Page 78 of Hail Marry
Movingmyboxes into the house when we’re already tired from moving everything that actually belongs is just plain annoying. But it has to happen.
The boxes are labeled with hastily Sharpie’d words liketoiletriesandbedroom. When Jack pulls out an exacto knife to open up the boxes, I hurry over to stop him.
He looks at me strangely.
“Luca loves doing that part.” I cover the tape of the box with my hand, keeping him from slicing it open because I’m pretty sure I stuffed this one full of kitchen gadgets I never use.
When it comes time for Jack and Troy to head back to L.A., I can’t bring myself to tell them I’m coming along. It’s Friday, and I’m already in San Diego. They know Luca’s not busy tonight, so I have no plausible excuse for why I wouldn’t stick around.
So, I stay. I can take the train back to L.A. in the morning.
Luca studies his playbook while I take an online career quiz, then we head out for some boogie boarding. It doesn’t escape my notice that this time, Luca doesn’t try to play bumper boogie boards.
It’s probably for the best, but I hate it so much. Who even likes boogie boarding?
I spend the night in the spare bedroom with my new pink pillow.
It’s not as comfy as Luca’s. It doesn’t smell as good, either.
Jess’s promiseof a shakeup at work takes a lot longer to materialize thanany day nowmade it seem. Word on the street is that they’re restructuring. So far, none of it has affected us.
“I bet it means we get bumped up the ladder,” she says from her desk, typing away. “Well, me, not you.”
“Why not me?”
“You’ll be in San Diego. Duh.”
Right. She and my family are operating under the assumption that I’ll be moving to San Diego after Luca’s training winds down.
Remember when I thought this marriage would mean signing a few papers?
That was cute.
Luca and I waded into ankle-deep, lukewarm water and are now swimming in a ten-foot-deep vat of boiling oil.
“If you need to leave early this Friday, I can manage on my own,” Jess says.
I stare at her, and she looks at me like I’ve got the mental processing speed of a snail.
“Oh! No,” I say, catching on to the reasoning behind her comment. “Luca’s super busy this weekend.”
The following week, when she asks about my weekend, I feel like anything but an enthusiastic plan to go to San Diego will trigger massive alarms.
“Would you mind covering for me after lunch tomorrow?” I ask.
“It would be my pleasure,” she says, putting a hand to her chest. “Anything for my precious newlyweds.”
“You’re a marriage saver,” I say, matching her drama. Then I pull out my phone.
Tori
I might have to crash your party tonight. People are getting suspicious why I’m not spending every available second with you in San Diego.
Luca
No crashing needed. This is your place too, and you’re always welcome.
Does he really feel that way? Or does he feel like he has to say it because technically it’s true? Either way, I’m determined not to distract him from his focus. Preseason games are drawing nearer, and the pressure Luca’s feeling to prove himself is palpable whenever we talk about football.
