So I lied to Susanna because I can’t admit to her that my chances at losing my career are staring me right in the face. And what if she loses interest in me once she finds out I can’t play football anymore? I don’t think she’s shallow like that, but I don’t know. Maybe I’d become too much trouble. A burden.
I can barely stomach the thought.
I’m trying to keep up the pretense that everything’s going to be fine, when I have no clue if it’s going to be fine or not. It looks to me like it could be over.
But I don’t know.
I do know that I miss Susanna. And I already miss football.
I’m strong, but I’m scared.
And that’s the hardest part to admit.
The tension in the dining room is so thick, you can cut it with a knife.
I always thought that saying was silly. Unbelievable. But I’ve never experienced such thick tension before, and now I understand how the saying came about.
Because it’s true. The tension between everyone tonight is off the charts. My parents—Mother is angry at Father for essentially spending their anniversary with our neighbors instead of her. George is scared Evie is going to blow his cover about their secret affair so he won’t even look in her direction. Evie is dying to blurt out that she’s been fucking around with George in secret, yet she’s also chatting up Priscilla, and oh my God, I believe she actually likes the supermodel.
Not that Priscilla is an actual supermodel. She’s gorgeous, and it turns out she’s one of those YouTube vlogger types who does makeup tutorials. This fascinates Evie, so she keeps engaging in conversation with her, trying to find out how she became popular on YouTube, and it’s killing George. He looks so tense, like he might shatter if anyone so much as looks at him wrong.
Me? I’m feeling no tension. Not really. Well, my mother is upset with me for some reason. Perhaps she just hates the way I breathe, but I’m used to that, so no worries. Father is keeping up conversation with me, because I’m the only one who’ll talk to him. Mother’s too angry with his neglect, and the rest of them are too preoccupied with their own issues.
I’m preoccupied as well, though I’m doing a good job faking it. I can’t stop thinking about Cannon and his knee injury. Is he really all right? Was he putting on a brave face for me, and is he dealing with a situation that is far more serious than he’s letting on?
I’m starting to think that’s it. It’s worse than he wants to confess, and why he would keep something from me like that, I’m not sure, but he has to know that I’ll be there for him no matter what.
Or maybe he doesn’t know. We don’t know each other that well. I haven’t had a chance to prove myself yet. Maybe he’s realizing our relationship would be so much easier if I were an American who lives in California. It’s so difficult for us to be there for each other when we live so far away.
“Mother says you’re dating a professional football player,” George says, his inquisitive voice pulling me from my thoughts. “Is that true, Susanna?”
I blink my brother into focus, see the fake smile on his face. I think he’s trying to change the subject, and using me in the process.
Great.
So I decide to go along with it, and help ease his pain.
“It’s true. I met him a few weeks ago,” I say with a nod.
“The giant young man we met the weekend of that exhibition game?” Father pipes up, surprise in his voice.
“Yes, Father, you remember him?” I turn to smile at my father, ignoring the glare coming from my mother.
“I do. Nice fellow. Rather large.” That’s all he can ever seem to say about Cannon, which I suppose is normal, considering Cannon is unusually huge.
“Darling, you should’ve spoken to him longer, so you could’ve come home and given me a report,” Mother says, her voice shrill as she studies my father. “Now our daughter is dating someone we don’t even know. Someone who doesn’t even live in this country.”
Evie sends me a helpless look, but doesn’t say anything. I’m sure she’s glad the attention is off her as well.
“What team does he play for?” Priscilla asks, her soft voice startling me for a moment.
“The San Francisco 49ers,” I tell her with a little smile.
“Oh.” She tilts her head. “So he’s not an actual footballer.”
“He’s an American footballer,” Evie adds.
“Well, that’s exciting!” Priscilla claps her hands together. “And he’s from California. Oh, you must go visit him and watch one of his games sometime, don’t you think? How exciting would that be?”