Page 31 of Bad Crush
Her soft laughter seeps through the phone again. “Yeah, I’ve spent enough time around you guys to know how you feel about dating a teammate’s ex.”
Damn.
Neither of us speaks. I’m thinking back to all the times we hung out, searching for more hints, and replaying her actions with this new knowledge. Man, I hate missing things and I definitely missed this.
“You know, I remember the first time we met, too. You were holding a box and scanning the apartments like you couldn’t remember where you were going.”
“I couldn’t,” she says.
“I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know what to say, so I offered to carry the box for you. And if I remember correctly, I did ask you out that day.”
“You invited me to a party.”
“That’s basically the same thing,” I argue. “I never felt luckier than when I realized the hottest girl on campus was going to be living next door.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says, and I make a vow to do a lot more of it.
* * *
Sunday afternoonwhen we get back, I call my mom to check in.
“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” she says when she answers. “Congrats on the game last night.”
“Thanks. What are you up to?”
“I’m cleaning out the garage. I found a box of trophies from when you were little. Fifth grade spelling bee champion,” she says proudly.
“I think you’re safe to throw those out.”
“No way. Besides, now that your dad got all of his old tools out of here, I have way more room. I’m moving everything that’s in boxes into tubs and putting up shelves, so I have space in the garage to park.”
Since they announced their separation, they’ve mostly kept any annoyance or animosity toward the other from me and Ginny, but occasionally it slips out in their tone. Who knew tools in a garage was something they’d ever fight over?
“We have a home game next weekend,” I say, changing the subject. “Can you come?”
“Wish I could. Aunt Zoe is having eye surgery Friday, so I promised her I’d drive her to and from the appointment.”
Another game where neither parent will be there. I already got a text from dad saying he has a work thing and won’t be able to make it.
“Okay, well, there aren’t a lot of home games left. You could drive up Saturday.”
“Maybe,” she says. “I’ll check the schedule, but I promise I will drive down soon. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Mom.”
“I better go. I think I took on more than I can finish in one day.”
Ginny steps into the doorway of my room and I hold up a finger to tell her to wait.
“All right. I’ll talk to you later. Ginny says hi.”
When we hang up, Ginny walks all the way in and sits on the chair at my desk. “Mom?”
“Yeah, doesn’t sound like either of them are coming to the games next weekend.”
“They suck lately.”
I shrug.
