On the screen, it’s clear Spencer is kicking all our butts, but today isn’t about winning, it’s about having fun.
Meredith hops up for her turn.
Every time she’s stood for her turn I take time to study Spencer.
Dark circles cling to the skin beneath his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he got the news about T.J. His hair hangs lank, like it doesn’t have the energy to keep its normal bounce. His smile is absent, only a small half one poking out every now and then.
“You’re kicking our butts,” I tell him, for lack of anything else to say.
He glances at me, that half-smile appearing for a moment before disappearing altogether. “What can I say? I’m a natural,” he jokes.
My heart hurts badly for him, having lost his friend, but I can’t help the tightening of anxiety in my chest I feel wondering what he’d think if he knew T.J.’s kidney was in my body.
I don’t think Spencer even knows I’ve gotten a transplant, I certainly haven’t told him, and I doubt Harlow or Meredith would have either.
I bite my lip nervously, my heart thudding a symphony in my ears.
My mouth opens of its own accord and I blurt, “I got a transplant.”
Spencer’s eyes open wide and his mouth parts. “Really? You’re not joking, are you?”
I scoff, mildly offended. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
“Wow.” He shakes his head, gathering himself. “That’s amazing. Congratulations. How are you feeling?”
“Good. Really good. Amazing, actually,” I admit.
“When did it happen?” he asks, his brow crinkled with confusion, probably wondering why during all of our texts I never mentioned it.
I hesitate for a moment before saying, “The end of May.”
“Ah.” Clarity enters his eyes, and for a moment I worry it’s too much clarity. “Now I know why you didn’t tell me. I wish you would’ve, it would’ve been some good news to counteract the bad.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, that at least for the moment, he hasn’t put two and two together.
Meredith cheers and we all look up to see she’s managed to get a spare.
She starts doing a victory dance that includes a lot of booty shaking.
“Bow down to me, bitches. I am the bowling master,” she chants, causing a couple with their two small children to glare at us.
“Actually” —I stifle a laugh— “Spencer is still winning.”
“Logistics,” she argues. “Of course he’s winning, the race is to be number two. None of us have a chance of beating him. This is between the three of us.” She flicks her fingers between herself, Harlow, and me.
“I’m just here to have fun,” Harlow pipes in.
Meredith glares at her as she sits down. “This is war and there will be a clear victor.”
“Which will be Spencer,” I interject.
Meredith whips her head toward me, her eyes narrowed.
“You better sleep with your eyes open, Hansen.”
I shake my head, laughing easily.
“On that note” —Harlow stands— “it’s my turn.”