Page 118 of The Wrong Game

The words were just a whisper, a truth spoken so softly I wanted to believe it was a lie. But Gemma turned, leaving me to watch her go, powerless to keep her or convince her that what we had was enough — that it could be what she’s always wanted, if she only gave it the chance.

All I could do was stay.

All I could do was let her go.

Gemma

Everything was fine.

That’s what I told myself as I bruised my knees, bent on the kitchen floor scrubbing the bottom of my oven. The fumes from the cleaner somehow brought me comfort, and I sang along to the music blasting from my speaker. It was Sunday, and I’d spent all day at Soldier Field. We got another win. We were well on our way to the playoffs.

Everything was fine.

The week had somehow flown by and dragged on all at once, but I was staying busy. I threw myself into work when I was there, and after, I cleaned, did yoga, tried out some new recipes I’d been wanting to take a stab at. I’d gone through some old keepsake boxes, ones I had put away in my back closet. I’d even picked up the old ukulele I used to play by the bonfires in college. I didn’t remember much, but it was a challenge to try.

Everything wasfine.

It was an early game, noon kickoff, so I was home with plenty of time to finish my to-do list for the weekend. The sun had just finished its sink behind the buildings downtown when suddenly, my music was cut off, and I turned, finding Belle standing by the speaker with wide eyes as she took in my condo.

She looked at the windows — the ones I’d cleaned from top to bottom. Then, she scanned the new frames and canvases I’d hung above the couch. Her eyes continued their survey, taking in the spotless kitchen, the shampooed floor, the ukulele propped in the corner by the edge of the couch, the three pans of brownies I’d baked — I was planning on bringing those into the office.

And then, her eyes found me, still bent on my knees on the kitchen floor by my oven. I wiped my brow with the back of my yellow rubber-gloved hand, and smiled. “Hey, Belle.”

Her face crumpled. “Oh, honey. This is bad. This is really,reallybad.”

I sighed, turning back to the oven, Brillo pad already scrubbing before I answered. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly.”

“I am,” I defended. “Look at this place. It’s spotless. And I’ve been doing yoga, and meditating, and I baked some goodies for the office, and I went to the game today and we won and we’re probably going to the playoffs and everything is just…” I inhaled a breath, unsure of why my chest suddenly stung, why my eyes were blurring with tears. “Fine. Everything is fine.”

Belle rounded the kitchen island, sinking down until she was on the floor with me. She watched me scrub for a moment, and the more she stared, the more I felt like a bug under a microscope.

And the damn spot I was trying to get wouldn’t come up. What evenwasit? Baked pizza cheese? Something from the tenant before me?

I scrubbed at it harder and harder, my arms aching, hair falling in my face. But it wouldn’t come up. Nothing would make it budge. I growled, throwing the Brillo pad and plopping down on my butt as my chest heaved, and I stared at that spot, my eyes blurring.

“It won’t come off,” I said, voice breaking as I gestured to the dark, mysterious smudge on my otherwise spotless oven. “I can’t get it off.”

Tears blurred my vision, and I tried to open my eyes wide so they wouldn’t fall, but they built up until they fell over my cheeks, anyway.

Belle sighed, opening her arms from where she sat beside the oven. “Come here.”

I crawled into her embrace, and my best friend hugged me close to her like my mother never did. She rocked me a little, soothing me with a gentleshhhhas I cried, and I hated that I was crying, I hated that I was being weak.

I hated thatnothingwas fine.

“Talk to me,” Belle said, still rocking me, her fingers running through my hair that had fallen from my messy pony tail. “And don’t spit bullshit and fakeI’m okaycrap. Tell me the real stuff.”

I let out a long breath, pulling back until I was out of her grasp. I peeled off my gloves, and Belle grabbed one of my hands in hers a I used the other one to swipe away the tears from my face. I stared at the shiny, spotless tile Belle and I both sat on, trying to find the right words to say.

“He didn’t come to the game,” I started, sniffing, not knowing why that mattered. “I went, and I went alone, I didn’t even bring anyone. And I told him to leave me alone, I told him I was done, but I don’t know…”

“There was still a part of you that thought he might show up,” Belle finished for me.

I nodded.

“You miss him.”