Page 76 of Changing the Playbook
“No, that’s impossible.” His hand squeezes mine gently. “I’m saying try to redirect some of that worry energy into things that actually help in the present.”
“I’m not catastrophizing,” I protest weakly. “I’m… preparing.”
“For things that might never happen.”
“They might, though.”
“They might,” he agrees. “Or your mom might be one of the people who stays stable for decades. Or new treatments might come out next year.”
The breeze picks up, sending a shower of leaves around us like nature’s confetti. One lands in Mike’s dark hair, and I have the absurd urge to reach up and brush it away. Instead, I focuson the steady pressure of his hand on mine, the way his presence makes the chaos in my head quiet down.
“Thanks,” I say finally. “For listening. And for not making me feel like I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re not being ridiculous. You’re being human.” He pauses, seems to wrestle with something, then adds, “Want to hang tomorrow?”
The invitation hangs between us, charged with possibility, and I sigh. “Tempting as competitive anxiety spiraling sounds, I can’t. I’m on Hazel duty.”
“Hazel duty?”
I carefully extract my hand from his, instantly missing the warmth. “My parents are going to New York for the day. Mom has an appointment with her specialist, and then Dad’s taking her to this restaurant he’s been researching for weeks.”
“That’s good, right? Them doing normal couple things?”
“It’s amazing. It’s the first time they’ve done anything like that since the diagnosis.” I pick up a broken maple seed, spinning it between my fingers. “I mean, they go to Applebee’s sometimes, but this is… different. Dad bought a new tie. Mom’s been debating outfits all week.”
Mike smiles at that. “And you get quality time with your sister.”
“Exactly. Honestly, I’m excited about it. I’m basically just her chauffeur these days. Tomorrow we can actually hang out, just the two of us.” I drop the seed and watch it flutter to the ground. “Except ‘hanging out’ with Hazel means I’ll be chasing her around for six hours while she literally bounces off walls.”
Something shifts in Mike’s expression—a flash of uncertainty followed by determination. “I could come with you.”
I turn to stare at him, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”
“With you and Hazel,” he clarifies, and there’s definitely nervousness threading through his voice. “I could help. You know, divide and conquer.”
“You… want to spend your Saturday with an eight-year-old?”
“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders, a way his fingers drum against his thigh. “It’ll be another new thing to try.”
I study his face, searching for signs of insincerity or ulterior motives. But his expression is open, maybe even a little vulnerable, and I realize he’s actually serious about this.
“You do realize she’s going to ask you approximately nine million questions, right? And make you play whatever game she invents on the spot?” I smirk. “Last week, she decided we were secret agents searching for buried treasure, but the treasure was just her Halloween candy she’d hidden and forgotten about.”
“Sounds entertaining.”
“She’ll probably try to braid your hair.”
“It’s getting long enough,” he says, running a hand through hair that has definitely grown past regulation hockey length. “Though I draw the line at glitter.”
“Oh, there will definitely be glitter.” I snort, as something real and full loosens in my chest. The idea of Mike spending a day with Hazel is both terrifying and oddly appealing. “That would actually be really nice, Mike. If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’d like to come. As friends, obviously,” he adds quickly, and something in his expression shutters. “I know that’s what we agreed on. I’m totally fine with that. Friends helping friends with hyperactive children. Very normal. Very platonic.”
The word “platonic” hovers in the air between us, obviously false, a designer knockoff everyone can spot. I wonder if he can hear my pulse accelerating, if he notices the way my breathing has gone shallow for an entirely different reason than panic.
His smile returns, but there’s heat in his eyes now that makes my skin feel too tight. “Text me the details? Time, place, glitter warnings?”
“OK, I’m late for practice.” He stands up, then pauses, looking down at me with concern. “Are you OK now? Good to get back on your own?”
