My face went hot.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before responding.
If the goal was for me to spontaneously combust in my parents’ house, mission accomplished.
Three dots immediately appeared.
You’re home-home?
Yeah. The condo was way too quiet without you.
It got lonely.
Ihad gotten lonely.
That breaks my heart a little, Lex.
I stared at the honest exchange.God, I simped so hard for her.
Eva hadn’t been gone for more than a few days before I’d made the decision to go home. With no real obligations in Chicago, it made little sense for me to stay in Eva’s penthouse condo all by myself when my family was only a 90-minute drive north.
I’ll be okay. Nothing another behind-the-scenes photo can’t cure.
I’ll be home soon. They asked us to set aside time for a 10-day shoot, but I think I’ll wrap up earlier than that.
Overachiever. Making the other models look bad.
Have fun with your family. I love you.
Love you, too.
My mom was already upand clanking around in the kitchen when I finally got off my phone and decided to interact with the living. I’d made the trip to spend time with them, after all. With Eva off in Florida for herSIshoot, the condo had gotten too quiet, too fast. I hadn’t realized how much noise she brought with her—singing in the morning, fussing over her edges, narrating everything she cooked. Without her, the apartment felt like a museum. Too tidy. Too still.
Home, at least, was familiar.
I did a slow loop around the living room. Nothing had changed. The same faded couch, the same Packers fleece draped over the back, the same framed photos of my sister and me scattered around the room. Maybe I was the only thing in the room that had changed.
I still felt like me, though. I hadn’t had much time to reflect on life after college graduation. I hadn’t even attended my own commencement ceremony since it had interfered with the start of training camp. I was a professional athlete. The starting pointguard for a major-market basketball team. I’d achieved my long-sought goal.
So why did I feel like I was still waiting for something?
There’d be new goals, of course. Make the All-Star team. Win a championship. Maybe even the Olympics if I kept at it. But beyond that—beyond the game—what else was there? Who was I without the jersey?
The quiet had started to ask questions I didn’t have answers to.
I paused in front of the mantle.
“Ma,” I called out. “What’s this?”
“What’s what, honey?” she asked from the connecting kitchen.
“This photo.” I picked it up, squinting at the pixelated print. It looked like someone had zoomed in too far before hitting print. But the background was clear: Tulum. And the people in the photo were unmistakable—Eva, grinning wide in her linen shirt, and me, holding her hand like I didn’t care who saw us. At the time, I guess I didn’t.
“Oh!” she said brightly. “Do you like it? I bought some photo paper and printed it from the internet.”
“You printed a paparazzi photo?”
She shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You both looked so happy. I wanted one for the mantle.”
