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“Did you wait until you actuallyhadsex before cashing out?”
“Yes.”
“Why wait, though? Why not just say you did it and get the payout earlier?”
“Because I don’t cheat.”
“Bro.” Another sigh, this one heavier. “I’m really trying to see your side here…”
“I didn’t know it was wrong,” I tell him, my voice just above a whisper.
“Have you told her that?” he asks, hopeful. “Maybe you can work things out?”
I shake my head against the pillow, look up at the ceiling again. “No chance.”
“Why not?”
“Because she told me a bunch of other things that were wrong with me when we broke up, and those are things I can’t change. It’s just who I am.”
Something is wrong with me.
He rolls onto his back before switching off the lamp, coating the room in darkness again. “I’m sorry, man.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “It is what it is.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”
For a long moment, we lie in silence, and I feel I should do more than just… exist here with him.
The guy answered my call at two in the morning and didn’t hesitate to get in his truck to be there when I needed him. I think back to when we were at the spring, when he gave me memories of my parents I’d long forgotten. Now, it makes me wonder how long he’d been waiting to share those with me. Had he always wanted to? Had he just been on the sidelines waiting for the right time? If so, why did he choose then?
I realize now that it doesn’t matter.
He gave me his memories. I should probably give him one of my own. “Jonah?”
“Yeah?”
“You remember when your dad used to go to Dallas, and he’d always come back with basketball cards for us? We could get them inFremont, but there was something special about those cards specifically.”
“Yeah, I always waited until we were together to tear into them.”
“And we had to hide the good ones from Reyna.”
He mocks in a high-pitched voice, “I like the sparkly ones.”
A chuckle pours from my chest. “And remember, for Christmas one time, Lana had these custom cards made for us. She gave me one of you, and another of the both of us…”
Jonah shifts in the bed, and a second later, the light’s on again. He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand, just above my head, and pulls out said card to show me. He’d put it in an acrylic frame, as if it were something to be protected and memorialized. I sit up and take it from him, stare at a picture of a younger me with the ball held to my side. Warmth fills my chest, and I ask, “You have the one of the both of us?”
He grabs his wallet from the nightstand and silently reveals the card he keeps within the worn leather. It’s faded now, the card cracked in places, but the image is still there. So is the memory. Side by side we stand, our arms around each other’s shoulders as we wear matching jerseys. Matching smiles. We were so innocent then, so untouched by the realities oflife, because our parents made sure of it.
Emotion clogs my throat, coats my eyes with liquid warmth. I sniff back my response and hand it back to him. I don’t look at him when I ask, “You still collect basketball cards?”
“Nah,” he says, sliding the card back in his wallet. “I don’t actually like basketball all that much.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes snapping to his. “Why join the teams, then?”
He shrugs. “I just wanted to play with you.”