Page 116 of Cherry Picking

I laugh, and it comes out a little wet and broken. My dad focuses intently on the desk to let me have the moment. I stand up and kiss the top of his head before I head out.

A full week after the trade deadline has come and gone, and Murphy still hasn’t worked up the courage to actually ask if I’ll fly to Charlotte with him. Instead, he’s been performing a version of a man interested in the standings, reading them out loud and waiting for me to take the bait.

I’m busy clearing grocery bags from the counter when he finally tries for it. “The final Kings game is on the fourth. Did you know?”

“Of April?” I ask, feigning a total lack of interest.

I want to force him to get the words out in one piece. He shouldn’t be this hesitant to ask for a favor after five months of enduring my questionable attempts at shepherd’s pie.

“Saturday.” A page of his crossword flips with a sharp snap. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re still in the hunt. Need the points and an Ottawa loss. Ottawa’s been doing them plenty of favors on that front lately.” Another flip of the paper. “It’s a home game.”

I stop moving, a can of tomato soup suspended in midair like a prop.

“Are you asking if I’ll take a trip with you to North Carolina?”

“Just noting the schedule,” he mutters.

“Murphy Maxwell. You can ask me for things, you know. Out loud. Using real words. I’m not going to bite your head off.”

“I know that.” He doesn’t look up from the clues. “Doesn’t make the asking any easier. I just—I’ve only seen him play in person once since the stroke.” He directs the confession to the puzzle on his knee. “I’d like to be in the building if they clinch.”

“You’d have to fly, Murph.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s five hours in a cramped seat and a wheelchair through the shitty CLT terminal. We’d have to map out your medication like a flight plan.”

“So you’ve already done the math. You want to go see him just as much as I do,” he says with a shrug, and I have never wanted to smack a stubborn old man more in my entire life.

“I’ve been considering the logistics. But I feel like if I go, it’s a signal to Briggs that I’m ready to be with him. That I think we can actually handle the distance and whatever comes after the season.”

“So what’s the problem?”

I let out a groan, rubbing my temples. “You Maxwells are so incredibly difficult to manage.”

He grins, the right side of his face hitching up. “Inherited trait.”

We spend the next twenty minutes negotiating the details until I finally cave and agree to book the tickets. I pull out my phone to check flight times and find a new text waiting in the thread.

Briggs

still thinking of you. game 82 is april 4th. no pressure. I’ll leave 2 at will call either way. you could bring Hazel?

I don’t hit Send on any of the four drafts I type out in response.

Because I still haven’t decided anything concrete. I know I want to see him, and I know I’d like to take back a great deal of what I said in my apartment that night. But that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

I’ll know more when I see his face in person.

CHAPTER 33

BRIGGS

Ischeduled an early session with Isabelle because I knew the alternative was dodging it, and I’ve reached my quota for avoidance this season.