Page 203 of Gamebreaker

"Miserable?" I offered.

"I was going to say reserved."

"Captain Miserable," I said. "That's what I called her the night we met. To her face. In the tunnel."

Marco put down his fork. "You called my sister Captain Miserable? To her face?"

"Several times."

"In public?"

"In a concrete tunnel full of security guards, the press, and like, the whole team."

Marco turned to his mother, a huge grin on his face. "Ma. Ma. She called her Captain Miserable."

"I heard her, Marco, I'm sitting right here."

"Can I call her that?"

"No," Cam said.

"Captain Miserable," Marco said, testing it, with deep satisfaction.

"I will end you."

"Hey, Captain Miserable, pass the bread."

Cam passed the bread directly into her brother's face. He caught it. Everyone was laughing. Luca was laughing so hard he fell off his chair, and Anthony was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes with his napkin, and he didn't even blame the ragweed this time.

And Cam, beside me, with her face bright red and her hand still on my knee, was laughing too. Her head was tipped back, and the sound of it filled the whole room.

I looked around the table at all of them, these loud, warm, ridiculous people who had decided to love me before they'd ever met me, just because she did.

And I thought to myself, so this is what it feels like.

To be at a table where nobody has to earn their seat.

After dinner, Maria wouldn't let me help with the dishes, which turned into a fight, which I lost, which ended with me sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of espresso while Maria washed, Gianna dried, and Cam put away, the three of them moving around each other in that kitchen like a play they'd run a thousand times.

Maria talked the whole time. About Cam as a kid. About the time Cam was nine and practiced free throws in the driveway until midnight in the snow, and Anthony had to go out and carry her in. About the time Cam was fourteen and broke her nose for the first time and kept playing. About the day Cam got drafted, and how Maria had cried so hard at the deli counter that a customer had given her his handkerchief and never asked for it back.

"I still have it," Maria said. "In my drawer. With her baby teeth."

"Ma," Cam said, looking mortified. "You don't have to tell her everything."

"I'm telling her everything. She's family." Maria turned off the water and dried her hands and looked at me across the kitchen. "You're family now. You know that?"

I had a cup of espresso in my hands, and I wasn't sure I could hold it steady.

"I know," I said.

"Do you?" Maria came over and sat down across from me, and took both my hands in hers, espresso cup and all. Her hands were warm and damp and smelled like dish soap and garlic. "Cameron told me about your family. About your mother."

I glanced at Cam. She'd gone very still by the cupboard, a stack of plates in her hands.

"I'm sorry," Cam said quietly. "I should have asked you first."

"No. It's okay." I looked back at Maria. "It's okay."