What Happened to Goodbye(62)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“I don’t,” I said. She looked taken aback, so I added, “I mean, I’ve only been here a couple of times. Just found it the other day.”

“Oh, I love the Frazier Bakery,” she said, plopping down in the chair beside mine and crossing one leg over the other. “I come in every morning. I could not get through the seven thirty Spin Extreme without my skim caramel espresso.”

“Oh,” I said. “Right.”

“I mean, how can you not love this place?” she asked, sitting back. “It’s so cozy, and it just feels good when you walk in, with the fireplace and the little sayings on the walls. And the best thing is when I travel, there’s always one on some corner. So it’s like having a bit of home with me no matter where I go.”

I looked around the room again, thinking of my dad. If there was one thing he hated in a restaurant, it was fakeness. He always said that eating food as an experience should be real, unique and messy, and to pretend otherwise was cheating yourself. “Well,” I said. “That is convenient, I guess.”

“And the food is great, too,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “I eat just about every meal here, to be honest. It’s halfway between my condo and my office. See what I mean? Perfect!”

I nodded. “I’ll have to try that skim caramel thing.”

“Do it. You won’t regret it.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, gotta go. If I’m late I might not get a bike and that is not a good thing. Hey, it was great bumping into you! Your dad says you’re really liking it here.”

“He said that?”

“Oh, yeah. I think he likes it, too, especially lately. Just a hunch.” She smiled, flashing those white teeth. I raised my eyebrows, but she was already turning around, flipping me a popular-rl wave over one shoulder. “See you soon, Mclean!”

Oh, God, I thought as I watched her stride up to the counter, although I had to admit I felt a little relieved. My dad could never really be with a woman who loved this place, even in the short term. We cut and runners might be sketchy, but we had our standards.

I waited until she’d gotten her drink and left, the bell sounding cheerily behind her, before I pulled out my phone and glanced at the clock. It was 7:00 a.m. sharp as I dialed, then listened to one, two, then three rings. Finally, she picked up.

“Mom? ”

“Mclean? Is that you?”

I cleared my throat, looking into that fire in front of me. The logs were perfectly shaped, the fake flames flickering. Pretty yes, but no real warmth there. Just an illusion, but you didn’t realize that until you were up close and still felt cold.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me. We need to talk.”

“Hey! Think fast!”

I just looked at Dave as he chucked the basketball at me with possibly the worst overhand throw I’d ever seen. It landed far to my right, then bounced past me, banging against my dad’s truck.

“Do you have a vision problem or something? ” I asked him.

“Just keeping you on your toes,” he replied, cheerful as ever as he ran over, picking it up again. He bounced it, then said, “Up for a game?”

I shook my head. “Too early for me.”

“It’s eight thirty, Mclean. Get with the program.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“Really?” He bounced the ball again. “Doing what?”

“Compromising.” I yawned, then turned toward my house. “I’ll explain later.”

I started up the steps, rummaging in my pocket for my keys. Inside, all the lights were still off, my dad sleeping in for once.

“Want to know what I think?” Dave called out from behind me.

“No.”

“I think,” he continued, ignoring this, “that you’re scared.”

I just looked at him. “Scared.”

“Of my game,” he explained. “My skills. My—”

I walked closer to him, then reached out, easily knocking the ball from his hands. It hit the driveway, then rolled onto the grass.

“Well, see, I wasn’t in defensive mode just then.” He reached around me, picking up the ball and giving it an authoritative bounce. “Now I am. Bring it on.”

“I told you,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m not interested.”

He sighed. “Mclean, come on. You live in a basketball town. Your dad played for DB, your mom is married to the current DB coach, and I happen to have personal experieve been with your overhand shot.”

“Yes, but basketball doesn’t have the best associations for me right now,” I pointed out.

“You can’t blame the game for any of that,” he said, bouncing the ball again. “Basketball is a good thing. Basketball only wants you to be happy.”

I just looked at him as he dribbled sloppily around me toward the basket. “Now,” I said, “you sound like a crazy person.”

“Think fast!” he said, whirling around and throwing the ball at me. I caught it easily, and he looked surprised. “Okay, fine. Now shoot it.”

“Dave.”

“Mclean. Humor me. Just one shot.”

“You’ve seen me shoot,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but the blunt force knocked my memory out. I need a replay.”

I sighed, then bounced the ball once, squaring my shoulders. Other than that random Boomerang a few weeks ago, I hadn’t had my hands on a basketball in years. But that morning had been all about doing things I had never planned to do again, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

At first, on the phone, my mom was wary. She knew I’d heard about her lawyer’s call, and thought I was calling to tell her exactly what I thought of her latest move. It was tempting to do just that. But instead, I took a breath and did what I had to do instead.

“Are you still thinking you’ll be going to the beach a lot this spring?” I asked.

“The beach?”

“Yes.” I looked into the fireplace again. “You did say once the house and the season was done you’d be going there a lot. Right?”

“I did,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“I’ll come for my spring break, next month,” I replied. “If you call off your lawyer, I’ll come that full week and four other weekends as well.”

“I didn’t want to have to get the courts involved,” she said quickly. “But—”