Page 79 of Empty Net
"Trainers. Coaches. Doctors. Agents. General managers."
"Mothers."
His mouth almost moves. "Sisters."
"Rookies with knot problems."
"Hale does not tell me what to do."
"Not in words."
That earns the smallest smile.
Then it fades.
"I don't have an answer," he says.
"I believe you."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
He looks annoyed. "You're usually more irritating."
"I'm resisting several urges."
"To organize my life?"
"Yes."
"Spreadsheet?"
"Obviously."
"Color-coded?"
"Don't insult me."
The joke lands and then leaves. Under it, the empty space remains. I can feel how badly he wants me to fill it so he can resist the answer instead of facing the absence. Resistance is familiar. Absence is not.
I put my plate on the coffee table. Deliberately do not adjust the rice containers.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do," I say. "I'm not going to make a list of transferable skills or suggest three career paths before dessert."
"There is dessert?"
"There are clementines."
"That is not dessert."
"My mother would disagree."
"Your mother is wrong."
"You can tell her that."
"I will not."
