed quickly. I’d never been a super social girl, but suddenly I found myself spending a lot of time with Mackey and the rest of the starting five. Friday night at The Platform had gone from a one time opportunity for an interview to a regular thing. Soon I wouldn’t have the excuse of needing to get to know the players better. Then what? Where did I fit in?
Unlike that first Friday, most of the guys were there each weekend and not alone. Preston brought his girlfriend, Beth (when he could talk her into it), Anderson seemed to be making an effort to gain the trust of one of the cheerleaders and Jeremiah was in a constant state of complete and total fixation with Sammi Parsons, queen of the cheerleaders. Only Mackey and Ryan refrained from bringing a date although sometimes I felt like everyone saw me as Mackey’s girlfriend. I wasn’t sure I hated it either. I mean, sure, I still wanted that special kiss from Elliot but my emotions were all over the place. At least with Mackey I could pretty much count on being treated the same whether we were alone or in a group.
It wasn’t like that with Elliot. When it was just him and me in the newsroom, it seemed like he was interested in me. He was always finding ways to graze my arm, tuck my hair behind my ear or pull me into a long hug. But when the rest of the crew was around, especially when Andie was about, it was as if I were any other staffer, maybe even less than the rest, at least with the others he had a sen
se of humor. With me, it was all business.
Despite Andie’s talking to him and despite that near kiss I couldn’t help but wonder if he still had a thing for her. Sometimes I felt like Elliot’s girlfriend on the side, only with none of the perks and all of the shame and secrecy. It was the opposite of how I felt around Mackey. He always made me feel essential. Helping me get to know the team was his excuse for inviting me out on Fridays and our regular meetups in between classes but it didn’t explain why he walked me home when my scooter was in the shop or why he called to check in last week when I played hookie.
My focus was supposed to be Elliot. It always had been, but lately, I was drifting, and even though I knew a weekend at my Dad’s house couldn’t possibly be fun, the Thanksgiving tournament had me thinking less about mistletoe with Elliot and more about what or who I was really thankful for.
I was not, however, thankful for Ryan. Since my tournament piece wouldn’t run till early December, I needed something light to fill the void. A feature on the new guy was perfect for that. The only problem was, the kid wouldn’t talk. At the diner, we practically had to beg him to shut up. He was the sort of guy who recapped every game in unbearable detail. Yet, whenever I pulled him aside to ask questions for his article, he turned into one of those cartoon characters who ate too much peanut butter and couldn’t get their mouth open.
After a week and a half of trying with absolutely no success, I reached out to Andie. I figured why not, I’d helped her before. This was like cashing in a favor. I waited for Andie on the bleachers after school. This time, I wanted her company. It was funny how much had changed between that first day in the newsroom and now.
“Sorry so late. I had to drop off some corrections with Elliot.”
“Corrections?” I asked, trying not to focus on the whole ‘with Elliot’ part of the sentence.
“Yeah, try not to die of shock or anything, but there will actually be an article by me in the pre-thanksgiving paper.”
I stretched my arms out in front of me and cracked my knuckles. “Guess my advice paid off then.”
“Well then. A pro like yourself doesn’t need me,” said Andie pretending to get up to leave.
“Not so fast!” I yanked on her backpack. I had only intended to use enough force to stop her from leaving, but I caught her off balance and the next thing I knew Andie was tumbling backward onto my lap.
“Okay, okay” she giggled. “I’ll stay. You don’t have to get fresh with me!” Get fresh? I hadn’t heard that phrase since my grandmother came to visit.
“Please tell me you didn’t use that term in your article.”
Andie rolled her eyes, “You’re insufferable, you know that right?”
I laughed, “It has been said. Mostly by my mother but still…” On the court below us, I watched as Ryan cycled through the rotation. He rarely missed in practice, but I’d noticed the same wasn’t true in games. That could be why he didn’t want to talk to me. So far his addition to the Mountaineers felt a little like a high draft pick who didn’t live up to their potential.
“I’ve asked you here today in an effort to strip back the mystery in which your cousin Ryan is shrouded.”
Andie cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not going to tell him you called him mysterious.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that,” I said. “Your cousin won’t answer any of my questions, and so far his article, which has to be finalized tonight, is just his name with a bunch of dots after it. Help!”
Andie laughed, “That makes more sense. Don’t worry, it’s not you. He clams up whenever he has to give a speech too. I am ninety-nine point five percent certain he got a B in 8th-grade math exclusively to prevent being awarded middle school valedictorian. He’d rather give up the accolade than have to give a speech.”
“That’s kinda weird when you think about how many times he has played in front of a crowd.”
Andie shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you. He’s just always been that way. He gets nervous in the games too it just shows in different ways.”
“Missed shot kinda ways.” I murmured, watching as Ryan sunk another three-pointer from the corner.
“Exactly. They’re working on it though.”
“They?”
Andie looked at me funny. “He and Mackey. Lately, Mackey eats more meals at our house than his own. I thought you would have known that, considering how much time you spend together.” I tried not to let the surprise show on my face. Mackey hung out at Andie’s every night? Maybe I was reading too much into his Turkey Day Tournament invite.
“How can they work on how he responds in a game?” I asked attempting to reign in my focus.
Andie laughed. “This part you cannot put in the article.”
“Strictly off the record,” I promised, crossing my fingers over my heart grade school style.
She grinned, “Ryan practices shooting from different spots in the driveway while Mackey attempts to distract him.”
“Like, plays defense?” I asked, curious as to why that would be some big secret.
“No. Like jumps around waving his arms and heckling him.”
“Why do I love picturing this so much?” I asked cracking up.
“Because it is amazing.” laughed Andie. “I mean to the neighbors it has to look like Ryan’s being bullied by a giant.”
One glance down to the court confirmed her assumption. At 5’8” Ryan was the smallest guy on the team. A game of one on one between the two of them would have looked ridiculous, heckling, borderline cruelty.
“The best part is how bad Mackey is at torment,” said Andie. “The guy is clearly an only child. Once I opened the front door to let them know dinner was ready and Mackey was in the middle of yelling, ‘You're about to build me a second home with all them bricks Ryan!’"
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Andie rolled her eyes. “You know, you’re like the worst sports reporter ever. Bricks, like an airball.”
“Oh, gotcha. But that’s not funny, or mean.”
Andie laughed, “Exactly. Mackey is not cut out to be a bully. Fortunately, that is not his only strategy for helping him. He gives pretty good advice actually. The other day I heard him compare what Ryan’s going through to Kevin Love and Demar DeRozan. They are kind of basketball famous for dealing with anxiety and being able to work through it.” Interesting, I thought, anxiety in team sports would make a great focus for my article, especially if it were currently a hot topic in the NBA.
“You know,” I said, having gathered all the information I needed to get started. “That whole heckling task probably would have been better served by Anderson.”
“Ha!” cried Andie. “Maybe so, but you forget I live with Ryan. Mackey over every night is one thing. Anderson? Oh heck no!”
“What’s it like,” I asked, keeping my gaze on the court below. “Having Mackey over all the time.”
“Why?” asked Andie. “How’s that going to help you write an article about Ryan?”
“It won’t.” I admitted, “Just curious.”
Andie shook her head. “Lane, you’re a complicated woman when it comes to matters of the heart. Rest easy. I’m not planning on going after Mackey either.” I hated the way she said either. In the entirety of my post-pubescent life I had only liked one boy. Now that I maybe, sorta, kinda liked another I was complicated?
“Why did you move to Marlowe Junction, anyway?” I asked, anxious to change the subject.
Andie pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her feet on the empty bleacher in front of her.
“My Aunt got my Mom a job here. And she offered to let us move in with them until we got back on our feet.”
“Sorry, you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. I figured the answer was going to be something like, ‘my fast city living got me in trouble’ or ‘after the dog won first place in the beauty pageant, we needed a more quaint setting.’
Andie snickered, “Those would have been much cool
er reasons to move than, Dad died after a long, painful battle with lung cancer.”
I had worried it was something like that but given my verbal awkwardness rivaled Ryan’s when touchy subjects came up, I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m sorry about your Dad,” I offered with a weak smile.
“Thanks,” she replied staring across the now empty court. The boys had been excused for a water break and were all still digging around their bags at the sidelines.
“It’s not so bad here right?” I said, turning to my trusted avoidance technique of humor to lighten the much too somber mood. “There are attractive boys, witty new friends, your boring cousin…”
The smile returned to Andie’s face. “You’re horrible.”
“And insufferable.” I reminded.
“And you’ve laid claim to all the attractive boys so I can’t even keep that on the list of reasons not to cry every time I wake up and remember where I live.” sighed Andie.
I definitely should have told her I was only laying claim to one, that I wanted to be the editor’s girlfriend and not a varsity girlfriend. Yet somehow I couldn’t quite bring myself to give her permission. Not that she would have believed me if I had. It didn’t take a detective to pick up on the fact that I’d spent the entire practice staring at Mackey like he were the second coming of Zac Efron.
Chapter Fourteen
I made the hour-long drive bus ride from Marlowe Junction to Denver solo. Usually, Mom accompanied me, but now that I was seventeen it seemed a little silly to have my mother drive me all the way out there only to turn right back around. I tried not to think about what she would do with the Holiday alone. Last year there had been a short-lived boyfriend, the year before some hippie ridden writer’s retreat in Idaho. This year if she had plans she was keeping mum about them.
It was likely to be a Schwan’s Ham and mashed potato leftovers kind of weekend for Mom. She had a deadline to meet with her most recent project. Maybe my being gone would help her push through that writing block she’d been struggling with. I would never tell her so, but I had begun to dread reading her books. The characters seemed to get sadder, drunker and lonelier with each read through. It was all a little too close to home until of course, the forced happily ever at the end. No publisher was going to let a romance end with, ‘and then they conceded defeat and did not get back together.’
