Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Chess
James and Jamie take me to an Irish pub in lower Manhattan. It’s cozy and wonderfully warm, especially after walking six blocks
in the icy wind to get there.
“I can’t feel my fingers,” I say, rubbing my hands together.
“We should have taken the subway.” Jamie’s nose is bright pink.
“The walk was bracing,” James insists. “And you two are wimps.”
Jamie takes off her fogging glasses and wipes them. “Pretty sure someone was whining about frozen balls in danger of falling
off and shattering on the pavement.”
“That was a vivid description,” I add. “Maybe you should check your pants, James. Make sure everything is accounted for.”
“My balls have already checked in.” James unwraps his scarf and leads us through the crowd. “And they’re demanding a drink.”
“You talk to your balls?” I ask with a laugh.
“All guys do, Chess. Have I taught you nothing?”
“I thought they talked to their dicks.”
“They’re kind of a package deal, darling.”
We settle into a booth by an empty stage.
James snuggles up next to Jamie, and I’m left by myself on the other side.
Again comes the horrible, internal coldness running along my side.
I don’t mind sitting alone. I’ve done it for years.
But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not whole.
I’m missing a part of myself. And it’s annoying.
Another person can’t complete me. I do that for myself.
“So who has final say?” Jamie asks James. “Balls or dick?”
James settles back into the booth and rubs his beard in contemplation. “Hmm. Dick can definitely act alone. He’s been known
to perk up and want to investigate a situation, while Balls are shriveling and shouting, ‘Run away, fool!’”
“That’s because balls have a sense of self-preservation,” I say, shrugging out of my coat. “Dick is basically a brainless
knobhead.”
Jamie laughs.
“True,” James says. “But as to the ruler of my package?
“Let me guess,” I put in. “Mr. Hand?”
“Har. That might have been the case a few months ago, but now the supreme ruler is Jamie, so she really shouldn’t be laughing
at poor Dick.”
Jamie flushes pink and leans into him. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”
I suppose it is, in a weird way. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to leave the table so I don’t have to watch them cuddle.
You had that, you fool. And you had to think about “things.”
It really sucks when your conscience starts to hate you.
I would have whispered sweet dick jokes in your ear, too, Finn’s voice says in my head.
I know you would have. You never could pass up an opportunity to talk about your junk.
Neither could you, Chester. I’m pretty sure you’re obsessed with my junk.
It really, really sucks when you start having conversations with a man who isn’t there.
The waitress comes up to take our order. “We’re having a special on Guinness tonight. The chef’s specialty of the evening
is steak and kidney pie.”
“I’ll have a Harp and a pie,” I tell her.
“Guinness for me,” James says. “And the fish and chips.”
“I’ll have the pie, too,” Jamie orders. “Oh, and a white wine.”
What did I tell you? Finn’s ghost whispers in my ear. Women like to order white wine. Even when they’re in a pub.
Isn’t there a lamp you could go haunt?
I’m a quarterback, Chess, not a genie.
“What’s that smile about?” James asks me, cutting into the ridiculous and probably unhealthy conversation going on in my head.
“The impending promise of hot food,” I lie.
He looks at me as if he knows better, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything.
Our drinks arrive and, while we wait for our food, a band comes out and begins to play. It’s a full Irish band, complete with
a flute player, two fiddlers, and even an accordionist. And they’re good.
Soon, the bar is filled with lively music and people clapping along. The singer is a young woman with curly hair and a voice
like a pixie. We eat our food as they play.
It’s almost perfect, soaking up good music and good food with good friends. I can see myself in the future, having more nights
like this. I will have a good life. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. A sense of peace comes over me. I’ll be okay.
No matter what I do, I’ll be okay. But is okay enough?
The band finishes a song, and the singer accepts a pint of Guinness from a waitress. She takes a long drink before setting
it down on a stool by her side. “I love the film Some Kind of Wonderful,” she says in the mic.
The crowd whistles their approval.
She nods, her curls bouncing. “The end is especially lovely. You remember it? ‘You look good’—”
“‘Wearing my future!’ ” people in the crowd shout.
Laughter rings through the small space.
“Aye, so romantic.” The singer grabs her tambourine. “We’re going to play a little homage to Some Kind of Wonderful and Lick the Tins, who did a brilliant cover for the flick.”
I’m smiling, but a niggling feeling begins to start up around the edges of my heart. The band begins to play a lively Celtic
version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and my heart clenches. Oh, God, I truly am haunted.
Around me, people start to sing along, an utter wall of sound rolling over me, insisting that some things were meant to be.
I can’t stand it. I can’t stand that Finn isn’t right here with me, laughing in my ear, demanding that I take his hand, that
we could be fools together.
He’d been doing that since the beginning. He’d always known. He’d been trying to tell me what we were to each other all along.
I just hadn’t listened. He might be stubborn, and his refusal to give in a little still pisses me off. But he is mine.
A sob breaks free. I’m stuck between laughter and crying.
James looks at me sharply. “What’s wrong?”
“The song. Elvis. He’s everywhere.”
James frowns, leaning in so we can talk over the ribald singing. “And that makes you cry?”
I shake my head, tears running down my face. “I love him.”
“Elvis?” Jamie asks, confused.
“Finn. I love Finn. Doesn’t matter where I go . . .” I lift my hands helplessly toward the band. “He’s my fate.”
James smiles softly. “Your perfectly imperfect.”
“I have to tell him.”
“You will.” James reaches across the table and puts his hand on my trembling one. “Do you want to step out and call him?”
“He’s playing a game right now.” I wipe my cheeks. “I should do it in person.”
“Okay.” James gives me a squeeze. “We’ll get you home as soon as we can.”
Home. I need to go home. The heat of the room and the music press in on me.
“I have to get out of here,” I tell James. “I can’t breathe. I need to see Finn. I have to . . .”
“It’s all right,” James says. “Don’t panic.”
My fingers are clumsy as I fish my wallet out of my purse and pull out some bills.
“I’m going to take a walk.”
James grabs my arm. “You’re not going out alone.”
“I grew up in this city, James. I’ll be okay.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he insists. “We’re coming with you.”
He tosses some more money onto the table then sets his empty glass on the pile to secure it, but I can’t wait any longer.
I’m halfway across the room by the time James and Jamie catch up to me.
I stumble outside and draw in a deep breath of icy air. It burns going down, but I suck in another breath. James and Jamie
stand beside me.
“You all right?” Jamie asks, resting a hand on my arm.
“Yeah.” I give her a weak smile. “Sorry for the drama.”
Beneath the lenses of her glasses, her eyes crinkle. “It’s pretty emotional, falling in love.”
“I shouldn’t have left him. I should have stayed.”
James pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “If leaving meant you finally realized without a doubt that he’s the one, then
don’t punish yourself for it.” He takes a drag then lets out a puff of smoke. “Consider it time well spent.”
“I hurt him.”
“Something tells me he’ll forgive you.” James winks at me, then laughs. “My grumpy Chessie Bear is dating the quarterback.
Will wonders never cease?”
“I think James is a bit jealous,” Jamie teases.
“I’d like to point out that I had a crush on Manny before Chess met him, and before I met you.” James flicks the tip of his
cigarette. “Now it would be too weird to keep him in the spank bank. I’d start picturing Chess’s disapproving face and . . .
total bone kill.”
“You’re not supposed to have a spank bank now,” I say. “You have Jamie.”
“When I enter my bank, Jamie is always there to watch,” James retorts with a devious grin.
“TMI,” Jamie huffs, pinching him. “You’re going to give Chess indigestion.”
“Well, she’s killed prime fantasy material for me, so we’re even.”
I know Jamie is embarrassed on my behalf, but I also know James is trying to distract me. He’s doing a good job of it. We
exchange a secret smile between us, one that’s gotten us through a lot of tough times. Gratitude fills me, and I want to hug
my best friend. He gives me a little wink in silent reply.
“I’d flip you off,” I say with false annoyance, “but it’s too cold.” I tuck my icy hands under my arms.
“Come on.” James snuffs his cigarette on the side of the building then tosses the butt into a nearby trash can. “Let’s find
a bar and watch your boyfriend play.”
Three doors down, we find a bar that, no surprise to anyone, is showing the game on multiple TVs. Patrons are yelling at the
screen, and I see that the score is seven to fourteen, and New Orleans is down. Given that Finn’s team is playing against
New York, everyone is ecstatic.
We get our beers at the bar then James finds us a seat by the door, facing one of the TVs. We sit down as Finn and his offense
trot back on the field. I can’t see his face behind the helmet he wears, but just the sight of the number ten on his jersey
has my heart clenching.
Although his team is currently losing, he moves with authority, bringing his guys in for a huddle. They’re on their home turf
and the crowd chants for Finn. The commentator on the TV spews on about the offense having not been at their best in games
past and how Finn has struggled throughout the season to regain control.