Block Shot (Hoops 2)
“Okay,” he cuts in, lips twisted in exasperation. “Bannini, I got it.”
Their eyes hold for a second. Hers concerned, his a little irritated but mostly indulgent.
“Alright, but you need to drink this.” She offers him a large cup and straw I hadn’t noticed her holding. “None of that food in there is safe. You wouldn’t be able to keep any of it down. This is sweet potato, lime, pineapple—
“I need to tell you something,” he interrupts, flicking a glance my way and then back to Banner before going on. “I hired a nurse to take care of me so you don’t have to do so much or come over all the time.”
Praise Jesus. I’m going to church every week from now on.
“A nurse?” Consternation wrinkles Banner’s expression. “Why? I can—”
“No, you can’t, Banner,” he says gently, firmly. “I need you not to for a while.”
She still looks confused, but I’m not. Zo needs to fall out of love with Banner and can’t while she’s there all the time being exactly the woman he wants.
“I personally think it’s a great idea,” I chime in, just in case they’re wondering.
They both shoot me a wry “I bet you do” look and turn their attention back to each other.
“You have done more than enough,” he says, taking her hand. “I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”
“So you don’t . . .” She swallows and crystal tears bead the bottom row of thick lashes. “You don’t want me around? Is that what you’re saying?”
He clears his throat, and my joy at this new development shrinks when I see tears in his eyes, too. His voice is still thick with emotion when he speaks. “For a while, I think it’s best.”
Banner and I have something he can’t have with her, but he has something with her that is uniquely theirs. I scour my heart for jealousy, but there is none. How could there be? Banner is so pure in her motives, in her heart for him. He and I both recognize she would do anything for him as his friend. I don’t envy him the task ahead . . . getting over her.
I never could.
He puts the mask she brought him over his face and loops the string behind his head.
“There.” The mask muffles the word. “You happy now?”
Her smile up at him clears some of her tears.
“I’ll be happier,” she says, “if you drink some of this. You need your . . .”
Her voice peters out and she shakes her head, worry disrupting the smooth lines of her face.
“At least let me go over everything with the nurse,” she says. “There’s an app to keep up with your meds. And I have a regularly scheduled call with the hematologist who manages the multidisciplinary team. It’s a lot, and I just want to make sure the, um . . . transition is seamless.”
He simply nods, lifts the mask long enough to take a pointed sip of the concoction she brought over.
“I’ll make sure she speaks with you,” he says. “Now I’m going to go drool over all the food I cannot eat yet.”
He runs a glance over her face, lingering on each feature like he’s memorizing it, his eyes dark and sober over the white mask.
“Goodbye, Banner,” he says.
She just nods and watches him leave the terrace. It’s quiet for a minute, except for the laughter and music floating out to us from inside. I give Banner a moment to swipe a finger under her eyes.
“You want to dance?” I ask finally, softly.
Her eyes are still bright with tears, but she smiles and steps into my arms. We sway to the faint strains of a mariachi band playing something thankfully more mellow. The last time we danced Sixpence None The Richer was singing “Kiss Me.” That night, I did kiss her, and everything changed.
“I’m sorry I was upset that he’s getting a nurse,” she says after a few minutes of our quiet sway. “It’s not . . . it’s just—”
“I’m not mad.” I reach for her chin, lifting it so she meets my eyes. “I get it.”