Twenty-Five
I know I made the right decision in the car. Because the simple truth is, he doesn’t seem bothered by the end to whatever this was. In fact, he almost seems cheery about it. Like he’s gotten everything he needs from our fake relationship, and can now sail off into the sunset of some great real relationship, with all his newfound sex and dating knowledge.
And of course the pressure of Doug is now off.
There’s no way for Doug to doubt that we were a real thing. In fact, he not only doesn’t doubt it, he’s actually invested in our upcoming phony divorce. Because during the basketball tournament that Beck has set up for the last day, Doug yells stuff about it. He tries to goad Beck into playing, when Beck insists he just wants to make sure everything runs smoothly. He just wants to stand on the sidelines in his cute shorts, his clipboard in hand, keeping score for the various mini teams who’ve played. Occasionally sitting on the tiered benches that line one side of the court, sometimes chatting with me or Dina about what a great time this has been.
But Doug won’t let him.
So I step in. I tell him to give it a rest.
And Doug says:
‘Why do you care, he’s getting rid of you soon. And who could blame him, considering what a frump you’ve turned into over the last two weeks.’ Which is good, because that means he really believes it. But at the same time, I’m not going to lie. It stings way more than it really should.
For the first time he really gets to me – most likely because it’s a sore spot. Because I’m just kind of newly stumbling into being something like myself, and myself is so often not seen in a good light. I don’t quite yet know how to be fully confident like this, with anyone but Beck.
So I can’t snap back as fast as normal.
I just kind of take a little breath, and stutter to a halt.
But that’s okay. Because Beck doesn’t. In fact, he’s so whip-fast it takes me even more aback than Doug’s insult. I watch him step between me and Doug with eyes that feel suddenly very big. And they get even bigger when I realize he’s put a hand on me. To move me back, behind him.
Like Doug has a knife, and he wants to take it in the gut before I can.
Or at least, that’s what it seems to me. But maybe less like Doug is the one with the knife when Beck speaks. ‘ What did you just say to my wife?’ he says, in this voice I’ve never heard before. Honestly, I didn’t even know he had that voice in him. It’s like watching a different sort of demon altogether take over his body, and this one is pissed . It just added seventeen new syllables to the word what , and all of them are furious.
Plus he kind of, I dunno.
Uses his height differently. For the first time I really see how casually he wears it. How he almost obscures it, most of the time, even with people who aren’t that much shorter than him. I mean, I think Doug is over six feet. But suddenly he does not look over six feet.
He looks tiny.
And Beck is some monstrous giant, looming over him.
If he wanted to, I realize, he could just demolish this guy. He could swipe one hand and knock him into next fucking week. But even weirder is this revelation: that Beck fucking knows it. All along, all this time, through every snide comment and bit of bullying, Beck has clearly understood that he could just beat this guy’s ass until he’s nothing but a stain on the pavement.
He just hasn’t wanted to, for himself.
He only wants to now, for someone else.
Like when it was about Nita Sandhu, I think. Like when he defended his coworker, and all this fucking mess started. Only more so, because I think maybe I mean more. And you know, I understand it’s not really wife more. But god, in this moment it feels like it.
My heart starts beating so fast. I can’t even stop him, I’m so awestruck.
Honestly it’s a relief when Doug takes a step back.
‘Hey, easy there, buddy,’ he says. ‘I was just trying to get you to play.’
And Beck seems to relax a little. He nods, like, okay, cool, that makes sense.
‘All right,’ he tells Doug. ‘Maybe we should play then. First to five, how does that sound?’
‘Sounds like bullshit without a bet.’
‘So let’s do one. You tell me what you want.’
‘For you to step aside from this job you don’t deserve.’
No fucking way , I think at Beck. And I go to tell him it, too.
But I’m too late. I’m too late. Beck is already smiling amiably, like it’s no big deal. ‘Sure,’ he says, as if there’s any chance at all that he’s going to avoid that. Or even remotely get close to the stakes he lays down. ‘And if I win, you have to take that Toronto job, so none of us have to ever see you again.’
To which Doug, of course, laughs.
He sticks out his hand. ‘You got a deal, bow-tie,’ he says.
Then they shake, as my stomach sinks into my shoes. Because the thing is, I know Beck will be honourable about this. When he loses, he’s definitely just gonna do it. He will give up something he has earned, to this fucking jackwagon.
And that is awful to me. I watch them stroll over to the court with my hands in my hair and such a tortured look on my face that two people from my group try to get me to sit down on the benches that line the court. Meera fans me with her notepad; Julio tries to get me to have a drink.
I think the drink is bourbon.
But I down it when I hear Beck saying: ‘Okay, so I have to get the ball in this here net thingie.’ Then I have to watch him point to the wrong one. The one directly in front of him, instead of across the court, past Doug. Who is already crouched, waiting, hands out, like he thinks he’s some prime athlete.
‘No, dingus, you gotta get past me,’ he says, and in reply, Beck makes this face, like, oh, right, yeah, so silly of me.
Then instead of turning around to face Doug, he tosses the ball over his shoulder. Casually, barely any effort at all behind it. I swear to god, he doesn’t even look. But we all watch it sail across the court, over Doug’s head, all the same.
Before it lands directly.
Into.
The motherfucking basket.
Just like that. Like it’s nothing.
Though it’s more than that, and I know it. Everyone there knows it, immediately. Because Beck didn’t just make that impossible shot. He knew that he could make it. Somehow he knew. And so much so that he keeps going. ‘That’s one, right. How many more do I need again? No, wait, don’t tell me, I’ll just keep going until someone says I can stop beating your ass through the asphalt,’ he says, and even then I think okay, he’s exaggerating.
But of course I forget that he doesn’t.
Which means I get to watch him spin the fucking ball on his finger, midway through Doug trying to get it off him. Just straight does it, like it’s no problem at all to either keep it there, or dodge a whole man while doing so. Then he tosses it to the other hand when Doug goes the wrong way, and drills right to the basket.
And kind of bats it in there.
Which is hilarious enough on its own. Seriously, everybody is laughing at this point. But it gets even funnier when Beck says: ‘You know what, I’m a sporting man. Why don’t you start with the ball this time, see how that goes?’
Because this time, we all know what’s going to happen.
Only Doug seems to think things are going to turn out well for him. He takes the ball Beck gently tosses him, and goes for it. And I swear, Beck takes it from him so fast, and so stealthily, it’s hard to even see what he does. Blink, and you miss it.
But we all see Beck knock it into his basket, again.
He does it even more casually than the last one.
And now Doug is mad . ‘You fucking cheat,’ he says. As if cheating is even possible. I mean, what does he think is happening here – Beck has flux capacitors in his shoes? He has a sometimes invisible clone of himself playing half the game? No way to tell. But Doug keeps trying to suggest it anyway.
‘When would you even get good at this?’ he asks.
And Beck answers, while taking the basketball off him for the second time.
Before casually making a half-court shot, and catching the rebound.
‘When I was six feet five all through high school and college,’ he says, then he seems to stop and consider. Ball in one hand, waiting to see if Doug will try it again. ‘But you know, it wasn’t really the height that got me and my team a cabinet full of trophies. I mean, anyone can just be tall. No, it was the fact that we worked together. We figured things out, calmly. We were thoughtful about things. Like now, when I’m thinking that you’re so angry you’re going to charge at me, and I’ll see it coming, and just be able to step aside.’
And Doug does just that.
Then Beck steps aside, like he said.
But before he even gets to the basket, the whole bunch of us sitting on these benches goes nuts. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen or known. I don’t even know if I’ve ever watched a movie this fucking fun and satisfying. But it happens, and when it does, I can’t help it. I don’t care what I said before or how I felt or anything.
I just run to him, like a cheerleader at the end of the big game against Evil High. And in response, he does the thing. He lifts me into his arms, like he wants that, too. The big ending, the absolute bursting glee, the sense of reality being something better, for once. Something brighter.
Something where they kiss at the end.