Page 39 of Playing to Win

“Fine!”

* * * *

Just when I think my day can’t get worse, I’m filling a basket with tofu and bok choy in my local store, and then my cell phone beeps.

OMG DAD. SAW THE PICS OF YOU DOING SALSA. WTF?

I put bean sprouts into my basket and reply as I head to the cashier.

DO NOT USE WTF IN MESSAGES TO ME. I MAY BE OLD TO YOU BUT I KNOW WHAT IT STANDS FOR.

Another beep.

BUT SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE A DANCER NOW, TWINKLE ADAMS?

She’s just about the only person who could make me smile right now.

ENOUGH OF THAT. IT’S A PR THING FOR 2 WEEKS.

Beep.

I READ ABOUT IT. NOT LIKE YOU AT ALL. ANYWAY, CHECK THIS OUT…

Typing…

And my day can get worse. Infinitely so. The twelve-week scan of Alice’s new baby stares up at me from the screen. FML.

I’ve been so concerned with Izzy and work that my mind hasn’t been on Alice and the baby. Cady’s text plunges me right back there.

I manage to reply to Cady that I’m happy for them all. I guess on some level, I am. As I walk home, I try to imagine how life would have been. Alice, Cady, maybe another kid or two. We could have been happy. But her parents, their background, and their need to marry their daughter off to some rich kid ruined us.

Instead of cooking food I don’t want, I pick up my guitar and slump on the sofa. When my cell phone tells me I have another message, I contemplate ignoring it, but I could never ignore Cady.

HOW’S THE TOFU?

Izzy.

STILL SITTING IN A PLASTIC BAG. I SEEM TO HAVE LOST MY APPETITE. HOW’S THE STEAK?

Beep.

ABOUT TO GO IN THE PAN. IT’S FILET. HOW LONG SHOULD I COOK IT FOR?

Ah, that’s the last thing I want to hear.

DON’T TORTURE ME. YOU GET TO EAT STEAK AND YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN IT.

Typing…

HOW ABOUT WE CALL A TRUCE LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO MAKE YOUR TOFU EDIBLE AND FOR YOU TO COOK ME A STEAK?

As I ponder the options, my cell announces another text.

I HAVE HOT OIL IN THE PAN…

Fuck it. Even Izzy’s company beats the hell out of dwelling on what could have been.

ON MY WAY.

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