Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
I overthink it.
I drag every one of my limited belongings into the middle of the cabin and debate the pros and cons of trading each and every one, including my laptop, which is ridiculous because it’s a firm-owned device loaded with confidential files, but that’s how seriously I decide to take swag swap.
In the end, I tuck Chucky under my arm and carry the doll to the lakeside picnic area where the activity is set to take place.
Cricket is already there, barking orders and looking both adorable and sexy in a white sundress.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in anything without a licensed character or a logo.
The white fabric accentuates her natural tan.
She looks ethereal. A delicate angel. If I observe her long enough, I imagine she’ll sprout gossamer wings.
I know it’s an illusion. If there’s one thing I’ve already learned about Cricket, it’s that she is far from delicate.
The sun slips below the horizon, casting us all in shadow, but Cricket is prepared. She hoists a giant flashlight on the table and switches it on. Buffy immediately appears in the halo of light, wings spread, prompting a burst of laughter from Adam.
“Quick,” he says with false gravitas. “Call the Mayor of Gotham City. It’s the Bat Signal.”
“For the last time, Buffy isn’t a bat.” The sugar glider zips to Gloria to rest on her shoulder.
“She doesn’t like bright lights.” Gloria coaxes the timid animal into her pocket and gives the exterior a gentle pat.
I’m amazed how attuned she is to her companion.
I’m not sure I have the capacity. Whatever her issues with her mother are, Gloria managed to pick up a few enviable traits.
“Who would like to go first?” Cricket asks.
Olivia raises her hand. “I will.” She produces a plushie of a character I don’t recognize and sets it in the center of the table.
“Look, it’s my favorite color,” Angela declares. “Penile-erection purple.”
Ben claps his hands over Olivia’s ears. “Must you?” he hisses at her.
Angela tips up her chin. “It’s basic biology, Benjamin. I thought you were guiding your granddaughter toward a career in STEM.”
Ben grows flustered. “You and I have very different ideas about what constitutes science.”
“But my ideas are far more fun,” she replies with a sultry wink.
Olivia shakes off her grandfather’s hands and addresses the group. “I’ve outgrown this pony, so she’s up for grabs.”
“Bullshit,” Angela interjects. “I can tell a lie when I hear one.”
“You love that doll,” Ben agrees.
Olivia’s face scrunches up and I can almost feel the kid’s discomfort, which triggers my own.
“I remember when your parents bought her for you. You named her Glowy and brought her everywhere,” Ben continued.
“Pony plushies are for babies,” Olivia insists. “I don’t need her anymore.”
“But just because you don’t need something anymore doesn’t mean you can’t want it,” Angela tells her. “I don’t need another pair of diamond studs, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting them.”
Olivia looks her grandfather dead in the eye. “Is this swag swap or isn’t it?”
Cricket leans over to Ben and whispers, “She’s trying to let something go, Ben.”
The older man’s shoulders slacken in response.
“I think it’s obvious who should adopt her.” Angela plucks the plushie from the table and passes it to Ben.
Olivia nods her approval. “She’ll be in good hands.”
“And you can visit her whenever you like,” Ben says, clutching the toy to his chest. I’m pretty sure there are happy tears glistening in his eyes.
As a lawyer, I was taught that you know it’s a good deal when both parties leave the bargaining table feeling slightly disappointed. This moment seems to contradict that lesson. From where I’m standing, both Olivia and Ben appear pleased by the outcome.
Ben’s swap is next, to make room for the penile-purple pony in his life. He contributes a coin commemorating the Apollo 11 moonwalk that a couple people argue over until they decide to flip for it, which seems apt.
Cricket donates a Mumford & Sons T-shirt that looks far too big for her.
Nobody queries the size differential. I suspect they know the original owner’s identity and have a silent pact not to mention his name.
Anger flares inside me that some guy could hurt someone like Cricket, but then I remember I’m here to do exactly that.
I have no right to cast stones at the Mumford fan.
He may have broken her heart, but if I achieve my objective, it will break her spirit. Somehow that seems even worse.
Gloria swivels toward her neighbor. “What about you, Angela?”
Angela sets a silver flask on the picnic table.
“Is that monogrammed?” Laura asks.
“It says ‘No You Can’t Have A Sip.’ My ex gave it to me for my birthday. He liked to tease me for refusing to share drinks.”
Bradley releases a reverberating snort. “I’m surprised you don’t share fluids, Angela. Seems right up your alley.”
She shoots dagger eyes at him before turning back to the rest of us. “Anyhow, I’ve been carrying it around for years, but I’m ready to let it go.”
Stefan twists off the lid and sniffs inside. “Smells clean. When’s the last time you used it?”
“I never drank from it, dear. I only carried it around because Paul gave it to me.” Her shoulders lift and fall as she expels a deep breath. “But I found out he got married last month, so I figure I might as well lighten my load.”
Her admission shifts something inside me. Angela has been carting around that flask as a symbol of hope. Now it’s only the memory of unrequited love.
“I don’t blame you for trading it,” Gloria says. “You deserve better than Paul. He’s the one who cheated on you with your own co-worker, isn’t he?”
“Is that who he married?” Laura asks.
The lines of Angela’s angular face soften. “No, this is a new woman, and she won’t be the last, I’m sure. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes.” Angela sounds a little sad when she says this, and I get the sense that she believed Paul might have changed his stripes for her.
“People only change if they want to,” Cricket says. “Nobody can force them into it.” It’s the first time she’s spoken in a while, and I wonder if there’s a reason for her silence.
Gloria surveys the group. “I’d like the flask, unless somebody else is desperate for it.” She waits a beat and then says, “And I have this to offer.” She tosses a comic book on the table. “I got this at New York Comic-Con.”
Cricket rubs her friend’s shoulder in a supportive gesture. “Proud of you, G.”
Gloria allows herself a tiny smile. “Letting go isn’t easy.”
The comic book seems innocuous enough. “I didn’t know there were Buffy comics.”
“That’s because you’re not a true fan,” Laura remarks, which results in a hissing sound from a couple of the others.
“We don’t pop-culture shame in this family,” Cricket reminds her. “Everyone has their own level of interest and investment.”
Laura’s arms snap into a folded position. “That wasn’t Adam’s attitude when I told him I don’t get the love for Grogu.”
“Grogu is Baby Yoda,” Cricket whispers to me, anticipating my ignorance.
“Din Grogu must be protected at all costs,” Adam shoots back.
“If that’s your position, then you’re in the wrong mask,” Laura says. “You ought to be wearing a Mandalorian mask.”
To my utter shock, Adam rips off the black helmet. “You’re right. I have one in my cabin. I’ll get it.” Adam’s hair is matted to his head thanks to excess sweat. I suspect he may have showered with the helmet on.
“You carry a spare?” I ask.
“The Mandalorian is my second favorite,” Adam explains, pulling out his phone. “I have a ranked list if you’d like to see it.”
Cricket nudges his phone away. “Your rankings are special to you, remember? For your eyes only.”
I get the distinct impression they’ve had this conversation before.
As usual, Cricket impresses me with the kind and careful way she redirects Adam.
The guy would’ve had no hope of developing his passion in my household.
My parents would’ve shamed him until he buried his interests in a place too deep to access.
Finally, it’s my turn. I swipe Chucky off the ground where he’s been concealed by darkness and place him directly in the spotlight.
Olivia pinches her grandfather’s sleeve. “Please don’t take Chucky. I don’t want him in our cabin.”
Ben pats her hand. “I have no intention of depriving the young man of Chucky’s company.”
“Even if someone else takes him,” Angela chimes in with a knowing smile, “I have a feeling he’ll end up right back in Charlie’s cabin.”
Cricket can’t quite conceal her shit-eating grin. “I think Chucky is yours for the duration. Sorry about that.”
“You can only swap something that belongs to you,” Gloria says. “Otherwise, it’s cheating.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” I may have many flaws, but being a cheater isn’t one of them. As I pat my pockets in search of another option, an idea flares. I open my wallet and produce a baseball card, slapping it on the table next to Chucky.
Bradley whistles. “Cal Ripken Jr. Absolute legend.”
Stefan picks up the card and studies it. “Is it worth money?”
“I imagine so.”
“Then why would you trade it?”
“It isn’t worth a fortune, and the sentimental value… It doesn’t have any, not anymore.”
“What’s the story with this?” Stefan asks, flicking the card.
“Does there have to be a story?” I lob back.
“You said it had sentimental value, but now it doesn’t,” Gloria jumps in. “That implies a story.”
“Are we here to swap possessions or stories?” I ask.
Cricket catches my eye. “Both.”
As much as I want to point out the lack of story surrounding the Mumford T-shirt, I’d rather not press Cricket’s buttons—not about that anyway. I’m here to be cunning, not cruel.
“We’ve all shared,” Laura says. “It’s your turn, Charlie.” Her statement is followed by heads bobbing in unison.