by Stella Rhys
“So, you’ve made fun of me for my need to eat so often,” I pointed out when she finally gave up. “Yet you’re clearly obsessed with food.”
“But see, there’s a huge difference. You eat to live, and I live to eat,” she said. “You refer to your food as ‘calories.’ You practically have a business relationship with your meals. It’s just sustenance so you have energy to throw like, you know, a sixty mile-per-hour fastball or whatever.”
“I throw at a hundred. Sixty would be unimpressive.”
“Whatever, I don’t know things. I’m learning, okay?” Evie laughed.
“Fine. Let’s go back to your love affair with indulgent food. How did it start?”
“Umm. I think it happened in late middle school or high school when that trend of like, slutty food happened.”
“What the fuck is slutty food?”
“You know. It was like, overstuffed sandwiches or the biggest ice cream sundae in the country topped with gold leaf or like, Bloody Marys garnished with an entire fucking grilled cheese. Stupid stuff.”
“That you clearly fell in love with.”
“Yes,” she said so unapologetically I had to grin. “We didn’t have much growing up, so that kind of indulgence was amazing and fascinating to me. I couldn’t get enough of watching it on TV.”
“I feel like that would’ve made me bitter,” I said truthfully.
“No. Everything was already bitter. If I was bitter too, then I would just get stuck in that town forever.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I would’ve just given up before I tried if I believed everyone around me. All they ever said was that the world was unfair. That some people were born rich while other people were just born screwed like us,” Evie said. “The people from where I’m from – they’re mostly good people, but they don’t dare to dream or fantasize because they ‘know’ it’s pointless. To them, everything’s already decided. If your parents were junkies, you’ll be a junkie. If your mom was a teen mom, you’ll be one too.”
“How did you manage to get out?” I asked. But just then, her phone audibly buzzed in her purse. It was the third time since we sat but I’d ignored it till now.
“Um…” Evie tried to act like she was thinking of her answer to my question but I knew she was completely distracted.
My eyebrows pulled tight as I watched her try to subtly remove her phone from her purse and read her screen under the table. In just those two seconds her lips pursed and she tried to take a deep breath without me noticing, but I saw the movement in her shoulders.
“Who’s texting you?” I asked.
“Nobody.”
“Mike?”
“No.”
Only now did I remember that Mike still existed – that we hadn’t vanquished him last night by forcing him to listen to us. He was probably stewing in a dark corner somewhere, trashing me on every sports forum on the Internet while sending Evie hateful text messages.
“Evie,” I repeated myself sternly. “Whatever you read just now clearly upset you, so tell me.”
“Drew! It’s no one,” Evie reiterated, trying to sound playful but firm. But when she looked up and saw the stern look on my face, she heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine, it’s… my mom.”
A deep frown furrowed my brow.
“I thought you said you didn’t talk to her anymore,” I said, vividly remembering her speech about cutting her mom and sister out of her life.
“I don’t talk to my sister ever. I… do talk to my mom sometimes…”
“That seems like a slippery slope,” I remarked.
“And you sound judgmental.”
“Maybe I am. If I recall correctly, your mother enabled your sister’s addiction for years and eventually condoned her throwing you down the stairs and breaking your arm.”
“Yes, and I know you like to preach the idea of cutting out every last person in your life and caring about no one at all, but sometimes it’s easier said that done,” Evie retorted hotly, her cheeks instantly flushed pink.
But as someone came by to refill our waters, I watched her take in several deep breaths, and once he was gone, she spoke again.
“Besides,” she said slowly, clearly trying her best to sound calm. “It was just an emergency situation or I wouldn’t have replied now. Not that I should have to justify talking to my mom. She is my mom. She busted her ass to raise me for most of my adolescence, and I still miss her sometimes,” she said, her voice getting quickly small. She dropped her eyes down her wine glass, quiet for several seconds before attempting a casual shrug. “I mean I don’t think it matters how old you are, sometimes you just want your mom.”
I said nothing in reply, mostly because I was annoyed to find myself instantly thinking about Pattie. I conceded that Evie might’ve had a point here, but I didn’t say it aloud.
“What was the emergency?”
“She’s having some… bad dental issues,” she said vaguely. “And she doesn’t have insurance… or money for that matter… so she’s in a lot of pain every day.”
“If you’re helping with bills, pay directly to the dental office.”
Her eyes lifted to me.
“You think she’d lie about this?” she asked slowly, her tone icy.
“I’ve seen it happen.”
My first few years in the league, I had a spreadsheet of eight friends and family members who received monthly checks from me to cover bills. From what I could tell, they really needed the help. Layoffs, kids, whatever. Life happened and if I could afford to help, I was more than happy to.
Of course, the more others heard about my spreadsheet, the more emergencies there were. By the time I was twenty-two, that spreadsheet had more than doubled and I rarely received a call from home that didn’t eventually become a sob story.
I wasn’t sure if there was a more disheartening feeling than laughing and catching up with an old friend for two hours before realizing it was all a lead-up to a request for money. If I made the rare call home to say hi, the call was treated as a lottery ticket. During my darkest time, during the year that Pattie’s cancer came back, I made the mistake of calling an old friend to talk. He ended up asking me for a loan to pay off his credit card debt. When I said no, he asked to at least borrow my BMW while I did my four weeks in “rehab.”
So now that spreadsheet was empty.
The last time I mailed just a birthday gift home to a cousin, I got ten requests the same day from other family members who had a sudden “emergency.” My cousin’s fridge was broken and the kids were stuck eating canned food. My uncle was in danger of being fired because he couldn’t get to work. His car needed repairs he just couldn’t afford. “Might even be cheaper to get a whole new car,” he said before sending me links to the ones he had his eye on.
Daycare money, diaper money, field trip money – there was always a story, and if I offered to pay directly to the school, shop or whatever, I’d get a guilt trip about trust that ultimately ended in, “Never mind, forget it, you’ve changed.” Either that or an invoice for a dollar amount way smaller than the original request.
Save for one or two, every relationship I had in La Palma, Florida – friends, family, old teachers and coaches – soured thanks to money.
So when Evie insisted that her mother wasn’t lying – that none of the money was going to Kaylie’s addiction – I was unapologetically blunt.
“You’re being naïve.”
“And you’re being judgmental. Again,” she countered. Her cheeks were pink and there was a fiery look in her eyes, but she was measuring her words, trying to sound unemotional. “Look, I may not know my sister anymore, but I know my mom. She has her flaws, but she doesn’t enable Kaylie by giving her money. She enables her by giving too many chances.”
“Please don’t tell me she’s just guilty of loving her daughter too much. You’re defending the woman who let you get physically abused.”
“She fought Kaylie herself after I got thrown down th
e stairs!” Evie argued heatedly. “She was furious. She cried for days. She just also tried to make peace between us after because she didn’t want to give up on all of us being together. I chose to leave solely because I needed to be safe from my sister, not because I hated my – ”
“Um, excuse me?”
We both sat upright when we heard a breathy voice. When I looked over, I saw a woman in her twenties right next to me, bouncing on her heels and wearing a bright, giddy smile.
“Hi. Mr. Maddox, I am so sorry to bother you while you’re eating, and I swear I never do this, but can I get a picture, please?”
“Here.”
Evie quickly offered to take it before I could bark no like I wanted to, and as the girl squealed with excitement, she flashed me a look that I had no trouble reading.
We forgot we’re in public. Let’s cool it.
I noted that, but as soon she took the photo and handed the phone back, the girl bombarded me with a barrage of questions about whether I remembered meeting her at whatever signing.
“I don’t,” I cut her off. “And I’m having dinner with my fiancée so please, I’d appreciate some privacy.”
It was at that point that the mortified hostess rushed over and asked the woman to return to her table. I noticed a hint of amusement in Evie’s eye as she twirled her earring and watched me sit back down. She looked at me for a second.
“That was convincing,” she finally mused. “And kind of hot,” she added in a reluctant mutter.
“What was?”
“‘My fiancée.’”
“Right,” I said, though I barely knew what she was talking about. I didn’t even remember what I said to the woman. All I remembered was being irate that she interrupted us at dinner. “What were we talking about?”
“Our impending nuptials. You said no to a destination wedding.”
“Funny. I think we were talking about you sending money to your mother.”
“Wow, look at that memory,” Evie marveled dryly. “Aly said you called her Ellie for the first year that you knew her, yet here you are, remembering exactly how to irritate me.”
“I don’t like to leave conversations unfinished.”
“I remember you saying that the first night we met,” Evie crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Do you remember what I said?”
“Some things are meant to end before you’re ready.”
Her eyebrows ascended.
“I didn’t expect you to get it verbatim, but yes,” she said, surprised. “That’s what I said, and it applies tonight as well because we can’t talk about this now. We’re supposed to be conveying diamond ring bliss and I’m pretty sure it looks instead like we’re miserable and fighting on our first day of being engaged. So unless you enjoyed getting chewed out by Iain, we’re going to change the topic to something pleasant. Right now.”
I studied her for a few seconds of silence. I refusing to let go of his argument, putting his foot down on his need to always be right, and it drove me insane.
“Fine. You know what? I’ll be a good girlfriend and compromise by telling you pleasant things about my mom,” she decided, barreling on before I could do or say anything to object. “You already know she’d skip out on eating just to feed us, but before Kaylie started using, she also used to throw a girls night for us every month where we’d all curl our hair, put on her lipstick and drink super diluted Minute Maid concentrate from plastic wine cups while watching Lifetime. Whenever I was sick, I’d nap in her arms on the couch and I’d feel her kiss my forehead in my sleep. She was really good at just hugging me and telling me everything would be alright. She was my first memory of warmth and comfort, and if you say you don’t know what that feels like, then you’re a liar.”
I wouldn’t say I didn’t know what that felt like. So once again, I said nothing at all.
“You can’t possibly tell me that you have never cried to someone before,” Evie challenged.
“As a toddler, I’m sure,” I offered, though it only earned me an incredulous look. “But my dad made it pretty clear by pre-school that crying wasn’t something boys did.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Probably, but I was too young to know better.”
Evie frowned, huffing hard and looking hell-bent on staying mad at me. But her expression slowly melted from anger to sympathy, and if it weren’t for the topic of our conversation, I probably would’ve smiled.
“You really haven’t cried since you were a toddler?” she asked dubiously. “That can’t be healthy. I cry over sad news headlines without even reading the article. I’m not saying that’s normal,” she laughed softly at herself. “But sometimes you just gotta let it out.”
“I cried once in eighth grade,” I said, remembering only in that second.
“Just that once?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I lost a big game,” I replied, thumbing my bottom lip as the memories flooded back with a vengeance. I was thirteen and I was on my the verge of my first complete game shutout, but instead, I gave up a base-clearing triple in the ninth and got my team knocked out of the playoffs.
After the game, Pattie spotted the start of my tears and since she knew how my dad would react, she quietly gave me the keys to her Nissan. I wound up crying it out in her air-conditioned car while she walked around outside, sweating her ass off in 102-degree weather and just waiting for me to feel better.
“And at thirteen years old, you’re telling me that no one cared to comfort you?”
“My best friend’s mom let me cry in her car,” I said to shut her up.
“Well, that was nice of her.”
“Yes. It was.”
“That counts as something,” Evie said quietly before going altogether silent for awhile.
She bit her lip as she frowned down at her nails, looking as if she was contemplating something. When she finally looked back up at me, there was a glimmer of apology in her eyes.
“And the woman who let you cry in her car…” She trailed off for a second. “Was it Pattie Lillard?”
EVIE
My heartbeat picked up at the sound of her name off my lips.
But I couldn’t hide what I knew anymore. I felt like I was lying and somehow, I could lie to the world but apparently, I couldn’t lie to Drew’s face.
Even if it meant him looking at me now with an expression of anger laced with disgust.
“Not sure why I was convinced till this point that you hadn’t Googled me. What exactly did you look at?”
“Well… the interview,” I started nervously. “The one where you talked about Pattie. And then…”
“The video in the comments. About Tim.”
“Yes, but I closed it out before I finished because I didn’t necessarily believe it was – ”
“True? It was,” he said harshly, pausing as if to take some kind of sick pleasure in the look of shock on my face. “Tim’s the varsity baseball coach at our old high school. He was leaving his house in the morning for work when I caught him.”
“And… you hit him?”
“That would be an understatement.”
My stomach turned.
“What did you do?”
“I blacked out, so I don’t remember.”
“You were drunk?”
“No. I was angry,” Drew enunciated. “I don’t remember anything but his neighbors pulling me away. And thinking I probably killed him.”
I stared at Drew, completely and utterly speechless.
I wasn’t sure if I was more horrified by how badly he’d beaten his childhood best friend, or the fact that he spoke now with such a frighteningly cold lack of remorse. It felt almost as if he were challenging me, punishing me now with more details than I wanted because I had forced him to prove that he cried.
I’d forced him to admit that he was human, and now he was doing everything in his power to prove that I was wrong.
“Drew… I don’t understa
nd. Why the hell did you do it?” I finally whispered, though I could barely even hear myself above the volume of my own slamming heart. “That was Pattie’s son. That was your best friend.”
“He betrayed my trust.”
God, not Tim too.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t talk about that.”
“You can’t just say that after telling me everything you just did!” I hissed incredulously.
“I can and I will because I never intended on discussing any of that with you. You just needed to know. You needed to believe that love conquers all, or some other happy sunshine bullshit,” Drew said coldly. “But at the end of the day, I have my views and you have yours, so let’s just agree to disagree. In case you don’t remember, we don’t actually have to compromise about shit. Just because that’s a real diamond doesn’t mean this is a real engagement.”
You asshole.
I wanted to snatch off my stupid fake engagement ring and throw it right then and there. Seriously. Were it not for the fact that people were watching, I probably would have.
But as increasingly angry I was, I told myself to stay cool. I breathed deep despite suddenly realizing that the blurred lines of our contract didn’t mean I was anywhere closer to Drew. Just because I’d opened up to him didn’t mean he’d open up to me because clearly, a double standard existed between us.
And I shouldn’t have been remotely surprised.
Drew Maddox was used to getting his way. What he wanted he got, and what he had right now was both business and pleasure. He got all of me, I got maybe half of him, and that was just the way it worked in his world.
At least until this very moment.
Because as our entrees came – as Drew turned to smile and talk to the manager who dropped by to ask how things were – I decided to quietly take another page from his book and flip a switch. I wasn’t one for double standards so as of this moment, I was going to have to change the way I approached this game.
“And how is everything with you, miss?” the manager asked graciously, turning to me. I let Drew catch a second of my vacant stare before putting on a good face and looking up with a smile.
