I narrow my eyes. “Like a musician?”
“Sort of. You’ll see.” Liam bends over the character sheet again. “The guy playing the bard is new to town, too, and he seems like a good egg. I think you’ll like him.” His tone is entirely too nonchalant in a way that makes me immediately suspicious.
And then, like he’s dangling a carrot, Liam adds, “He’s cute.”
Fine. I’m curious.
“I’m excited to meet everyone,” I say evenly, fighting the smile that tugs at my lips as I take another drink of beer. Warmth spreads to my limbs, chasing away some of the tension from earlier. “And you’re not playing a character, right?” I clarify. I still haven’t wrapped my head around how the game works. “You just run the game?”
“Right. I’ll be the Dungeon Master.”
“Sounds kinky.”
Liam shoots me another flat look. “I run the game,” he explains. “I build the world, create a compelling plotline…think of it as the storyteller role. I create the map, and the players choose which paths to explore. Does that make sense?”
“Not really, but I’m sure it will next weekend.” I let out a rush of air and nod. “Okay. It sounds like this adventuring party could use a healer. A cleric.”
There’s something like approval or pride in the way Liam’s eyes light up. “That’s a great idea.”
I smile. “Good. Let’s call her Jaylie.”
For the next hour, Liam walks me through filling out my character sheet, and together we sketch out the bones of who Jaylie is. We pick out her spells, determine her background, and sprinkle in some charisma for fun. Drafting out our ideas reminds me in some ways of my old job, where I’d begin campaign planning by first brainstorming a handful of words I wanted the project to capture.Adventurous, curious, bold,I think. Jaylie is someone who’sembarking on something new and exciting—someone who hasn’t royally fucked up her life. Someone with luck on her side.
Someone I’d like to be again.
I’m still scribbling ideas down when Liam stands to stretch, not bothering to cover his loud yawn. “Early day tomorrow,” he says. He’s teaching summer school again this year. “Let’s take a pause here?”
But ideas for the game still flood my thoughts; it’s the most inspired I’ve felt in months. “I might keep noodling away for a bit, actually.”
“Of course.” Liam disappears into the bathroom, and as the whine of his electric toothbrush drones in the background, I take another look around his new home. It’s so unlike the apartments we shared in college. The house is fucking massive, frankly, and Liam’s given me full rein of the second floor, while the first-floor master bedroom and game room are his. He inherited the house from his late grandpa, and it’s still furnished with an odd mix of Liam’s clean, modern taste and his grandpa’s rugged old country boy aesthetic. I look up the stairs, and a mounted deer head gazes imperiously down at me from where it’s positioned next to a fantasy landscape I painted for Liam as a birthday gift years ago.
I frown at the landscape. I haven’t painted in ages, but still—I could do much better work now.
Liam’s elderly orange cat, Howard—another inheritance from his grandpa—lumbers carefully down the stairs and curls up at my side. In just the last couple of weeks, we’ve become good friends. He croaks a meow at me, sounding like a growly old engine. I run my thumb along the cat’s forehead, between his eyes, and he immediately begins to purr.
“Hey,” I call down the hallway. “Thank you again, Liam. For everything. I mean it.”
The sound of running water cuts off, and the buzzing stops.
“Josephine Sadie Brooks.” Liam comes out of his room withone hand on his hip and the toothbrush gripped menacingly in his fist. He always uses my full name when he’s pretending to be cross. “You’re my best friend. It’s nothing. I’m glad to have you here.”
His expression softens.
“You’ll figure it all out. We can’t control the wind, but we can always adjust the sails,” he says sagely.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Now that’sdefinitelyfrom the fortune cookie.”
Liam’s eyes sparkle. “You caught me.” He passes me the small slip of paper before disappearing into his bedroom.
I look at the fortune then set it aside and turn back to my notebook and Jaylie’s character sheet. I can’t ignore the itch that there’s something missing, some aspect of her character that I haven’t captured yet. Again my eyes skim the painting I made for Liam all those years ago.
Even as a knot of apprehension tangles in my chest, I trudge upstairs with Howard close on my heels. Ignoring the mess I’ve made of Liam’s guest room—bed unmade, clothes scattered on the floor—I dig into the bottom of my duffel bag and retrieve my sketchbook. It was the last thing I’d grabbed before Liam shepherded me out of my apartment. I hadn’t touched it in months, but I remember that tug of uncertainty, the feeling that I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.
I sink to the floor and open it in my lap, flipping about midway through to a blank section. Already I imagine Jaylie coming to life on the page as colors and lines swim behind my eyes.
Before I begin, I tape Liam’s crinkled fortune to the top of the page and read it once more.
We can’t control the wind, but we can always adjust the sails.
