Page 93 of The Fadeaway
“You think the fadeaway is your only move. It's not."
“Fine, I’ll bite. What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re one of the best all-around ball players I know. You don’t have to stick with your signature moves. Try new things, take risks. You were amazing tonight.”
“Thanks, man.”
“While I’m doling out the advice, I feel compelled to say that I think you could do the same off the court.”
Ah, there it is. I knew this pep talk was going to lend itself to a personal intervention.
“You’ve seemed happy this past month. I didn’t really realize it until you weren’t. I mean you’ve always been carefree and the life of the party, but since Katrina, you’ve just seemed… happy. Fuck, I don’t know how to explain it. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supportive in the beginning. I was wrong.”
I have been happy. A deeper kind of happiness that I’d forgotten existed, if I’m honest. But that doesn’t mean I want to sign up for the inevitable wrecking ball in a month or six when things crash and burn.
“Whatever shit you’re working out, I don’t think banging the entire Valley female population is gonna help. Especially not now.”
I resist rolling my eyes. Just barely. “It’s not sex therapy. I just like women.”
“Let me ask you, how many women have you hooked up with in the last month?”
I grind my molars.
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Fine. But you’re free now, right? Obviously, you and Katrina are on the outs judging by your shitty mood. So, can I assume you’ve texted a hand full of girls to see who’s available when we get back for a little victory high five with your penis? Since you two aren’t a thing, shouldn’t be an issue.”
It’s true that’s what I would have done in the past and the asshole knows I haven’t texted anyone. I’ve barely touched my phone the past few days because every time I do, I want to text Katrina and I know I can’t. And the texts from jersey chasers come in steady succession, but I haven’t read a single one. God, I hate when he’s right.
“Are you done?” I ask and pull out my headphones so I can block any further attempts to chat.
He smiles way too sweetly like he knows he’s made his point.
39
Katrina
Joeland the team have been gone more than they’ve been at school since the tournament started. I haven’t seen him, and we’ve only exchanged a few texts, all of them about the games. This weekend is the Final Four. It’s Victor’s weekend with Christian, but Christian really wanted us all to watch the game together, so I’m at Nadine’s house sandwiched between my son and his father on the downstairs couch – never thought I’d see the day honestly.
As the camera zooms in on Joel, Christian jumps up and cheers. The announcers talk about how his performance tonight is going to be key for a Valley win and my stomach is in knots.
Victor offers me the bowl of chips and I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m not much of a potato chip kind of gal.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
There’s a lot we don’t know about each other but pointing that out hardly seems productive. Victor has been trying harder. He hasn’t been late or a missed a meetup and he actually came to one of Christian’s soccer games. Ever since Christian was sick and I called him for help, he’s been different. Maybe seeing his son that vulnerable finally got through to him.
“I have an idea,” I say, watching Joel on the TV.
When I glance at him, Victor eyes me suspiciously. Fair since I’ve not been the easiest person to co-parent with. My anger and bitterness about his absenteeism isn’t without merit, but I’ve certainly not helped matters by holding it over his head and acting like an ice queen around him.
“Let’s play seven questions. You ask me any seven questions you want, and I’ll do the same.”
Pulling a Joel Moreno move. It worked for us, maybe it’ll help with Victor – minus the kissing and fondling. There is absolutely zero chemistry between Victor and me now. He’s still attractive, blonde hair and blue eyes with long, dark lashes women would kill for. But he’s not really my type. Back then I didn’t realize I had a type. Victor had been nice and comfortable.
“Alright. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
We stare at each other for a minute, neither making a move to go first.
