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“What the hell? Why?” Jonah scoffs as he grabs an apple from the table in front of us and takes a messy, wet bite.
“I was joking. Danny told me that everyone at their old job used to call her a snitch. I figured she was in on the joke.”
“That wasn’t a joke, asshat.” Danny shakes his head again. “Our old manager actually got a call from Georgia’s previous store saying she would lie and snitch on people to management over nothing. It was a warning to you.”
His explanation hangs in the silence around us.
“I fucked up,” I grumble, my words barely audible with my face buried in both hands.
Six missed calls from MOM.
It’s Thursday morning and, in the groggy haze of my bedroom, I try desperately to ignore the light emanating from my phone screen, illuminating the entire room in tones of shadowy blue.
Our first game of the season is tonight, and the last thing I need is a phone call from Lisa Anderson.
Is she still an Anderson?
I realize I wouldn’t know, considering it’s been months – if not years – since I last spoke to my mother.
I let out a loud sigh as I stretch my sore arms above my head, releasing any aches from sleep and yesterday’s practice. My biceps are on fire with the movement, and I instantly remember the defensive drills from yesterday that left me barely able to move my upper body.
God, Coach is trying to kill me.
I raise my hands to my face, messily wiping the sleep from my eyes until my phone rings again. Instinctively, I reach to deny the call when SARAH ANDERSON flashes across the screen. My younger sister.
“Hey, Sar,” I say, my voice deep and grainy from the night’s sleep.
“Hey, loser – are you up?” She’s chipper for 6 AM.
“No.”
My tone is serious, but I can’t help but crack a smile. My sister is eighteen, four years younger than I am, and still finishing her senior year of high school back home in Dallas. After my dad died, she had no choice but to live with our mom – an arrangement she’s never been thrilled about.
“Shut up. I-I just wanted to wish you good luck on your game. I know things have been hard for you…” she trails off, seemingly unsure what to say next.
“...have you spoken to Mom recently?” She asks the question tentatively, as if she isn’t sure how, or if, I’ll respond. A sharp inhale forces its way to my lungs, an unconscious display of my anxiety.
“Uh – no, Sar, you know, I haven’t talked to her.” I attempt to keep my voice calm, as if there is absolutely nothing wrong. As if there was no particular reason I’d ignore 6 of my mother’s calls in a row.
Sarah is my kid sister. The last thing I need is her having to navigate my anxiety. I’m her older brother and one of the biggest elements of her support system. I need to show her I have everything under control or, at least, everything with my own emotions. I could never control my parents. My mom, more specifically.
“Well, um, we had a nice dinner yesterday and she asked me about you. I told her you had a game tonight and she was pretty excited about that. I’m surprised she hasn’t called you… maybe you should try to talk to her, Henry. She misses you. I miss you.” Her voice breaks in her last few words.
I take a deep breath.
“I miss you too, Sar, but I’m right here! You can call me anytime you want.” I force a smile, even though I know she can’t see it.
“But when can Mom call you? I want us to be a family again, Henry. I miss us all going to your games.” She speaks quietly, the same words she’s told me time and time again since my dad’s death.
“Mom lost her right to call me when she replaced our father before he’d been gone a year. She’s the reason we can’t be a family again, Sarah, not me.” My tone is strong and serious – a direct contrast to the tears welling up in the corner of my eyes.
“Listen, Sar – I have to go to practice. Coach has been killing me as captain and I can’t afford to be late again. We’ll talk soon, okay?” I’m using the happiest voice I can manage, though I know she probably sees right through it.
“Okay, Henry… love you.”
“I love you, too.”
8 | Georgia
