Page 7 of Spectacular Things

“Yeah,” Cricket manages to say. She can barely formulate words, let alone complete thoughts.

How can this be happening? And now, when she’s finally seeing her dreams—all of their dreams—come true?

But it’s Mia. Of course she’ll help. Except—quitting soccer?

Who would she even be? She’s only twenty-four years old—what would she even do with her life?

“We obviously don’t expect you to decide right now, on the spot,” Oliver says, but his focus on Cricket, his attempt at reading her, implies otherwise.

“Oliver—” Mia starts.

“You should have told me,” Cricket says, guilt flooding her system as she thinks about the past week—the late-night shows, the tequila shots on some billionaire’s mega yacht, the team’s appearance on Good Morning America —all while her sister was bleeding out.

“I would have been here sooner,” she tells them, because fighting about the past is easier than considering the future.

“You should have called me as soon as things—”

“She was trying to spare you,” Oliver says. “Per usual.” It slips out because he is stressed and dangerously sleep-deprived, but it slips out nonetheless. And as though the baby senses her father’s anxiety, she starts to fuss.

“I’ll take her,” Mia says as Betty’s cries become more insistent. Cricket watches her sister accept Betty and, fumbling with her hospital gown, draws her close to nurse.

“Listen,” Mia says, speaking to Cricket but looking down as the baby struggles to latch on. “None of us want to be here, in this situation.” She chances a glance up at Cricket. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, but I wanted you to enjoy winning without worrying about me.”

Cricket stares at Betty’s tiny feet.

“Asking you to give up your career is totally insane,” Mia says and Cricket nods along with relief, because finally, thank God, there is a grown-up in the room speaking rationally.

“It’s not fair, I know that,” Mia says. “But I can’t figure out any other way”—Mia stops abruptly, experiencing an intense, sudden bout of déjà vu before she continues—“to make this work.”

Cricket looks at her sister attached to a machine and tries to tamp down a spark of anger, a smoldering cinder in a mess of underbrush.

She knows it isn’t fair to feel this way when this is a question of her sister’s life, but Mia and Oliver understand better than anyone that giving up soccer is a question of Cricket’s life.

She doesn’t have a plan B. She doesn’t have a partner or a baby.

Ever since she graduated from college, she has trained eight hours a day, six days a week, because playing the game means working around the clock.

It’s not just a job but a lifestyle. Cricket has sacrificed everything to be a professional athlete, and she has done it for them.

Not for herself. Because of Mia and Oliver, Cricket’s life is soccer.

Her worth is soccer. And now they want her to just give it allup?

“Isn’t there a list?” Cricket asks. “Like of donors or something?”

“I’m on the national donor list,” Mia says. “And I’m relatively young and healthy so—”

Cricket nods encouragingly.

“So I guess until they call me up”—Mia looks at Oliver—“we can just stick to the dialysis schedule and make do.”

“That sounds good,” Cricket agrees, ignoring Oliver as he paces in front of the room’s one window. It’s his pissed-off walk. She knows it well. “How long is the list?”

“A hundred thousand people deep,” Oliver says dryly. “Give or take. And there’s always a risk that the dialysis stops working—at any time, without warning.”

“Which is unlikely,” Mia says, shooting her husband a tone-it-down look. “But yeah, it’s a long list—my transplant coordinator thinks it would take about two years.”

Cricket’s mind instinctively jumps to the soccer calendar. The next World Cup, what would be her first, is in three years’ time.

“So if you get one from the donor list, we could still make it to the World Cup,” Cricket says, attempting to sound upbeat, grasping at hope.

“Betty would see me play.” The idea of her niece—and everything continuing the way it should—lifts Cricket out of the moment and back to the way it’s supposed to be.

Back to their plan. Because this has always been their plan.

“Yeah,” Mia says, gazing down at Betty. “That would definitely”— she pauses, searching for the right words—“that is definitely an option.”

“And waiting two years—I mean, it’s less than ideal, but it’s doable, right?” Cricket asks. Throughout their lives, Mia has masterminded ways to make impossible, untenable, significantly-less-than-ideal situations doable.

“You’re not getting it,” Oliver interrupts. “Mia’s kidneys could shut down any second,” he says. “She’s dependent on a machine to stay alive.”

“How bad is the dialysis?” Cricket asks. “Is it painful?”

“No,” Mia answers honestly.

Oliver cuts in. “But even when she leaves here, even when she’s considered ‘stable,’ she’ll still have to sit in a chair three times a week, three hours at a time, which means she can’t be with Betty or go back to work.

She can’t go anywhere. She can’t do anything, let alone travel to see you play.

Her life will be on hold until—I guess until her name comes up on the donor list—right? That’s what we’re saying?”

Cricket doesn’t correct him, doesn’t volunteer her own vital organ, because that’s what a kidney is—a vital organ. “I could pay for a nanny,” she says instead. “Or a housekeeper, or just, like, give you money? From endorsement deals, I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“That’s really generous,” Mia says, her voice soft. The baby has fallen back asleep on her chest, but Mia continues to watch her. She is thinking—Cricket can see her sister thinking—but Mia ultimately says nothing.

Oliver sits down in the visitor’s chair, rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “So just to make sure we’re all on the same page, you’re choosing the next three years of anything-but-guaranteed glory over your sister’s life.”

“What? No—no!” Cricket stammers. “I just need—I think I just need to think it over? And talk to my team?”

“Sure.” Oliver pulls out his wallet and walks briskly across the room. He presents Cricket with a business card like he’s issuing her a red card for misconduct. “That’s Wendy, the donor coordinator,” he says. “She said to give her a call—her cell is on there, too, in case you—”

“Okay. Yeah, thanks,” Cricket says, accepting the card.

She cannot imagine calling this person. She cannot imagine walking away from her team, from this opportunity, from her parking spot.

But it’s Mia. Cricket’s mind goes blank, unable to process.

She slides Wendy’s business card into the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll call her and let you guys know what everyone thinks is best.”

“So right now your decision is no decision?” Oliver asks.

“I have to figure it out,” Cricket answers, raking her hand across her face.

Oliver turns cold. “Sure, well, in that case, Mia needs her rest,” he says, the vein by his jaw twitching. “And you might as well head home.”

Cricket’s stomach backflips, and Mia looks up from the sleeping baby. “He means home-home—Knickerbocker Avenue home.”

But that doesn’t seem to be at all what Oliver means, and his silence confirms Cricket’s suspicion that he wants her gone.

She nods, pulling herself together. “Yeah, no,” she says, trying to reclaim some control.

“I’ve got practice on Monday, so this was always going to be a quick trip, and since you’re still in here—”

“Right,” Oliver says. “We’re still in here.”

Cricket pulls up the handle of her suitcase. “I’ll call you,” she volunteers, “after I talk to Wendy”—Cricket looks pointedly at Oliver—“and everyone on my side of things.”

Oliver moves to rub Mia’s shoulders, protective as tears stream down her face. “Thanks for coming,” she says, faintly, as Cricket bends down to give her a hug.

Cricket kisses the top of Betty’s head and turns to leave. She says nothing as she closes the door behind her, the world on mute as she walks down the hallway, slogging forward in a murky slow motion.

Two years is nothing.

Two years is everything.

It’s tomorrow and a lifetime away. She hits the elevator button and waits.

What just happened?