Page 75 of Playing to Win

I watch her drop her arms to her sides before Elliot hands her a bottle of water. Ah, I can still enjoy watching her suffer through her hangover, though. “Hey, Iz!” I shout. “Are you wishing you didn’t drink a bottle of wine yesterday?”

She glowers at me across her shoulder. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Someone to lie to?”

“Not right now. Hey, maybe you could take a picture of Drew, Kit, and me and put it on your little blog thing. Tell the world we had a threesome.”

She flips me the bird, then gets back to the bag, punching and kicking harder than she had been just moments ago.

“I take it back,” Drew says. “She’s not childish. You both are.”

He’s right. But those are the first words Izzy has spoken to me in twenty-four hours. I’ve had my fix. Now I can go back to being pissed at her.

I try calling Cady one more time before I leave the gym for the day. This time, I know she sends me to voice mail.

After making myself a quinoa salad—don’t eat that stuff unless someone pays you to do so—I slump down on the sofa. I reach for my guitar. When my hand grips nothing but air, I remember Izzy has it.

No guitar. No Izzy. No Cady. No Alice. No plans with friends. Have I mentioned it’s fucking Friday night?

Opening my fridge, I see at least I have beer to keep me company. I reach for a bottle of Bud but stop and take the can of club soda next to it. Not because Izzy would tell me not to have beer. Not because I would break another rule by having a beer. But because I don’t want to turn to beer when I’m alone. I choose the can of club soda for me, no one else.

I pop the ring and take it to the window, where I stare out at the red bricks of the building opposite. I’ve saved Cady’s college fund. I have lived with this view for six years, knowing I could afford something better but not wanting to waste money. Not wanting to spend money I could put into Cady’s fund. Not wanting to admit that I came from nothing but now I do have money. That I have made my own wealth. What am I trying to prove by staying here? That I’m not like Alice?

Through the window of an apartment in the building opposite mine, I see a woman answer a door and welcome friends into her place. I think of my friends. I think of Drew and Sarah. How they try to push me to be better. How Drew wants me to franchise the gym. He’s offering to help me and I haven’t even looked into it seriously.

Is it because I’m done trying to make something better of myself to prove that I deserve Alice? What about what I want?

I’m thirty-five years old. I can’t work myself to the bone training forever. At some point, I need to let younger guys come in. At some point, I should take my own advice and decide what the hell I want to do, for me.

My cell chimes and I rush to it. I wonder whether it will be Izzy, alone and wanting to call a truce. Do I want to call a truce?

The reason I don’t want to is the very face that is flashing on the screen of my cell phone.

“Cady.”

“I’m still pissed at you. But I’ve been talking with Mom and, since I’m on house arrest otherwise, do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?”

I chuckle. “Yes, baby. I would love to take you to breakfast tomorrow.”

* * * *

Day 11.

Cady chose the quirky café we’re sitting in. It’s Japan meets New York. The wall of windows looks out toward the Hudson River. One wall is brick—city-style. Another is painted with two geishas holding fans and standing outside a Japanese teahouse. The third wall is lined with shelves that are decorated in an array of teapots—fine, floral-patterned china; Asian-style pots with iron handles and matching miniature cups; English teapots with images of the royals and Big Ben.

Apparently, this week’s thing is tea. Cady has become a tea connoisseur, as well as a brunette. I decide not to comment on her change of hair color, knowing exactly why she has lost the pink look. The tea focus could be the result of an article in a magazine, or the fact Alice has placed her under “house arrest” for throwing her guts up earlier in the week.

Cady orders blueberry pancakes with syrup and a tasting tray of different teas. I contemplate bacon and eggs but opt for a mango smoothie made with coconut milk, boosted with a shot of protein, and finished with blackberries. It was the berries that clinched the deal.

“Okay, who are you and where did my dad go?” Cady asks when our server leaves us.

“Some of these shakes aren’t so bad. They make you feel sort of…clean. Just don’t ever tell Izzy I said that.” I wince once the words are out of my mouth, knowing I went straight to the most taboo topic I could have chosen.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m cool about it now. I mean, I’m still pissed at you both, but Mom and I had a chat about it.…” She shrugs.

“You and your mom talked about Izzy and me?” Something inside me flutters. But what’s new is, the reason isn’t the mention of Alice, or that Alice has been talking about me. It’s that simple phrase: Izzy and me.

“Do you think I don’t know why you never drop me at home?” she goes on.

I shuffle in my chair, out of my comfort zone.

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