Page 114 of The Replay

I shake my head. "Coach doesn't want me there with a stiff leg. He says I'm a trip risk and doesn't want any new injuries. As soon as my brace is off, I'll be back for moral support. So, maybe the game at the end of the month."

She nods and pats my shoulder, before the group moves away from the front seats and back to the area near the TV. I get the fancy armchair in a corner, while everyone else gets busy picking at the food and getting the last drinks of the night.

Mariana brings me a water bottle and sits next to me.

"So your friends think we're being silly." She chews on her lip. "They weren't mean about it, but…"

She's worrying about my friends' opinions.

I open the bottle and drink a few gulps of water. With everything going on, I'm not surprised to see her anxiety hovering around her, always ready to take over as soon as she stops paying attention. From what I can see, she's keeping an eye on it as much as she can. She's managing, despite everything. And there's even a hint of humor to her eyes, as she waits for my response.

"Let them think what they will," I say.

She gazes at them as they putter around the food and drinks section, and takes a deep breath.

She nods. "Okay. If you can do that with them, I can do it too."

Yes, there she goes. In her own way, she's trying to stop caring about people's expectations.

I hold her hand. "They like you, Mariana. They don't have to agree with every choice you make to like you. That's why they include you."

"Even if they don't agree with us having this arrangement only to end it? They'll still include me after?" Vulnerability is a shadow in the depth of her eyes. "I know things are happening this way because of what I want. You and I made decisions together but they depend on how badly I want to finally go for my dreams."

"You should never give up your dreams," I say.

I just wish I was invit— No. Can't go there. I promised myself.

"I don't want to give them up, but I guess that makes me more selfish than I realized, when it's going to hurt you too."

"We're all selfish in our own ways."

"No need to placate me, Dom. I don't think you're being selfish at all. You're as warm and generous as ever. Your friends are, too. And I know I'm leaving and I shouldn't worry so much about this, but I like them. I'd love it if I'm visiting Seattle one day in the future, and I get to see you… and them. Can I text them from England? Video calls and the assumption we're friends enough that we'd want to meet again? It's the first time in my life I'm trying to grow roots with my own people, beyond my family's world and networks. I didn't expect it to feel so… raw."

My heart changes its rhythm, and I tell myself it's matching up to hers. Nevermind it makes no sense, or how impossible it is to prove. It feels like connecting to her. In this sliver of reality, there's more bringing us together than pulling us apart. In this corner of existence, bodies hold some magic and, while we're together, my system will link to her as deeply as possible.

I caress her face and give her a small kiss. "You'll see. One day, we'll tell them this thing we're doing is over. You'll go to England, and I'll stay here. We'll meet other people and move on. But if I'm ever in London or you're ever here, we'll smile at each other and go out— maybe on double dates. Maybe dinner with everyone. That's what we want out of all of it, isn't it? Our friends can be part of it too. And they'll be puzzled, and look at us with shock on their faces, maybe even shake their heads at us, but they will let us be."

"It is what we want, yes." She snorts. "It's what I'd like to have with my parents, too. That understanding and acceptance. It shouldn't be too much to ask to have it with the people I'm closest to, right?"

"It's not too much, no."

She gazes at her lap, where our hands are joined. She caresses me with her thumb in long, slow arches.

"I don't know if I'm truly going to get that from my parents," she says, "not now that I'm not their perfect daughter anymore. And I doubt I'll ever be that again. I'm nervous of how intense they'll be when I'm barely good enough."

"Mari."

She shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm being silly. How privileged can one person be? I still have everything, and I'm struggling because the one thing I'm losing is my parents' approval? They won't throw me out of the family. They've always been critical, and I've learned to live with it, but I'm trying to avoid them getting worse. That's it. Just parents that are worse in the strict expectations department."

"You get to ask better of your parents."

"Sure, but I doubt they'll be better. So I'll apologize to Cora and Maisie for not realizing this before, when they also had to go through something like this, when our parents were disappointed. Then I'll ask for advice. And, you know what?"

I ask her to continue with a nod.

"I'll get to do that with one hell of a transition year with the Strike. I'll be so proud of it that, even if they're not— when they find something I could improve on— it will slide off my shoulders. And they won't have a leg to stand on, to deny Maisie and me from our vision for the foundation. Whatever that is, once I'm back in England."

She gazes away, then at my friends. I keep my eyes on her.