Page 19 of Here We Go Again

“Your trainer sounds smart,” Mom says with a little laugh. “So, I actually have something interesting to tell you.”

“Hang on. Let me start the car and switch you over to Bluetooth.” It’s miserably hot outside, and I can’t sit in my car for longer than a second without turning on the air conditioning. “All right, you’re good,” I say to Mom once the car is on, cool air blasting in my face.

“So, you know I’ve got my pickleball league, right? Guess who recently signed up to play with us?”

I wait for her to tell me, but her silence must mean she actually expects me to guess. “Uhhh, Brenda the librarian who lives across the street?”

“Brenda is a hundred and three years old, dear.”

“You did say it was interesting,” I say.

“Well, true,” Mom says. “But it’s not her. Want to guess again?”

“I think we’ll be here all day if I do, so why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Cassie Bradley,” she says. “Rebecca’s mom.”

I’m so surprised to hear Becca’s name that I miss the light change from red to green in front of me until the person behind me honks and jolts me back to awareness. I quickly pull through the intersection and turn onto the boulevard that will take me to Midtown.

Cassie Bradley is playing pickleball with my mom?

My mind immediately jumps back to my conversation with Becca. She mentioned her mom had started to play; it probably should have occurred to me to ask where. Though I wasn’t really thinking about my mother’s hobbies at the time. Not when I was face-to-face with Becca for the first time in years.

“We had such a great conversation,” Mom continues. “She looks great, like she’s hardly aged, though she was open about her MS. She said she was having a good day, but they aren’t always good, so she hopes she won’t let people down in the league. I told her she didn’t need to worry about that at all. We’re so happy to have another player. And honestly, we spend as much time hanging out and drinking Diet Coke as we do actually playing. Anyway, I thought it was the strangest thing to run into her the same week you saw Rebecca. Truly, what are the odds?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild,” I say.

“Did Rebecca tell you why she’s in Atlanta? Cassie says it was because her cousin asked her to housesit, which meant a free place to stay while she’s in the city. You know she’s a travel nurse, right? I think her friend is from somewhere nearby. South Carolina? North Carolina? I can’t remember which.”

This is new information to me, but I resist the urge to ask for more details. If Becca’s cousin’s home is near the hospital. Or how long she has on her contract before she’ll move again. But asking follow-up questions feels too much like showing my hand.

“Free housing is always a good thing,” I say instead, proud of myself that I sound so normal.

Mom’s quiet for a beat before she says, “Well, sure it is,” her tone making it clear I didn’t sound normal at all. She clears her throat. “So how was your visit? Do you mind me asking?”

I ease to a stop at another red light. “It was fine.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

I breathe out a sigh, hating that we’re even having this conversation. There’s no point. Especially not if Mom is regularly seeing Becca’s mom. The last thing I want is for anything I say to get back to her.

A tendril of panic creeps its way up my spine. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Mom talking to Cassie Bradley about anything related to me and Becca can only end badly.

“I don’t think so, Mom,” I say. “We had a nice conversation, but that’s it. We didn’t make any plans.”

“Has she texted you? Carter told me she might.”

I clench my jaw a little tighter. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Mom says. “The two of you were so great together. Cassie said the same thing. Maybe you ought to reach out again. Or I could ask Cassie to give Rebecca a little nudge.”

My panic grows, shifting into a looming sense of terror. The thought of Cassie calling Becca and relaying this conversation is enough to make me spiral. What if Becca thinks I put Mom up to it? That I’m using our mothers to try to contact her again?

I might have to leave Atlanta. Forget hockey. Change my name and move to Topeka to be an auto mechanic.

“Please don’t do that,” I say. “Definitely don’t do that. I would honestly love it if you didn’t talk to Cassie about me and Becca at all. I’m sure Becca’s leaving the city soon, moving on to somewhere else. There’s no reason to make this a topic of conversation.”

“October seventh,” Mom says.