“She’s lovely.” Nancy smiles, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Anya smiles politely.
“Please, call me Nancy.” She links her arm with Anya’s. My girlfriend looks at me, taken aback, and I cock my head, giving her an indication that it will be alright.
“Do you remember, Danny?” Nancy turns her head to look at me, laughs, and looks back at Anya. “He used to call me Nanny. He never believed my name was Nancy.” She chuckles. “Because I was his nanny, and he insisted on being called Danny so that our names rhymed.”
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “I was just a kid,” I exclaim, crossing my arms defensively. Anya sniggers.
“I would love to know more about his childhood stories. Embarrassing ones, especially.” She smiles smugly.
I walk faster, catching up to them. “Oh no, we are not doing that.” I insert myself between them, and they laugh at me.
Nancy ignores me. “There was this one time when this boy set fire to the mattress because it was cold, and he wanted to make it warm.” Anya's jaw drops and I groan.
“Come on.” I pout at Nancy. “You don’t need to tell her everything. You don’t know her. She is going to tease me for life,” I whine.
“That’s the plan, captain.” Anya smiles softly. I look into her brown eyes. So warm, they remind me of the golden hues of a sunset. My heart thumps faster in my chest.
“Go, show her around.” Nancy nudges me slightly. “Your father will be down in five.” She takes the bouquet from my hand.
I intertwine my fingers with Anya’s and head toward my room. Anya and I walk down the hallway, the comfortableweight of her hand in mine calming my nerves. Her gaze drifts over the walls, adorned with numerous framed photos. She stops. “Is that your mother?” she asks, pointing at one of my favorite photo of my mother and me.
Mom stands in the doorway in one of her floral dresses she loved, her bag in her hand. I’m perched on her back, arms wrapped tightly around her neck and my face split in a wide grin. She is smiling but I can see the annoyance on her face. She was getting late for work.
“Yes.” I smile. “I always wanted a piggyback ride, especially when she was working, hence the annoyed look.” I chuckle.
“You look adorable.” She grins, her fingers tracing the frame of one picture where my seven-year-old self is holding up a small trophy, a wide grin plastered on my face.
I chuckle, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing her closer. “Yeah, I was a cocky little shithead.”
“What makes you think that has changed?” She narrows her eyes playfully.
I scoff, my arm slipping down to her waist, drawing her closer. The scent of her lavender perfume fills my nostrils, and I inhale deeply.
“Who cares? You like me. That’s all that matters.” I grin, glancing sideways at her. My thumb brushes against the fabric of her dress, tracing small circles on the smooth material, relishing in the feel of her warmth beneath my touch. Anya laughs, a soft chuckle that escapes her lips as a faint blush creeps up her cheeks. She looks up at me, the corner of her mouth curved into a playful smile.
“Come on.” I pull her toward my room. I fling the door open and lead Anya inside. A familiar scent hits me—something like old books mixed with faint cologne. I pause for a second, taking it all in. The walls are still the same muted gray I painted them years ago, except for the onenavy-blue wall that holds a massive poster of LeBron James.
The sunlight streaming through the wide window on the left casts a warm glow over the room, making everything look softer, smaller even. My trophies are still lined up on the shelf above the bed—gold and silver glints of memories staring back at me. The bed itself, pushed against the far wall, looks oddly neat. Too neat. Like Mom used to make it when she was alive.
I glance at the chair near the window and spot it—the fluffy basketball I used to carry around everywhere as a kid. The sight makes me chuckle under my breath.
“My mother gave it to me the day before she died.” I chuckle weakly. “I was upset with her because she did not hug me before leaving for work.” Her eyes soften as she accepts it. I watch her as she looks down at the toy, studying its features, her fingers tracing over the stitches of the basketball. She squeezes my hand. I squeeze it back and smile at her. “I am fine now.” I try to reassure her as a crease appears between her eyebrows. “She had coronary heart disease,” I inhale deeply, “she was in an accident and had a heart attack.” I explain.
“This was the last gift she gave you, Daniel.” She gasps. “Captain.” She smiles widely, and her eyes meet mine. “It’s as if you got her blessing. Call me superstitious—” She chuckles.“---but she wanted you to become a basketball player because she knew you loved it, because she saw what I still see. You are the happiest when you are on the court, Daniel,” she says softly, grinning widely.
I can’t help but be overwhelmed by her words. She has no idea how much her words mean to me. She has no idea how much this is affecting me. “Really? You think so?” I whisper, uncertain of how to feel.
“Absolutely,” Anya replies, her eyes sparkling. “You are made for this, captain.” She moves closer to me and pecks my cheek.
My hands automatically find their way to her waist, pulling her flush against me. “You are a little wrong though,” I murmur, my gaze fixed on hers. “I am happiest when I am with you, Anya. You make my heart happy.” I lean my forehead against hers. “You are my home, Firecracker.” I press my lips to hers.
“You’re such a sap,” she murmurs against my lips, her fingers latching onto my t-shirt, pulling me closer. “Just promise me you’ll never stop being my basketball boy.”
I grin, my lips skimming across her jawline. “I promise.” I plant a kiss on her neck. A blush rises on her neck and she shivers. I smile against her neck, my hands reaching for the hem of her dress.
She pushes me away. “You are shameless.” I love seeing her natural blush, the way her chest heaves every time, the way I affect her.
