18. SUBJECT: UPDATE ON PETER

to: cassandra.belford@baderu.com

from: weston.maguire@baderu.com

subject: Update on Peter

sent: March 20, 2017 at 8:40pm

Hey Cassie,

Pete's okay. It's a hard question to answer, but I'll get to it soon.

First of all, your book sounds incredible. I like knowing more about the characters, especially the one you're using me for. It's good to know that the emails have been helpful.

Sometimes I forget that this is a job. It feels like we're talking, you and me, outside of everything else. Your writing has become such a constant voice in my head, like one of Sky's playlists, just following me around campus.

I was sitting outside the library earlier today, waiting for Lena, and there were a couple of girls complaining about their boyfriends, loudly, and I couldn't help but think that if you were there you'd say something both funny and snarky.

You're really starting to fuck with my head a little, Cass. I can't see or think about things without connecting it back to something you've written to me about. I'm always left wondering what you'd say about everything.

It's pretty exhausting.

I even have these one-sided conversations with you in my head. I remember when Sky was in sixth grade and she was obsessed with a British boy band. She'd sit in her room and daydream about what she would ask them if they were there. She even practiced their responses. It's as if I'm an eleven-year-old kid and you're the boy band. That's pathetic, huh?

Whatever, let's talk about Peter.

He seems like he's been doing better. We haven't seen much of each other lately because he's getting to the library every day now to make sure he's finishing the semester as strong as possible. We're 99.9% sure he'll graduate, but he isn't taking any chances.

I finally ran into him this morning. I was eating at the kitchen counter and flipping through my textbook when he came in wearing the same clothes I'd seen him in last night.

"Have you been at the library this whole time?" I asked, a little surprised.

He smiled. "Yeah. I finished the assignment and I started doing the readings for my bio tutorial."

"Atta boy." I saluted him with my coffee mug.

He came over and poured himself a glass of orange juice and grabbed a muffin from the batch Lena had brought over a few days ago. They're filled with jam.

"So," I began. "Did you decide if you're going to come to the movie on Wednesday?" I asked.

"Yeah, probably. Did you decide if you're going to go to rookie camp?" he asked, taking a bite out of the muffin.

I swear to God, Buddha and all the Hindu ones, my eyes got so wide they probably could have fallen out of my skull.

I didn't say anything. I just sat there like a moron.

He laughed, then answered the question I hadn't asked: "Sky told me."

Fucking Skylar. I told her less than two days ago about the offers, and she'd promised not to say anything to mom. To be fair, I hadn't asked her not to tell Pete. I didn't think it was necessary---I had no idea the two of them were in contact outside of me.

"Listen, I didn't want to say anything until I knew what I wanted to do," I said, hoping he wasn't too pissed.

"Come on, Wes," Pete shook his head. "Enough with the tiptoeing. You didn't say anything because you thought it might upset me."

I didn't know how to respond. He was right.

"I get it. I mean, I know you're worried about me, but I'm okay. Seriously."

"Yeah?" I didn't believe him, and he knew it.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I would do just about anything for the chance to train with those guys and play pro. But the fact of the matter is that I'm never going to be good enough to play professionally."

I started to argue with him, but he didn't let me.

"Really, even if coach hadn't cut me this year, I wouldn't be anywhere close to ready. You're either built to play pro, or you're not. And I'm not. Even if I physically could, I'm not sure it would be the best thing for me with everything else," he said, shrugging.

"Yeah?"

"I love hockey. You know how much I love it. But it can also be the most unbearable thing when I'm, you know," he trailed off. "It can be really hard to be trapped in all that gear, sweaty, and surrounded by people who want to beat the shit out of you. And you know as well as I do that going pro can take a real toll on a guy. Concussions, injuries, all of the fighting... it fucks with our heads." I've had two concussions, but both had been pretty minor. Pete suffered a bad concussion when we were nineteen and broke his collarbone in high school. "Remember, like five or six years ago, when three different NHL players killed themselves, one right after another? That's not a fucking coincidence," he shook his head.

I froze for a second. It bothered me to hear him talk about death.

"I guess." I didn't want to push, but it was the closest thing to an opening I'd ever had. "Is that something you're worried about?"

He knew what I meant.

"I mean, yeah, of course it worries me. It should worry me. It'd be a lot worse if I stopped caring... at least I still give a shit about what happens to me."

I nodded. "You've been doing really well lately. It looks like you're happier than you were a few months ago."

"Sure, I guess you could say that. But there's still gonna be days where great stuff is going on and I can't enjoy it. I've had entire weeks where it feels like I'm just watching my life happen near me, but I can't really feel any of it. And yeah, that hasn't been the case lately. But even if shit were bad, I'd still be happy for you, man. The NHL. Fuck. It's a big deal." He opened a can of diet coke. "I'm not better, but I'm okay right now."

"Okay," I said, still processing what he'd said.

"So... when are you going to meet the coaches?"

"I haven't decided what I want to do, yet. I don't know, I mean ---"

"Wait, wait. What do you mean you don't know?" He was shocked. Not just shocked, he was flabbergasted.

"There's a lot to think about. School, my family, the lack of stability, I don't know."

"What the fuck. That makes no sense. None." I thought that was a little unfair. He was getting kind of hysterical actually.

"I just---"

"No. Those reasons are bullshit. I'll find a job when I graduate, maybe play in a local league, and that will be fine. Good, even. But you won the lottery, and you're thinking about throwing the ticket in the trash? For what? I will kill you, I will kill you, if you pass up a chance to play in the tournaments."

I tried to reason with him. "I haven't given up on teaching someday. Maybe I'll do more courses after graduation, or even take an extra year."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Peter snorted. "You have to do this. If not for you, then do it for the 12-year-old version of yourself who prayed he'd get drafted someday."

We went back and forth for a while. Peter was loud. Like, really loud.

Will's bedroom door swung open. "Can you assholes keep it down?" he sneered.

"Fuck off!" Peter yelled, sending him back to bed.

"Listen," Pete said, calming down. "I know you don't like it when you're not the most talented guy in the room. Or on the ice. But this is The Dream. It doesn't even matter if you completely shit the bed. This is one of those things you just need to do."

I thought about that, even after Peter went to sleep. Because he's right---the kid I was ten years ago would have pissed himself at the thought of playing major league hockey. And if it doesn't work out, then that's okay. At least I'll know.

So, Cassie, I guess I need to choose between Boston or Edmonton in the next few weeks. Holy shit, right?

Before Peter left to get some sleep, I had to ask him about how he heard my news in the first place. "What are you and Sky talking about, exactly?" I asked. "How did this even come up?"

He turned red, mumbled something about toothpaste and went to his room. Whatever, I don't have time to fixate on my sister and Peter. I have a decision to make.

Talk soon,

Wes

. . .

Texts sent on March 21, 2017 at 2:33pm:

Simon Idzik: So, did you decide to call Dr. Maharaj?

Cassie Belford: I gave it some thought. A lot of thought. But it's still in the theory stage. Maybe I'll put it into practice one day.

Cassie Belford: Just not yet.

Simon Idzik: Okay. I figured as much.

Cassie Belford: Is everything alright?

Cassie Belford: That was an uncommonly rational reaction.

Simon Idzik: Don't be so dramatic.

Cassie Belford: I feel as if we've switched roles.

Simon Idzik: You're funny. I'll see you tonight at The Litigator.

. . .

to: weston.maguire@baderu.com

from: cassandra.belford@baderu.com

subject: Re: Update on Peter

sent: March 21, 2017 at 3:45pm

Hi Wes,

It's great that Peter is able to be excited and supportive of the opportunity. I think he has a point about you needing to do this for yourself; you deserve to see what your options are before you make any decisions. He's a good friend.

Speaking of good friends, Simon has mandated that I read some of my work tonight at The Litigator in lieu of therapy. He said he wants me to express myself in a personal way, and that he ultimately doesn't give a shit how I do it---I'm paraphrasing, of course.

I don't understand the ongoing need he has to control how I do things. God only knows what he plans to do when we no longer live together after graduation.

He's a little fragile this week, so I'm trying to be more sensitive. He and Sarah got into an argument about spring break, and it spiralled into a legitimate fight. Simon's boss wants him to go to a conference in San Antonio (why people would host anything in Texas, I have no idea) for the first half of spring break, and Simon said yes immediately. As in, without discussing the trip with Sarah.

Personally, I'm on her side. I'm not prepared to live without Simon and Hank for four days, especially four days when almost all of campus is closed. It's going to be so boring.

Anyway, Simon was pouting because Sarah had stayed at her own place after their fight, and his attitude was starting to bum me out.

"It's not even a full week," he bitched. "I don't see the big deal. I mean, professionally, it's a huge deal that my boss is letting a student go to this conference. I'm still an intern. Who cares if I skip most of spring break? This is huge for me. You know, I bet if I weren't blind this would be a non-issue." Such drama.

"You're being stupid."

He frowned at me.

"Well, it's the truth. Sarah doesn't give a shit about your sight. She's probably doesn't even care about the work. Come on, she's upset you're leaving town and you didn't think to include her in the decision. You intend to marry this girl, and you didn't even talk to her before you said yes."

He paused, processing what I'd just said. "Do you think I should invite her?" he asked.

"I think that would be a good start."

"Oh."

"And what about me?" I asked. "What if I need you? What if I decide to track down my estranged father and I need you and Hank for moral support?"

That made Simon laugh.

So, it looks like Sarah is going to Texas with Simon. He hasn't asked her yet, but it's obvious how this is going to play out for them.

To be honest, I'm nervous; I'm going to be alone for the first time in a while. I didn't think about how I'd grown accustomed to having company.

At least we have tonight. I'll let you know how it goes. Maybe they'll boo me offstage and I can guilt Simon into staying. A girl can dream.

Sincerely,

Cassie

. . .

Texts sent March 21, 2017 at 8:33pm:

Weston Maguire: Where are you?

Weston Maguire: They've already started, and I'm sitting here alone like a jackass.

Peter Moore: I'm standing at the back.

Peter Moore: How is it this crowded? A literary reading seems like something out of Boy Meets World or romance novels. I didn't know that they were a real thing.

Weston Maguire: Honestly, neither did I.

Weston Maguire: I'm sitting off to the right of the stage. Come up, I saved you a seat and I look like a dick sitting here with an empty chair when everyone else has to stand.

Peter Moore: Relax. I'll just wait until the guy is done talking. I don't want to get in the way. Which one is she?

Weston Maguire: She's sitting upfront. The table with the golden retriever.

Peter Moore: I can't see her, but I know the guy with the dog.

Peter Moore: He was in my stats class last year. Simon something. His mom's a judge.

Weston Maguire: Get your ass over here, she's next.

Pete Moore: Fuck, okay.

Peter Moore: I'm trying, but there's too many people who aren't moving.

Peter Moore: I'm just going to wait until she's done, then I'll come sit with you for the rest of the show.

Weston Maguire: It isn't a show. At least I don't think that's what this is.

Peter Moore: Wow.

Peter Moore: She's really hot.

Peter Moore: Sorry.

Peter Moore: Is it weird that I said that?

Weston Maguire: I'm turning my phone off.