by McLean, Jay
“I see him. You giving him more pointers on his jump shot?”
Jo clicks her tongue. “Weak.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
Trevor goes to the fridge and grabs a beer, then looks at our homework we have spread out over the table. “What are you guys working on now?”
“Serial killer,” Ava responds.
Trevor shakes his head. “I swear to God, one day the FBI is going to come knocking on our door suspicious about your search history, Ava.”
Ava shrugs, taking my hand and leading me back to the table.
Trevor says, “So, I assume I’m not being fed tonight?”
Ava grimaces. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“Pizza?” Trevor asks her.
Ava replies, “Sure.”
He points at me. “Pizza?”
“I’m down.”
Then he points to Miss Diaz. “Pizza?”
She nods, her arm going up in celebration. “Pepperoni pizza!”
I tap Ava’s leg under the table. “See that? Six syllables.”
* * *
We sit at the kitchen table downing slice after slice while Trevor and Ava banter back and forth and I do my best to keep up. Jo listens to their conversation, smiling occasionally. I put down my pizza and tell her, “So, Jo, I’ve been looking at old game tape of myself, and you know what I realized?”
“Weak jump shot?”
“Yep,” I lie.
“Because of your posture, right?”
“I guess so. But I can’t really tell and your living room—it’s not exactly the same as being in front of the basket, you know?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“So, I was thinking, maybe we could go to a court, and you could help me out?”
Ava and Trevor are suddenly silent, and Jo—she’s looking at me as if I’d just gotten Ava pregnant.
“Connor,” Ava whispers. I don’t know why she keeps whispering when her mom’s right there. “You know my mom doesn’t leave the house. Why are you asking her?”
I push my plate forward and settle my forearms on the table, leaning in so it’s just Jo and me. “Is it because you don’t like people looking at you when you go out?”
“Connor, enough,” Ava grinds out.
“Yes,” Jo whispers.
I suck in a breath, my mind racing when I ask, “What if we go at night when no one can see you?”
Jo blinks and then shakes her head, again and again, and she doesn’t stop.
“Connor, you should go,” Ava says, getting to her feet.
I ignore her and ask Jo, “And what if I promise you that there’ll be no one else there?”
Ava spits, “I mean it, leave!”
“Just let him talk, Ava,” says Trevor.
I add, “What if it’s just you and me and Ava and Trevor?”
Jo holds onto her amputated arm, hugging herself. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Ava physically pulls me up from my chair. Then, with her hands on my back, she pushes me out of the kitchen, through the living room, and right out her front door, slamming it shut after us. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
I face her, my heart pounding. “What about you? You whisper shit in front of her as if she can’t hear. She’s not a kid, and you have to stop babying her.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she yells.
“She’s a Marine, Ava. She’s stronger than you think!”
Her nostrils flare. “How dare you!”
“How dare I what? Try?”
“How dare you come into our lives and think that you’re going to make a difference! I’ve been dealing with this shit for three years, Connor!” She takes a breath, her anger heating her cheeks, burning liquid behind her eyes. “Remember everything I said in the car? I take it back!”
My heart drops. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do!” she yells. “God, just when I thought things were too good to be true, you—” The front door opens, interrupting her. She cowers, her arms going around her waist.
Trevor pokes his head out and says, “She wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” Ava whispers, her intake of breath an attempt to regain some composure.
“Not you,” Trevor says, looking over at me. “You.”
I swallow, nervous, and wait for Ava to step aside so I can move past her. Jo hasn’t gotten up from her seat, but her gaze lifts and locks on me when I enter the kitchen with Ava only half a step behind me.
“Pwa-pwa-” She blinks hard. Once. Twice. “Pwamise just you, me, Ava, and Trevor?”
I make a cross over my heart with my finger. “I swear to you, Jo. I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
It’s silent a long moment, Ava, Trevor and I waiting to see what she says or does next. I can hear Ava breathing heavily next to me, and so I take a risk and grasp her hand in mine, relief washing through me when she lets me.
Jo stands. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Ava practically squeals.
Jo nods. “Okay, Connor, six-five, weak jump shot. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
Her gaze shifts to Ava. “Don’t yell at Connor, baby. He’s a good boy.” She stops in front of me, pats my cheek. “Handsome, too.”
Ava lets out a single disbelieving laugh. “Okay, Mama.”
“I’m going to bed,” Jo says, kissing her daughter on the cheek.
As soon as she’s in her room, I turn to Ava. “I’m sorry,” I rush out. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you all like that, it just came out, and I couldn’t stop, but I should have run it by you first. And you’re right. I can’t just show up and expect to make a difference. It was stupid to think I could.”
“Well, technically…” Trevor says, “you kind of have. I mean, Mama Jo even thinking about leaving the house is a big deal.”
“Trevor’s right,” Ava says quietly, pouting up at me with those lips I’m dying to kiss. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m just so invested, and I take everything personally.”
“I know, and I get it.”
She sighs. “Mom’s right; you are a good boy.”
I smile from ear-to-ear. “And handsome, too. Don’t forget that part.”
Chapter 16
Ava
“Ava, stop!” Connor says, grabbing me by my shoulders to stop me from pacing. We’re at the bleachers during lunch, and my anxiety over tonight has me on edge. “You need to trust me, okay?” He’s trying to bite back a smile, and it makes me want to punch him in the face.
Or kiss him.
I can’t fucking decide.
I inhale a huge breath and hold it a moment before releasing it slowly. Looking up at him, I order, “Tell me the plan.”
He groans, his entire body deflating. “We wait until it’s dark. I’ll text you when I’m minutes away. You open the door. We go on a covert mission to get your mom into my truck, which has the darkest legal tint, by the way, and then… we go…”
“Go where, Connor?”
He shrugs, all nonchalant like, and it has me leaning toward punching him in the face. “I want it to be a surprise.”
“For who? Me or my mom?”
“Both of you,” he says, but it comes out a question.
I jerk out of his hold and start pacing again.
Connor laughs. “Relax, would you?”
I turn to him, lift my chin. “Three years, remember?” I say, pointing to me. “I have three years of reasons not to relax, and you—”
“Okay,” he cuts in, stepping closer to me. “I get it. I’m sorry.”
“It just feels like you’re not taking this as seriously as you should be.”
Sighing, he drops his head, pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he sits down, taking my hand and forcing me to do the same. With his thigh against mine, he says, looking down at his hands, “I’ve thought of everything possible, okay? And if at any time she changes her mind, then we don’t go. It
’s that simple. But I need you to have a little faith in me. It may seem like it’s not as important to me as it is to you, but… your mom is important to me, and not because she’s your mom, but because… she…” he trails off, another heavy breath leaving him. “I don’t know, Ava. Your mom—she makes me want to be a better person, and there aren’t a lot of people in this world who can do that. And I hate the way the world has treated her. I do.” He rubs the back of his neck, his frustration showing. “The thing is, I can’t control the world, but I can control me. And if I can do this one little thing to show her, and you even, that not everybody is made equal, then I will…” He faces me, his eyebrows dipped. “Through love and basketball.”
* * *
Connor: Dark enough yet?
Ava: Yeah, I think so.
Connor: Money. I’ll be there in five.
Ava: Okay. Hey, what’s the attire for tonight?
Connor: Attire?
Ava: Like, what should we wear?
Connor: Just make sure your mom is warm and wearing sneakers. As for you, I vote nude, but that would be awkward in front of your family, so…
Ava: Got it. And just for you, I’ll be nude under my clothes…
Connor: That’s… dammit. Give me ten now. I need to rub one out before we go.
Ava: Connor!
Connor: Say it again but moan it this time.
Ava: And we’re done here.
“Connor’s going to be here in five,” I tell Mom as I look up from my phone.
“Okay,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper. I know she’s scared; I can see it in her eyes. But she wants to do this, to push herself outside of her comfort zone, and I admire that so much. But still, it doesn’t take away my own fears for her.
I explain, “Connor said that if you change your mind at any time, we can just come back home.”
“Nah,” Trevor interrupts, walking into the room with Mom’s sneakers. He’s had to clean and re-lace them because it’s been years since she’s worn them. “You got this. Right, Mama Jo?”
Mom raises a fist, but there’s no inflection in her tone when she says, “I got this.”
When I got home today, Krystal mentioned that Mom had brought it up a few times, but it had been another zero-day for her, so it was hard to distinguish how she truly felt about it.
Trevor hands me the sneakers, and I slide them on Mom’s feet, then lace them up. “Does that feel okay?”
“Yes.”
Trevor returns with a huge puffy jacket for her to slip into. Standing, I zip it all the way up to her chin and put the hood over her head. “You look like a giant marshmallow,” I tell her, and she smiles—the first smile I’ve gotten from her today.
“Connor, six-five, good boy,” Mom says, keeping that smile in place.
“He cares about you a lot, you know?” My heart swells when I remember how he spoke of her today. “He says you make him want to be a better person.”
Mom gets to her feet, nodding. “I don’t want to dis-dis—” She blinks hard, her fist to her temple. I wait, knowing the words are coming. “Disappoint him.”
“You could never,” I tell her sincerely, standing with her just as headlights shine through the living room window, alerting us that Connor’s here. He and Trevor had pre-planned that he parks in the driveway, so Mom has fewer chances of being seen. It’s as heartbreaking as it is necessary. “You ready to go, Mama?”
Mom takes a huge breath and lets it out slowly. “Ready.”
Connor’s waiting on the porch when I open the door, his goofy smile enough to knock anyone off their damn feet. “Hey, Miss D. I’m ready to be schooled.”
Mom settles her hand on the crook of his arm, and he leads her to his truck, her head down, covered by the hood the entire time. And she stays that way the full fifteen minutes it takes for Connor to get to the sports park. He stops just outside the locked gates, and Trevor turns to him. “How did your dumbass not know that this place would be closed?”
Connor flips the visor and catches the keys that fall. “How did your dumbass not think I’d have a key?” He turns to Mom and me sitting in the backseat. “I promised you no one would be around. Did I do good?” He’s still wearing that cheesy grin, as if he’s so proud of himself, and he should be.
Mom says through a smile, “You did good, Connor.”
After opening the gate and closing it after us, Connor drives right onto the basketball courts, his headlights illuminating enough light to see half the court. I help Mom out of the truck while Connor gets a few balls from the bed. Then he comes back, handing me a blanket, thermos and a paper bag. “What’s this?” I ask.
His grin broadens. “Hot chocolate and marshmallows.”
“I hope you brought some for me,” Trevor interrupts.
“Nope,” says Connor, walking toward the free-throw line.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not trying to score points with your dumb ass.”
Mom giggles, following Connor.
“All right, Miss D—”
“Jo.”
“Jo. Posture, right?” He takes a shot, sinks it. “Better?”
Mom has him move a few steps to the right. “Again.”
Connor shoots. Misses. “Dang.”
“You practice too much from the same spot,” Mom tells him.
Connor moves to another spot a few steps away, tries, and misses again. And I don’t know if he’s doing this just to make her feel good, but Mom’s taking it extremely seriously. “Your feet are wrong.”
Connor nods as if listening intently. “Show me.”
Mom kicks his feet with hers.
Connor shakes his head. “No. Show me,” he repeats, holding the ball out between them.
Mom raises both her arms. “One arm, dumbass.”
Connor chuckles. “You only need one arm to shoot, right?”
Mom sighs. “I’m not the one with a weak jump shot,” she retorts.
Trevor laughs, jumping onto the hood of Connor’s truck and helping me up. We sit on the edge, watching them.
Connor contemplates Mom’s words for a moment before saying, “I’ll make a deal with you. We play H.O.R.S.E around the key, and the loser has to cook dinner for the other person. Deal?”
“That’s not fair!” I shout.
“You want to play, too?” Connor yells back.
I shake my head, clamp my lips together.
Mom tells him, “You have a whole limb advantage.”
Connor rolls his eyes, then drops the ball so he can pull his right arm through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Just so we’re clear. You’re not missing a whole limb. Just half of it. So, technically, I’m the one disadvantaged now. Are you going to suck it up or what?”
“Oh damn,” Trevor whispers next to me.
“Connor!” I gasp.
His eyes meet mine.
And then Mom—Mom laughs. This all-out, carefree laugh that has my heart soaring. “You talk a good game, mister,” she tells Connor. “But, boy, you ain’t got shit on me.” She takes the ball from Connor, moves two steps toward the basket. The ball hits the backboard and goes right in.
Connor’s mouth is so wide he could fit his giant ego in there. “Damn.”
“Damn,” Mom mocks. “You forget, I’ve been using my left hand for years now.”
“Huh,” says Connor.
“Now go get the ball, kid.”
Connor rears back. “What? You suddenly lost your legs, too? You get the ball.”
Next to me, Trevor is dying from laughing so hard.
Mom goes after the ball and calls out over her shoulder, “H.O.R.S.E is for pussies. One-on-one. First to twenty-one, Mr. Duke.”
Connor stands taller. “I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re old.”
Mom throws the ball to him, then makes her way toward us, unzipping her jacket. “I don’t expect you to!” I help her out of her coat, eyeing Connor over her shoulder.
He winks.
I give him the finger… but I’m smiling—the goofiest smile in the history of smiles.
Mom turns back to Connor. “I like my steak medium rare.” Connor bounces the ball to her. She returns it, but Connor tries to catch it with the hand trapped in his sweatshirt. “It’s not so easy now, is it?” Mom laughs out.
Trevor and I watch what can only be known as the world’s weakest one-on-one game ever. They can barely keep the ball in play, and I know that Connor’s not going anywhere near his full potential, and Mom would know that, too, but she doesn’t call him out on it. Besides, it’s hard for her to get a few words in between all their back and forth and laughter. So much laughter.
“I don’t know what Ava sees in you. You suck with your hands.”
Connor busts out a laugh. “You’re really going for the jugular now, huh?” He dribbles past her, bouncing the ball between her legs before doing a lay-up and sinking it. “If my calculations are right, it’s 20-12.” He holds the ball to his waist. “And I’m pretty sure I’m kicking your ass, Miss D.”
Mom puts a hand to her hip. “You’re right. I guess we’ll just have to come out here more and practice.”
Connor’s face lights up. “Yeah?”
Mom nods. “You think you could spin that ball on my finger with one hand?”
Connor shrugs, approaching her, and mumbles, “With our powers combined…”
Mom lifts her index finger, and Connor places the ball there, tries to spin it. It goes flying to the side, and Mom bursts out laughing. “That was too hard!”
Connor’s running after the ball, his shoulders bouncing with his own chuckle. “It’s harder than it looks!”
“Swap!” Mom orders when Connor’s back in front of her.
They swap tasks, and Mom does precisely the same thing Connor did. Now they’ve both lost it, their fingers swiping at the liquid joy in their eyes. And me—I’m doing the same. Because never in my life did I ever think I’d hear Mom’s happiness come out in this form or see her this free and this blissfully optimistic.
“I need to sit down,” she says through a cackle. “I’m not used to fresh air!”
