The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football

by Locke, Adriana

  The week between the holidays is always crammed with end-of-the-year engagements that I’m somehow obligated to attend. I don’t mind them, usually. Jack’s sports events are always fun and full of a ton of eye candy. My father’s side of the family has get-togethers and dinners and is way more intimate and familial. But this year? This year, I’m not feeling it. This year, something feels off and I’d rather stay at home with hot cocoa and Hallmark.

  “Do I have a choice?” I ask my mom.

  “Is that a serious question?”

  “I don’t know. Was yours?”

  I can almost hear her eyes roll. “Larissa,” she says with an exhaustion that is more dramatic than necessary. “You act like it’s not a terrific opportunity for you to come and rub shoulders with these people.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “The sound of my eyes rolling into the back of my head,” I say.

  It’s a joke that the audience didn’t appreciate.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she huffs.

  I sigh. “That means that you are obligated to attend these things. You’re Jack’s wife. It’s his schtick. I’m his stepdaughter—”

  “There are no steps in our family, Larissa.”

  I regrip the wheel and say a silent prayer for guidance.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that being invited to these things is an opportunity that many people your age would kill to have? These are your future clients, Larissa. These are the people with giant checkbooks that will want their summer homes and expansive landscapes refreshed and beautified. They’ll be looking for a landscape architect and having your name on the tip of their tongue once you graduate in May is how you network. Use this to your advantage, darling.”

  “I’m going to have years to build a business. I might not even want to have my business in Savannah,” I say, although that’s not true. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. “I might not want to work on residences and estates.”

  “You’re being difficult.”

  Learned from the best.

  “I do expect you to be there tomorrow night,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You didn’t mention that you were not going to attend, and you come every year. So, show up with your date, please.”

  I pilot the car around a roundabout while trying to determine how to handle my mother. Usually, I would change the subject and never actually address it to avoid an argument. But Bellamy’s voice keeps rolling around inside my head.

  Stand your ground.

  “If I do attend,” I say, “I will be coming alone.”

  Her displeasure is evident. “You cannot come alone.”

  “And why not?”

  “For one, Jack bought you two tickets. Those are not cheap.”

  “No one asked if I wanted them.”

  She groans. “Larissa, cooperate with me, please.”

  “I’ll tell people my date got sick. They’d probably be grateful I came alone rather than bringing an ill guest.”

  “Can you just bring somebody so you aren’t sitting by an empty plate?”

  I squint into the sunlight. “Why does the idea of sitting alone bother you so much? It doesn’t bother me. I’m great company. You should hear the conversations I have with myself.”

  She takes a long, deep breath. I can imagine her looking at the ceiling with a hand on her neck, mumbling something quietly about God giving her strength.

  “Can we not do this right now?” she asks. “I have a ton of things to do and arguing with my baby girl is not on the agenda today.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. I’m just telling you I’ll come despite not agreeing beforehand like an adult should have the right to do. But I’m coming alone.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she says, her voice clipped.

  “That is obvious.”

  “All I do is try to help you. I try to give you every advantage in the world. I get you tickets to events, invitations to banquets—I surround you with men who could take care of you someday and—”

  My eyes about bulge out of their sockets. “Whoa. Hold up. I don’t know why you think I need taken care of.”

  “Because you do. It’s not a personal fault. It’s the way life works.”

  There aren’t words in the English language I can string together to accurately display my outrage and shock.

  “I want you to have a great life,” she says, quieter this time. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I have.”

  “I’m twenty-four. My job is to live my life and make mistakes so I can learn from them. I think maybe you didn’t realize that when you were young.”

  She goes back to rumpling paper and I know she’s mentally checked out of this line of questioning. It’s what happens when a topic even remotely comes close to touching her past.

  “I worry that you’re going to end up alone someday if you don’t start being serious about dating,” she says.

  “Would being alone truly be the end of the world?”

  “Yes. It would. You need someone to love you and support you and to be there to help fight the world alongside you.”

  I can’t argue with her. She’s right. I want the relationship she’s describing … if it’s a real thing. And I’m not sure it is.

  Mom grows quiet on the other end of the line. I can’t tell if she’s considering my stance or if I’ve hurt her feelings somehow. All I know is that I hate it when things between us get like this.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow,” I tell her. Even as I say the words, I want to take them back.

  “Thank you. Who will be your plus-one?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Larissa …”

  I slow down for a puppy crossing the street. It takes its sweet time, its little ears flopping around as it chases a butterfly. I use the vision to take a long, deep breath and try to recenter myself.

  “Men have evolved with the understanding built into their seedy, hedonistic little genes that they don’t need to be decent human beings to earn the affections of a woman,” I say. “And I. Am. Sick. Of. It. I’ll date again when I find someone who isn’t a dickhead.”

  Or an athlete.

  Once the puppy is safely across the street and into the arms of its human, I pull into Aunt Siggy’s driveway. I sit in my car, engine running, and stare mindlessly at Siggy’s bright red front door.

  “Should I just arrange for a date for you?” Mom asks. “Because you are not coming alone. We paid for a plus-one, and it’ll look ridiculous for you to be sitting next to an empty plate.”

  “God forbid,” I mutter.

  “Okay. I have a solution. There’s a new third baseman on the Seahawks—"

  “Mom. No.”

  “He’s cute. He’s from an excellent family. He’s single. I ran into him in the offices last week, and he was sweet as pie. I’ve already planted a little seed about you—”

  “I have to go,” I cut in, my limit hit for arguing with her.

  "And he seemed to be interested. Of course, it didn’t hurt that there’s a picture of you in Jack’s office and—”

  “I’m at Siggy’s. Can we resume this later? Or not, but I bet you’ll make me.”

  She groans. “I suppose. But by later, I mean tonight. If you don’t call me, I’ll assume you want me to make arrangements.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “I love you, Larissa.”

  “Love you, too. Bye, Mom.”

  I hang up and turn off the engine.

  By this age, you wouldn’t think I would still be having these conversations with my mother. I haven’t lived at home since I was nineteen. But has that stopped her from trying to wield her influence in my life? Hardly.

  Still, I’m thankful for her. Does she drive me crazy? Most every day. But what would I do without her?

  Once I gather my things, I head to the front door. After a knock that’s unnecessary but makes me feel courteous, I enter the house.

 
; A grand staircase greets me. The light from a heavy crystal chandelier makes it appear even more stunning. The dark and regal wood could tell a million stories if it could talk.

  “Is that you, Riss?” Siggy calls.

  “Yup.”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  I make my way down a long hallway with family pictures hanging on both sides and enter a bright kitchen. The cabinets are cream, and the floors a dark wood like the stairs. Windows flood the kitchen in sunlight, and it’s my happiest place on earth.

  My aunt turns around to face me. She’s dressed in a black pair of pants and a white blouse. A large turquoise pendant hangs between her breasts. She’s gorgeous with her long, dark hair and bright golden eyes.

  “Bad morning?” she asks, her smile faltering.

  I nod.

  “Sit down and let me pour you a drink. Then we can talk about it while you help me decide between snowflakes or an icicles beverage bar.”

  I take a seat at her kitchen table.

  “You are an aesthetic guru. I know you don’t need my help,” I tell her.

  She leans into the refrigerator and pops out with two bottles in her hands. “Mimosas or tea?”

  I raise a brow. It’s returned with a grin as Siggy slips the tea back inside the appliance and replaces it with a bottle of orange juice.

  “I respect your opinion. You have an excellent eye,” she says as she pours our drinks. “I’m also surrounded by testosterone all day, and I need a little estrogen to balance it all out.”

  My heart warms with the compliment—especially coming from her.

  “So what’s happening?” she asks, handing me one of the drinks.

  “Mom.”

  “Oh.” She makes a face as she sits across from me. “That explains the look on your face.”

  “She’s on my butt about not having a date for the Seahawks thing tomorrow night. And she’s irritated I don’t even want to go, but I think she should have the sense to ask me in the first place.”

  Siggy takes a long sip of her mimosa. “She just wants you to be happy, Riss. Everything she does is motivated by that. She can’t comprehend how you don’t see that.”

  “I know. That’s why I can’t get mad at her. But none of the world she lives in makes me happy—especially the having a date thing. I’m not into dating anymore, Aunt Siggy.” I reconsider. “Well, maybe if he’s super cute and not my type. My type of men don’t work for me. Such a shame.”

  She laughs. “I can’t imagine doing it now. It’s terrible out there. I hear stories from my sons, and it makes me …” She shakes her head. “It makes me sick and nervous and, quite frankly, terrified.”

  I laugh too. “Well, I can see that, depending on which of your boys is telling the stories. I mean, if it’s Boone ...”

  “True,” she says, pointing a finger my way. “Very, very true. I learned the hard way not to press him about his dates,” she says, using her fingers to add air quotes.

  I take a long drink of my mimosa and feel myself settle into the comfort of being here. It always has the calmest, most peaceful vibe about it that I gravitate toward. When my parents fought when I was little, I’d call my uncle, and he’d pick me up. During the rocky years after Mom and Jack got married, I’d come here and hang out. When I got my heart broken as a teenager, I’d be here digging through their refrigerator in the middle of the night.

  “I swear my mom thinks I’m going to be old and alone,” I say. “Do you think I’ll be alone forever? Is there a chance of that? Should I be worried?”

  Instead of sharing in my irritation, Siggy smiles gently.

  I know what’s coming. It’s my aunt’s smooth way of siding with me and siding with my mother in the same breath. She always makes me feel great about my decisions, but when I look back, I realize she got what she thought was best, and everyone walked away feeling good about it.

  How she does it—I’ll never know.

  Siggy sets her glass down. “You know why she pressures you.”

  She’s right. I do—at least kind of.

  I distinctly remember my parents separating and the pure devastation it caused everyone in our family. I was too young to know what caused it. Even after all of these years, it’s a topic that’s yet to be explained. I just know that my mother isn’t the same person I remember her being when I was a little girl and my dad lived with us. She was honestly happy then, I think.

  I have theories about what happened to my parents—everything from an affair to financial problems—but the one thing I know for sure is that my mother never got over my father. Not really.

  A part of me thinks she presses me so much because she doesn’t want me to live without true, mind-blowing love—something I believe she’s gone without since her divorce. And I think she married Jack because it was as close to that kind of love as she thought she was going to get.

  Jack does love her. He’s a saint for how much he indulges her. But Jack loves baseball as much as he loves my mother, and that’s a platform she doesn’t want to share.

  I don’t blame her for that.

  “Why can’t I just show up alone?” I ask my aunt, pulling my head back to the present. “Would it be that bad?”

  “To her? Yes. It would.”

  I scoff. “Well, she’s wrong. Society has drilled into our heads—into her head—that women need a man. We don’t. I mean, maybe for procreation, but there are sperm banks for that. Procreation is even a moot point now that I think about it.”

  Siggy smiles. “You know you’re right. And, honey, you could walk into that room tomorrow night and own it. It would kind of make me proud to see you that confident.” Her grin grows wider. “But this means a lot to your mother. It gives her comfort to see you there beside her, and if you have a date, she feels like someone is taking care of you. That’s what she really wants.”

  I sigh.

  “You aren’t going to solve this situation with your mother overnight, so you need to pick your battles with her.”

  “I pick this.”

  She sits back in her chair. “Then go hard, little girl. If it means that much to you, fight with her. Stand your ground. Refuse to go and dig in your heels.”

  It’s a guilt-trip without even being one.

  My resistance starts to fade, and I sit back in my chair too.

  “Your mother, God love her, isn’t you,” Siggy says with a deep, thoughtful frown. “She was devastated when your dad left, and I truly think she thought she’d be alone forever. There she was in her early thirties with a young child. She thought she was damaged goods.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  She nods. “She was raised with this mindset, I think. I know she took a lot of flack from her mother about raising a child alone. It was a different world back then.”

  I consider this. I never knew my grandmother or this about my mom. It does make sense.

  She reaches across the table and pats the top of my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before going back to her mimosa.

  I sit across from her and sip my drink too. Her words fester inside me. I know she’s right, but it doesn’t mean that caving into Mom’s irritating demands is right. Or easy. Especially when they’re ridiculous.

  “Don’t you have someone who you wouldn’t mind spending a few hours with?” she asks after a few minutes. “Instead of thinking of it as a prison sentence, couldn’t you look at it as taking a friend out for the night?”

  Instantly, Hollis materializes up in my head.

  “What are you grinning about?” Siggy asks.

  I didn’t realize I was.

  I try to tame the bolt of energy firing through my veins, but it’s impossible. A chuckle sneaks by my lips. I shake my head—both at the thought of Hollis teasing me about sending him fictional dirty texts and my inability to stop being amused by him.

  “The funniest thing happened last night,” I tell her.

  “And …”

  I squirm in my seat. “I was at Pa
ddy’s downtown for a birthday party, and Sebastian was there. He made these comments to me early in the evening that basically inferred I was pathetic because I was alone. He’s such an ass.”

  “I’ve met him. He is.”

  I laugh. “I knew he was going to come up and say hi. I could feel it. And I didn’t want to be standing there alone because that would just stroke his ego.”

  Her face wrinkles in disgust.

  “So I took matters into my own hands.” I laugh as I remember Hollis’s face when I propositioned him. “I found a boyfriend for a few minutes.”

  Siggy plays with the charm on her necklace and watches me closely, her eyes sparkling. “He was cute, I take it?”

  My stomach flip-flops over itself.

  “Yeah. He was cute,” I say with a wide smile. “Ridiculously good-looking, actually. Built like a god. He had the sweetest smile but also the orneriest smirk that just … went right through me.”

  “Ooh, the smirk. I’m such a sucker for a good smirk.”

  “Me too.” I laugh. “So, Hollis, the guy I knew for two seconds, was my fake boyfriend last night. In retrospect, I can’t believe I asked him, and I can’t believe he went through with it, but he did. He jumped right in and hugged me and sweet-talked me and put Sebastian in his place. He was just …”

  My cheeks heat. My embarrassment at blushing only makes it worse.

  Siggy leans against the table. Mischief fills her eyes. “So get him to be your date tomorrow.”

  I hold her gaze and feel her words sink into my brain. With each inch they settle, the more my stomach squirms inside my body.

  He was fun. He did smell amazing. And the way those giant arms felt around me kept me from sleeping all night—mostly because I wasn’t in them anymore.

  But what would be the point? He’s only in town for a few days.

  I sit back in my chair.

  In fact, isn’t that the actual point?

  I only need him for tomorrow night, and he did say to call him if I … needed him for anything. Maybe I’d enjoy more than one moment with his arms around me.

  Or more …

  No. Don’t go there, Riss. He’s too gorgeous not to want for more than one night.

  I nibble on my lip. He is leaving town. And he’s not on my stay-away-from list. But I don’t even know anything about him.