Chapter 3
NATHAN
Iwish my mom hadn’t shown up to the funeral in a Chanel dress with a matching purse and stilettos with bright red soles. I wish I owned a less obviously expensive suit. But I hadn’t expected Evan to be so openly hostile.
I know I fucked up when we were kids. I know Evan took the blame, like he always did.
But I’d also hoped enough time had passed for him to forgive me.
I hoped he’d understand how much I wish I could go back and change what I did that night.
Wish I’d done more to protect him, the way he always protected me.
I wish I had been braver. But we were kids.
So much time has passed. Wasn’t our friendship before all that shit important enough to forgive and forget?
He ghosted me. It hurt, but I deserved it.
I can get through it in light of—what I thought would be—a shared grief. Why can’t he?
When I go back into the house, Evan’s nowhere to be seen.
Where are his friends? The ones he hung out with at school?
I don’t see them anywhere, though I recognize some of the neighbors.
Gloria from 28 corners me and asks about college.
Old Tom asks me what my plans for the future are.
Evan’s mom introduces me to Evan’s boss.
For some reason, I’m surprised Evan has a job.
Without realizing it, I guess I’d just automatically assumed he’d be in college, but I guess not.
Evan was always the smart one. When we’d sit at that kitchen table right there, doing homework while his mom cooked us SpaghettiOs, I’d copy every word he wrote, until the teacher caught on and blamed Evan for cheating.
He still helped me after that, though. Still let me see his answers any time we did one of those multiple choice quizzes.
Evan’s house is exactly the same as the house I grew up in before my mom married Bryce.
The same tiny, rectangular-shaped kitchen with the table pushed up against the wall.
The same narrow hallway and skinny staircase.
Same square living room. Three bedrooms—one tiny box room—and a bathroom everyone shares.
I’m pouring myself a soda when Theresa comes and stands beside me. I think she’s looking at something out of the window, but when I really look at her, she’s just staring into space. She realizes I’m watching and snaps out of it.
“I’m glad you came, Nate,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture’s way too personal, and yet, it feels natural. “Look at you.”
I drop my gaze. I know she’s trying to compliment me, so why does it feel like an accusation?
“Your mom’s been telling me how well you’re doing at college. Your tennis team won a championship or something?”
Inside, I’m cringing, but I force a smile. Her husband just died, and she can retain information like that. And I couldn’t even be bothered to come and see him regularly after I left for college? God I hate myself.
“Yeah, it was the ECACs last year, we beat Florida in the finals.” Why am I still talking? She was probably only being polite and doesn’t really give a shit. But she’s still smiling. Still paying attention.
Up close, I can see the freckles lining her nose. The grey strands in her dark hair. Evan looks like his dad, with his fairer hair and sharp, unusual features. But he got the freckles from her. She puts a gentle hand on my arm.
“Nate, do you think you could do something for me?”
“Sure.” I jump at the chance to make this right. Anything.
“Could you talk to Evan for me? Keep an eye on him?”
I open my mouth to tell her that Evan doesn’t seem to want me around, but she interrupts before I can say anything. “I know you’re busy at college, but if you could just check in every now and then. A text or a DM. Whatever you kids do these days.”
I cover my sigh with a fake smile. Evan made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in talking to me, but I’m not about to stress this woman out on the day of her husband’s funeral. “Sure, I’d be happy to.”
Her shoulders relax. “You’re a good kid, Nate. You were always a good influence on him.”
My cheeks flush, because that’s not true. Aside from the obvious, we got into trouble on the regular. Shoplifting, graffiti, fighting. But this isn’t the time or place to argue.
Mom finds me to tell me she’s leaving and asks if I’m coming home with her. I shake my head.
“No, I’m gonna stay for a while.”
“Why?” she asks, bristling.
I pull her away from where anyone can hear.
“Because … Joe was like a dad to me when I was a kid.”
She softens a little, but I can see her eyes darting around, looking for Evan. Did she see me trying to talk to him outside? Surely she can understand that I at least need to pay my respects?
“You’ve said your goodbyes. It’s time to move on.
” She tucks my hair behind my ear and strokes my cheek.
The same way Theresa did. Why does it feel so different?
How can I tell her, now I’m here, I don’t want to move on?
That seeing Evan took all the breath from my lungs and I need, somehow, to make it right?
It was easy to ignore how hard Evan had it while I wasn’t around to witness it.
But now I’m here, seeing it with my own eyes, I can’t ignore it anymore.
“All the same,” I say, working hard to keep my voice level. “I’ll make my own way back. There are some things I need to take care of at school anyway.”
“Fine.” She juts her chin. “I’ll see you soon.” She looks around at everything like it scares her. “Just don’t hang around too long.”
I make my way upstairs, a few steps creaking underfoot, and hesitate outside the closed bedroom door I know is Evan’s. I listen for a second. There’s no noise coming from the other side.
I knock, waiting for a reply. When none comes, I ball my fist up and get ready to try again, but a small voice at my back stops me.
“Nate?”
I turn, blinking at the kid standing in front of me. “Hey Stace, you okay?”
She comes closer and puts her arms around me. She’s so big now. The last time I saw her, she was tiny. Hopping across a hopscotch board in the front yard with her friend. Now she’s an actual teenager. Dressed much older, in a stiff black dress and pantyhose.
“You’re gonna stay, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … ” She looks up at me. “You’re not gonna leave again, are you?”
Fuck. My heart plummets. I wonder if Evan’s listening behind the door.
“Sure.”
“I’d leave him be for now,” Stacie says, gesturing to the door. “He’s less of a grump if you give him space.”
“Thanks.” I try a smile. “Good to know.”
She heads down the stairs and I’m in limbo again, not knowing what the fuck to do. I want to go in there and comfort Evan, but too much time has passed to just jump right back in where we left off. He’s made it obvious we can’t go back to being friends as easily as all that.
I take Stacie’s advice and leave him be. For now.
We host Penn for the first match of the Ivy. Priestley has been on edge for the past 24-hours. Making everyone go to bed early and drink green juice the second we woke up this morning.
While he’s off complaining about something, we have a few moments in the locker room to actually have fun. We’re laughing and someone’s playing music when he gets back. Priestley turns it off, turning to all of us.
“Before you all bitch at me for ruining your fun, I just wanted to remind you all that we’re a team out there, and that we’ve got this.”
There’s an awkward pause before I realize we’re supposed to cheer. As Priestley’s right-hand man, I jump in and start us off, the rest of the guys following suit. Priestley turns to his locker to change and silence spreads over the locker room.
At least the courts look beautiful under the mid-morning sun.
There are even a few spectators in the stands.
I squint to see if I can find a familiar face, not knowing if I actually want to see my mom there in one of her try-hard designer dresses and her big, bug-eye sunglasses.
Instead, I see Bryce, chatting with some serious-looking businessman in a light suit and aviators.
Bryce sees me walk out onto the court and raises his hand in greeting.
Princeton is Bryce’s alma mater. He got me into competitive tennis after he married my mom, made sure I had access to great coaches.
He pulled strings to secure my place. I had to get excellent grades, of course, but I’m not na?ve enough to think I’d have ever ended up here without him.
Seeing him in the stands makes me even more competitive.
Makes me want to show him that his investment paid off.
Priestley and I start play for the doubles point.
I didn’t particularly want to play doubles with Priestley, I much prefer playing with Ben.
But Priestley is the better player, and despite how stressful it is being his partner, terrified I’ll miss a return or mess up my serve, we win the doubles point and start strong.
Priestley plays the first singles match against Penn’s star player.
While we watch, I try not to think about Bryce in the stands behind me.
We don’t get a lot of spectators. College tennis isn’t college football or hockey.
We’re not necessarily a training system for future stars, though there have been pros to come out of the college tennis system.
Tennis courts in colleges tend to be crowded together—we’re not playing Centre Court at Wimbledon here.
On the plus side, low attendance at matches gets rid of some of that pressure having a live crowd can bring.
On the negative side, we’ll never get to experience the glory that college football players get to enjoy.
And there isn’t much of a home crowd advantage, either.
Priestley wipes the floor with Penn’s star player and I’m up next.