Page 15 of Trick Play
I shrug, still keeping up the pretense that I don’t know what he’s trying to do. “Well, it sounds like you’re saying he’s pansexual, which I happen to find interesting.”
The horror has left Gray’s expression, and now he’s just stuck on confused, his forehead all wrinkled and his mouth hanging open. “I didn’t say that at all.”
It’s tough, but I manage to stifle my laughter. Sometimes it’s so easy to wind him up. I place a finger on my lips. “Wait. Hang on. Are you trying to tell me he’s put the moves on you? Because that might be a deal-breaker for me.”
“That’syour deal-breaker?” Gray’s almost shouting now, and I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from giggling. “Not the fact that he can’t be trusted and is obviously trying to use you.”
Not gonna lie, that stings. “Ohhh, that’s what you’re trying to say. He’s just using me.” I nod, like I understand everything now. “Got it. There’s no way a guy could just, y’know, be interested inme, after all. Hot guys are only ever interested in me to use me for their own nefarious purposes. Thanks for clearing that up.”
Gray lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what I said.”
But I don’t let him finish his defense. “You know, Gray, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah? Then why’d you end up back here where Mom and Dad can keep a closer eye on you. And why’d I transfer here to be a buffer for you if you don’t need any help from anyone?”
I jerk my head back, hurt by the unexpected blow. Tears come to my eyes, and I blink them away before they can fall, looking out the window so Gray doesn’t see how affected I am.
Gray’s had my back since we were kids, and he’s a good big brother for the most part. I get that he thinks he’s protecting me by trying to warn me about Cal, and maybe I shouldn’t have given him shit just now, but I also don’t want him to think he gets to dictate who I do and don’t date.
Nodding, I look down at my hands in my lap and clear my throat. “Sure. You’re right. Maybe I’m not so on top of things. Obviously I do need a babysitter. That’s why you’re here, right? That’s the point of these weekly dinners—so everyone can check up on me, the family fuckup.” I glance at him before looking away again. “I might be a fuckup, but I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were,” he says softly.
When I don’t respond, he lets out another frustrated sigh. The blinker clicks in the silence of the car, and he pulls away from the curb. We don’t talk the rest of the way to Mom and Dad’s house, and even though I try my best to act normal, I’m quiet and subdued all through dinner, answering the standard questions about school and classes when asked, but not volunteering anything extra.
Gray does a better job of acting normal, but he studies me more than usual, seeming to weigh all my answers extra carefully. I don’t know if it’s because he’s looking for clues that I’m more involved with Cal than he thinks or because he feels bad for what he said in the car, but either way, I pretend not to notice.
Until Mom asks her favorite question. “Have either of you met anyone interesting lately?” That’s her way of asking if either of us has a new boyfriend or girlfriend.
“Nope,” Gray answers, looking at me. “I don’t have a lot of time between classes and football.”
Mom purses her lips. “You really should make time to socialize,” she says. “It only gets harder as you get older, you know.” Then she turns to me. “What about you, sweetie?”
This question is always dicier for me, given my history. For Gray, it’s hopeful. They want him to meet a nice girl and have a stable relationship. Me? Anyone I’m willing to date is automatically suspect. Brent did a great job of screwing me over in so many, many ways. I wonder if he’s proud of what a total and complete wanking asshole he is.
I offer a polite smile and shake my head. “No one for me either. I don’t have football, but with my class load, I don’t have a lot of time for much besides studying.”
I can feel Gray’s eyes on me, and I meet his glare with a cool look of my own. We have our own little staring contest in the middle of dinner.
“I do hope you’re making time for friends, though,” Mom says. Dad clears his throat, and I wait a beat for him to object before responding.
As much as I hate to be the first to look away, I break off the staring contest with Gray and look at my mom. “I am. My roommate and I do things together, and I’ve made a few other friends in my building. I’m not a complete hermit, don’t worry.”
Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry.” She cuts a bite of her chicken. “I’m glad you’re getting out some, though. I know you want to graduate as soon as possible, but when we agreed to let you live on campus it was because we all wanted you to have a typical college experience. And part of that means socializing and making friends.”
“I know, Mom.” I force another smile, because smiling is better than screaming, and that’s what I really want to do by the end of every one of these dinners. They’re always a minefield of jabs and reminders and making sure I’m walking the tightrope of being the good little girl I always was growing up. There’s extra pressure, now, though, because of what happened last spring. I think my parents still don’t know what to make of what happened, or don’t understand how it could’ve happened. Because I was the good girl growing up—honors student, involved with clubs and activities at school, had friends, the usual amount of adolescent drama and boyfriends, but nothing crazy. Certainly no encounters with the police or the school disciplinary system.
So they’re still trying to wrap their heads around how that all went up in smoke, how I ended up both a victim and a perpetrator in two separate instances. And they’re blaming it on either too much freedom too soon or a boy, hence their requiring me to go to Marycliff since it’s in my hometown and having these weekly dinners and the regular probing into my social life.
Since Gray’s here, it makes it seem like standard parental curiosity. But we all know that with me, it’s more than that.
Once we finish, Mom offers ice cream for dessert, but Gray shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Can’t, Mom. It’s not on my meal plan.”
Mom purses her lips like she thinks that’s ridiculous but leaves it alone. Standing, I shake my head, too. “Sorry, Mom. Not tonight. I need to get back to campus and finish up a paper for tomorrow.”
Mom wraps me in a hug, and I close my eyes, letting myself be transported back in time two years when Mom-hugs were simple gestures of affection and didn’t carry worry and fear and latent frustration with me as well. Once Mom releases me, my Dad gives me a hug too, his shorter and more perfunctory, but nice all the same.
My parents care about me. I know they do. But turning into the black sheep before I even turned twenty has been rough.
