“I don’t remember you being such a negative little Nancy.” I spooned some more beans and greens onto my spoon before adding, “Seventeen-year-old Zac would be telling Old Fart Zac right now that he should quit crying because some people might not believe in him. You remember how much grief people gave you in college? How they told you that you were too skinny back then? Young Zac would tell you to suck it up and take advantage of every opportunity you’re given, even if that means going back to being second string again. Or third string. Who knows, maybe one of these young bucks will get hurt and they’ll call you and ask you to take over. Just saying.
“If teams think they don’t want to even consider you in the first place because you’re in your thirties now, don’t give them a choice but to notice you. Post your workouts on social media. Take advantage of your Picturegram platform. Show everyone you still got it, and even if nothing happens, at least you’ll know you tried. Seventeen-year-old Zac would be snapping his fingers at you to get to it, and you know it,” I told him with a smile.
He didn’t laugh or even smile at my comment like I’d hoped.
Maybe I’d pushed too far based on the expression he had started giving me before slowly turning his head toward the blank television screen. He didn’t say anything for so long, I got just a little bit worried he was going to be mad now.
I mean, we weren’t really friends. Not anymore. We had been.
And I wasn’t the same person who used to be able to joke around and talk shit to him because I’d been so secure in our friendship, or at least in the affection he’d felt toward me because of what I’d done for him.
But I told him the truth, and I wouldn’t take it back. If I never saw him again after tonight, at least he’d have the memory of me calling him out in the future if he started to feel sorry for himself. Mamá Lupe had thought he’d walked on water, and in Paw-Paw’s eyes, Zac could do no wrong.
I thought he was pretty great too, but that didn’t mean I was going to sit back and blow smoke up his butt so he could float around longer or make him think that quitting was okay. And if you wanted something, you didn’t quit when you came up to a hurdle, not if it really meant something to you. You pushed it over and jumped over it. I didn’t care what anybody said. I didn’t have the biggest audience on WatchTube, and that didn’t mean that I didn’t try as hard or didn’t try my best with every video I posted. I wasn’t less than someone else because they had more than me, and I wasn’t any better because I had more than other people. I hungered for myself. For my future.
And just as he opened his mouth to tell me to mind my own business, or who the hell knows what, his cell phone rang.
My old friend, who had come by to catch up with me, cast me a quick look I didn’t know what to think of before he pulled it out of the pocket he’d stashed it in and grimaced at the screen.
Is it a girl? my brain asked, knowing I had no business wondering that, fully aware I didn’t need that question answered.
“It’s my agent again,” Zac blurted in the time it took for his ringtone to start up all over again, even though he didn’t have to explain anything. “Hope this ain’t embarassin’,” he muttered, sounding distracted.
“Remember that time you threw up funnel cake all over yourself because you got on a roller coaster right after eating it? That was embarrassing. Not getting chewed out.”
His gaze flicked to mine, and that mouth of his tilted up on one side. “You remember that?”
I nodded. How could I forget? Boogie and I had cracked up about it a couple years back when we’d gone to a carnival with Connie and the kids and seen a funnel cake stand. We hadn’t even needed to say anything to each other. We’d both just burst out laughing out of nowhere.
“Forget it happened,” he said with a sneaky little smile that made me feel better about his reaction to my shitty pep talk before tapping on the screen and bringing the phone up to his ear. “Yes, sir?”
Facing my blank TV to give him a little bit of privacy, I took a couple more bites while he said nothing. Scoop, chew, repeat. This soup was good.
I’d shared the recipe a couple years ago on one of my vlogs. The beans, sausage, and greens were a recipe from Grandma Brannen that I’d adapted and tweaked a while back from memory. I’d never met Grandma Brannen, my dad’s mom, but he’d given me her recipe cards for my birthday when I was sixteen. I had a lot of my own too that I screwed around with when I didn’t have all the ingredients to other recipes I liked. I had a ton of Mamá Lupe’s as well, but most of those always felt too personal to share.
Maybe I could mess with a couple of the ingredients a little and post an updated recipe for it? Like a variation if you had different things in your fridge?
“You don’t say,” Zac replied in a way that had me glancing toward him. He was staring at my television screen. Correction: through my television screen. His stubble-covered chin was locked and resembled something on a statue. “Is that right?”
Uh-oh. I could think about my stuff later.
He kept on staring forward, and I kept on staring at him, at that perfect silhouette of a face, trying to pick up on any hints he might drop because I wanted to know what his agent was saying. Bad news? Good news?
“Yeah,” Zac went on, giving me nothing.
I glanced at one of his big hands to see his fingers tapping along his thigh.
It was bad news, wasn’t it?
Then he sucked in a breath, nodded at no one, and said in a strained voice, “’Course I am. I’ll be there.” He took a massive breath that made me want to take a deep breath too. “Got it. Yeah. Thank you.”
He hung up.
I’ll be there?
I stared at my old friend and chanted, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” in my head, hoping to project the message into his mind without having to verbally request it. Because I wouldn’t actually ask him. If he wanted to tell me, great. If he didn’t, that was okay too. I was toeing the line carefully.
That beautiful, sculpted jawline turned until his baby blue eyes locked in on mine. The giant breath he sucked in worried me though.
But his words didn’t as he asked in a strange, almost distorted voice, “Peewee?”
I set my plate on the side table to give him my full attention, ready to give him a hug if he needed it. And wanted it. And not be hurt if he didn’t. “Yeah?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took another deep, deep breath through his mouth before releasing it through his nose. He was still squeezing his hands into fists. “Either somebody doesn’t think I’m too old or you’re my lucky charm. I got a workout with the Miami Sharks.”
Chapter Seven
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” I asked as I scrolled down the spreadsheet that Gunner had practically thrown at me five minutes before. It was full of names of past members who had cancelled their memberships for one reason or another. He wanted me to call them when I had a chance.
You know, because I stood around all day with my finger up my butt.
I was pretty sure that if Deandre, the gym’s last manager, or Lenny or Mr. DeMaio, the previous owners, had asked me to make random phone calls, I would have done it even if I felt awkward, but since it was this asshole asking, my brain wanted to hate it on principle. He’d been an extra ass since the day I hadn’t taken him up on his request to come in and close on my day off. Just two days ago, he’d gone through the drawer beneath the computer I worked at and thrown away all the colored pens I loved to use because they “weren’t professional.”