Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“’Kay, Mama.”
He dug into his grilled cheese, and while he did, Mama went to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of merlot, and said, “Vina, let’s have a drink on the porch.”
FIFTY-NINE
DAVINA
The sun was setting, and I had a cool glass of much-needed wine in hand. There was a cool, soothing breeze going, causing the wind chimes to collide.
Mama was sitting in one of the chairs, I occupied the other, and Octavia had joined us. She was sitting on the ottoman for my chair.
She and Octavia talked about Aromantic while I scrolled through my phone. As I was reading a few of the comments on the GOC page, a text notification popped up from Tish, and I tapped it. I refrained from rolling my eyes as I clicked the link.
The headline was:
DEKE BISHOP’S FIRST GAME A BIG LETDOWN
Oh boy. Really? It was obvious she wanted me to feel worse, as if I didn’t feel bad enough. She wasn’t in support of me leaving while he was sleeping, but when I explained how I felt and that I’d had a panic attack, she understood.
I darkened the screen of my phone, took a sip of wine, then climbed out of the chair to use the bathroom. Abe was sitting on the couch in fresh clothes, the scent of his citrusy bodywash filling half the room.
His phone was in his hand, and though the volume was low, I could hear people speaking. When they said a familiar name, I stopped in the hallway to listen.
“I’m sorry, Doug. I know you like the guy, but he’s starting a brand-new season with weak attempts. Bishop claimed he had intense training over the summer, but I gotta tell ya. I’m not seeing it! He lost control of the ball four times in the span of thirty minutes, and he was eight for twenty, which is the lowest I’ve ever seen for this guy, even when he was in college.”
“Yeah, Deke Bishop normally brings the heat, but all I saw were ice-cold bricks,” another said.
The commentators laughed together, and that’s when I hurried into the bathroom.
Of course, when I emerged, I could still hear them.
“It’s not looking good for him. The Ravens signed him for one of their biggest contracts yet, and I bet they’re regretting it.”
“Yikes,” one of them said. “All I know is if Bishop doesn’t get his head in the game, the Ravens aren’t going to send him packing. They’re going to send him flying.” To make matters worse, a bird cawed at the end of their chat.
Good Lord. Deke was right. They did talk a lot of shit.
I went back to my seat on the porch, pulling my phone out again and searching for highlights from Deke’s game. Seeing him pop up on my screen caused a wrenching in my chest.
I watched one clip, where he let the ball slip out of his hands, followed by another, where he took a shot and missed. Right after missing, he turned away, with his head shaking in defeat and his hands low on his hips.
There was another of him dropping the ball, which resulted in a turnover.
There was a close-up of him bent over, hands on his knees, eyes ahead, sweat dripping from his forehead to the tip of his nose. He was looking around the stadium like he was searching for something. Or someone.
Nothing could beat the last clip I saw, where Deke missed the buzzer shot, walked toward the chairs, and kicked one so hard it flew back and slammed into the rails. Right after, he walked to the locker rooms with his head down. Apparently, he was fined for that.
I turned my phone on its face and swallowed. This was my fault.
“You know I lost your grandma right around the time I met your daddy, right?” Mama asked with a lazy smile. She was talking to Octavia, but the question caught my ear.
“Wait, what? I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Oh yeah!” She sat higher in her chair. “We met when I had a job at the blood bank. He was smitten.” She chuckled. “The day he came in was about three or so days after my mom passed, and I was so upset. I didn’t want to work, but I had to, because I needed money. All he wanted was to make me smile, and he accomplished it. He made me feel better in a lot of ways, even though I didn’t really want to be with him—or anyone for that matter.” She tapped her chin. “Yeah, after meeting him, I sort of spiraled. And I could never figure out why he stuck around when all I cared about was drinking and partying and hanging with my girls. There was a point where I was flat-out telling him to leave, because he could do better than me. I mean, really? He was such a nice, handsome man. He didn’t need to waste his time on me.”