My days were mechanically played out. I’d rise at the same time, eat my first meal at the same hour, train the same time of the day, rest right after, work, interview, meet, and call it a day. I wasn’t living. I was merely floating through life. I could light up the faces, hearts and lives of strangers, but my beacon was miles away, incubating my baby.
It was still early on a Sunday afternoon in spring. Church was over. I turned the phone over and went to dial. She picked up after several rings.
“Praise the Lord. Barrett residence,” her faux high-pitched tone tickled me every time.
“Sarah?”
“Stenton! Hey! How’s it going, honey?” She recognized my voice instantly.
“You can ask your husband about that.”
“Oh.” I heard shuffling around the phone. “Did you play today?”
“Yeah,” I sulked. I almost whined—to a woman.
Goddamn *.
“Oh, Stenton, it’s just a game, dear. It isn’t the totality of your existence,” she tried.
“Well, it kinda is, Sarah. It’s what I’m paid to do.”
“But it isn’t what you were created to do, son.”
Son. She called me son. Even with the shit I was putting her daughter through, was putting their family through with all of the calls of disgrace from their church, she called me son.
“So, I take it you’re not going off to celebrate,” she teased gently.
“Nah,” I sighed. “No celebration when you’ve disappointed 1.55 million people.”
“But you’re just one person, Stenton. You can’t please all the people all the time.”
“I try,” I admitted. “I’m going to try harder next time.”
“And how do you plan to go about that, dear?”
“I guess go and practice some more.”
“Now?” she gasped. “At this hour? That’s ungodly. This is the day of Sabbath. You can’t work on the Sabbath…can’t tear your body down.”
I wanted to say, biblically speaking, the day of Sabbath is Saturday, not Sunday, but thought better than to correct her. Then I heard her speaking to someone in the room.
“It’s Stenton. I’ll be right with you. Huhn? No, he just called a moment ago.”
I heard Michael’s rumble.
“Are you out of town, dear?”
“No, Sarah,” Michael answered loud and grumpily. “He just lost to the Knicks!” I winced at the he and lost mentions.
Yeah…what he fucking said.
“Well, if you have time, honey, you’re more than welcome for dinner. I’d rather you do that than tear at your body more than you already have today.” I wasn’t sure which was more soothing: her voice or the invitation. “I mean, I know you’re busy and all,” she was being meek in her approach.
It was odd for her to have me over when things were so awkward between Zoey and me. If I had an honest moment, I would say I knew exactly why I called Sarah when I did: I called for reception. I just wanted to be a part of something, not depended on.
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.” I may not have been smiling on the outside, but I was happy as hell on the inside.
I heard her sigh. “All right, Stenton. We’ll see you then.”
“Sarah,” I called out to her.
“Yes, dear?”
“Should I bring something?”
“Just yourself, honey. Everything else is already here.”
I did smile that time. I gave the change of destination to the driver and thirty minutes later, I was at the home of the Barrett’s. Michael answered the door and gestured me inside.
“Hey, Stenton.” His tone was wry and I could appreciate why. I’d fucked his daughter, impregnated her, broke up with her, and broke her heart. I was lucky to be invited to his home again.
“Mr. Barrett, thanks for having me by.”
He turned and glared at me. “Sarah has you by. I’m disgusted with my shooting guard.” He took off for the sofa and motioned for me to sit across from him.
I scratched the back of my head, feeling self-conscious. I didn’t know how to respond to that. I knew we were, and may always be, in a precarious situation when together because of my selfish actions.