Page 77 of Playing Her Game

“Good.” She raises her glass. “Because you don't need to turn something that mattered into a mistake just because it might not last.”

I sit with that for a moment.

The champagne has warmed in my hand. Beyond the window, the clouds stretch in soft white layers, the world below hidden from view.

“It's strange,” I say. “My mother thinks the safest choice is the one that has already been arranged. A marriage, a future, a plan everyone understands. She thinks that if the pieces are in the right places, nothing can hurt me.”

“And you?”

“I think things can hurt you even when you do everything right.”

Bernie's expression softens. “Yes, they sure can.”

“And sometimes you can do everything right and still lose something you wanted.”

I think of the little girl I was, the life I imagined before I understood how much of it might be outside my control. I think of Matthias, of the person I was then, of how much I believed feeling something deeply meant it would last.

And I think of Rez, who never promised me forever. Who gave me six days and asked only that he’d call; he didn’t promise the moon.

“I don't want to regret choices in life based on what might go wrong,” I say. “Not anymore.”

Bernie studies me, then lifts her glass. “To that, then.”

I clink mine against hers.

“To that.”

We drink, and for a while we let the conversation wander. We talk about Hildy, how happy she seems, and Hank, Lucy, and the chaos that follows them around.

Eventually, Bernie settles back into her seat, the champagne glass resting against her knee.

“I should try to sleep,” she says. “Before I start telling you things I haven't even admitted to myself.”

“Too late.”

“Cruel woman.”

“You brought champagne.”

“A mistake I'll be making again.”

She raises the divider halfway, then pauses.

“Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens with Rez, don't let anyone convince you that wanting him was the irresponsible part.”

The words settle between us.

I think of my mother, of her certainty, of the future she keeps trying to pull me back toward. I think of Rez's face when I told him I had to leave, and the kiss he gave me before I got out of his car.

“I won't,” I say.

Bernie nods, satisfied, and lets the divider rise.

I turn back to the window. The clouds have swallowed the last view of the ground, leaving only white stretching to the horizon.