It was the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. Mathilde had already left for Maine the previous day, directly after our last practice of the week. Just a month ago, I would have been dreading being in the apartment with only Eva, but I was actually looking forward to attending her family party. Maybe she would let her guard down around friends and family. Maybe it might give me more insight into who she was. At the very least, I was looking forward to good food.

  “Almost.” I went to the refrigerator and pulled out an oversized bowl.

  “What’s that?” Eva asked.

  I stirred the bowl’s contents and spooned myself a small bite to make sure it had enough salt. “Macaroni salad.” I’d stayed up late the previous night to make it. “It’s a Midwest delicacy.”

  “It’s not that kind of barbecue,” Eva said.

  “It’s not?”

  I couldn’t imagine any summer get-together where a mayonnaise-based noodle salad wasn’t the star.

  Eva slipped on oversized sunglasses. “Come on. You’ll see.”

  I sat in the front passenger seat of Eva’s SUV with a mixing bowl of cold macaroni salad perched on my lap. I’d been a little surprised at the understated practicality of Eva’s vehicle when she’d first pulled it out of the underground parking structure. Athletes were known for flashy, exotic cars, especially new professionals with money to burn. I myself didn’t have a car, but it was rare that I went anywhere that wasn’t within walking distance.

  The radio was turned down to a low murmur—background noise as she navigated out of the city and into the suburbs. Brookline was a highly affluent community located immediately south and west of Boston proper. An impressive number of professional athletes, celebrities, and politicians had called the community home.

  We drove down a wide residential street, shaded by mature trees. Short masonry walls and wrought iron gates separated meticulously manicured yards from the road. Land Rovers and Mercedes parked in long, cobblestone driveways were only one sign of the neighborhood’s wealth.

  Eva slowed and eventually parked on the street in front of one of the massive houses. I stared through the passenger side window at the impressive Dutch Gambrel-style home. Large windows faced the street, but heavy drapery limited the view inside. The grass in the front yard looked like it belonged on a golf course, not a single-family home. Lawn-care service trucks lined the street, a sure indication that no one in this community did their own landscaping.

  “You grew up here?” It was world’s away from my own family’s split-level home in the lower, middle-class suburbs of Madison, Wisconsin.

  “Home sweet home,” Eva confirmed.

  “What do your parents do?” I asked.

  “My mom is a judge, and my dad is a doctor. An anesthesiologist.”

  “Holy cow.” I didn’t bother masking my awe.

  “Yeah,” she huffed, unfastening her seatbelt. “Imagine their embarrassment that their daughter is only a basketball player.”

  We took our time strolling up the front walkway that led to the main entrance. Eva seemed to be in no hurry to get inside, so I took the opportunity to take in the surroundings. I peered up into each sunny but solemn window, all heavily draped, and tried to imagine growing up in such a place.

  The street itself was quiet with the exception of a leaf blower turning on and off. No children bounced basketballs, or rode their bikes, or roller skated like one would find on the street where I grew up.

  “My mom’s trying to get gas leaf blowers banned from the city,” she said, almost to herself. “Noise pollution or something.”

  She didn’t bother knocking or ringing the front doorbell; she walked directly inside. I stayed back a few steps and continued letting her set the pace. While we’d slowly meandered to the front of the house, we passed quickly through the home’s interior in favor of the backyard. I had only a few moments to appreciate the tasteful, traditional décor and the beige carpets throughout.

  I clutched my bowl of pasta salad as we walked past a baby grand piano.

  “Do you play?” I asked.

  “No. I think it came with the house.”

  Eva sounded almost bored, while I stared, slack-jawed and intimidated.

  We stepped through sliding French doors into the backyard. A large white tent, more appropriate for a wedding instead of a family get-together, had been set up on the manicured lawn. Catering staff dressed in crisp, white shirts and pressed, black pants hustled around in a kind of contained chaos.

  I continued to unabashedly gawk. “I thought you said it was a family barbecue.”

  “It’s how my family does a barbecue,” she remarked, “not the rest of the world.”

  The tidy front yard had belied the grandiose property at the rear of the house. A pressed concrete patio led down to a flat parcel that might have been half an acre. It better resembled a sprawling country club instead of a family backyard. Fountains. Topiaries. A tennis court.

  “I don’t play that either,” Eva quipped.

  We entered the long tent where at least two dozen people, if not more, were gathered. Long folding tables had been transformed with white table cloths and patriotic red, white, and blue centerpieces. Guests spoke in subdued tones while they snatched an assortment of appetizers and drinks from the circulating trays of the catering staff. The men looked like they’d stepped off the golf course while the women wore long, flowing maxi dresses and elaborate, wide-brimmed hats. I felt wildly underdressed in jean shorts and a t-shirt.

  “Do you know all these people?”

  “Most,” Eva confirmed. “A few are extended family—aunts, and uncles, and cousins. The rest are family friends. Some random politicians fishing for campaign donations.”

  Eva’s fingers slipped into the crook of my arm. “We should say hi to my parents.”

  “Oh! Okay.”

  I allowed her to pull me deeper into the event tent until we were standing in front of a handsome older couple.

  “Eva! Sweetheart!” A woman, whom I assumed to be Eva’s mother, lightly embraced her daughter. Eva was several inches taller than her mom, maybe even a foot. She bent slightly at the knees while her long arms gently circled the shorter woman.

  Eva’s mother wore a black and white patterned dress with a wide black belt at her waist. She was a small woman, but lean like her daughter. Her dark hair was loose and fell to the top of her shoulders. She wore a sensible amount of makeup, red on her lips and the apples of her cheeks.

  I hadn’t really noticed how Eva had dressed for the occasion until that moment. The sleeveless olive green jumpsuit accented attractively muscled arms. A gold zipper was pulled low enough in the front to expose her collarbone.

  I also couldn’t help observing how forced the contact looked. It was a polite hug, as if between two acquaintances who saw each other infrequently. My own mom was the kind of hugger who realigned your spine with her bear hugs.

  Eva hugged her father next. This time, the familiar embrace looked more natural. Eva’s father was tall—well over six feet. I could see from where she got her height.

  Like the other men at the party, Mr. Montgomery looked like he’d just come from eighteen holes of golf. He wore a lilac purple polo tucked into flat-front khakis with a braided belt.

  I hung back, still stupidly holding that bowl of macaroni salad. Why had Eva let me bring it? I wanted to fling the whole thing into the ocean.

  “This is Lex Bennet,” Eva finally introduced me. “She’s on the team with me.”

  “Your Honor. Dr. Montgomery.” I bobbed my head in their respective directions. “Thank you for letting me tag along.” I held out the mixing bowl of chilled pasta. “I brought you food from my people.”

  Eva snorted beside me.

  Mrs. Montgomery’s long eyelashes fluttered. She accepted the bowl and examined its contents. “Oh, you didn’t need to bring anything, dear.”

  The pasta bowl had become an extension of my body. No longer clutching it, I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jean shorts. “It’s no big deal. I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

  “It’s a very thoughtful gesture,” Mrs. Montgomery approved. “I’ll just, uh, have the caterers put this with the other food.”

  She motioned to one of the circling staff members and handed over my modest offering.

  Mrs. Montgomery fiddled with Eva’s hair. She had braided her smaller braids into one larger one that day. “Girls, go get something to eat,” she implored. “Eva, I ordered those mini crab cakes you like so much.”

  Eva nodded. “Sounds great, Mom. Thanks.”

  I took a step backwards and waved. “It was nice to meet you.”

  The Montgomerys smiled before shifting their attention to another approaching couple. More polite hugs and pleasantries ensued.

  Eva leaned close when we had put some distance between her parents and us. “What was that?”

  I turned to her while we walked toward the buffet line. “What? I thought I was being respectful.”

  “No, I mean what was all that ‘food of my people’ stuff?”

  “I told you—mayonnaise-based salads are a Midwest specialty.”

  “Nobody knows that. Now they think you’re some weird white girl.”

  “Oh, God.” I whipped my head to look back to where we’d left her parents. Both were surrounded by guests like it was the receiving line at a wedding. “Do you think they think I said something about race?”

  “It’s fine,” she waved off. “I’ll explain your special brand of weirdness to them later.”

  Eva grabbed a plate from the end of the buffet line and handed it to me. It was a real plate, not Styrofoam or paper.

  I waved the plate like a fan. “I guess lobster tails would destroy a paper plate, huh.”

  The buffet table was crowded with warming trays that overflowed with local seafood. Grilled lobster tails and drawn butter. Steamed mussels in white wine and garlic. Oysters on the half shell with a mignonette sauce and thick lemon slices. Mini crab cakes with a crispy, breaded exterior and tender interior. Corn on the cob. Grilled Asparagus. Baked beans slow-cooked in molasses and bacon. My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

  Eva frowned. “It’s over the top, I know.”

  “No, it’s nice,” I defended. “Your parents are really generous to do all this.” I paused to grab a piece of corn on the cob with a pair of tongs. It rolled on the flat plate until finally coming to a stop. “Do you think they think it’s weird that I’m here?”

  Eva grabbed what looked like clam chowder served in a tall, narrow shot glass. “Why would they think it’s weird?”

  I watched her fill her plate with seafood so fresh it had probably been caught that morning. “Because of our history.”

  Eva lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Because I broke your wrist and you hate my guts,” she said evenly.

  “I don’t hate you,” I quickly corrected. “But, yeah. That part.”

  Eva’s gaze left me to follow her mother around the white event tent. “To be honest, I doubt they even made the connection. They don’t exactly follow me and my career.”

  I blinked a few times, not understanding. I’d heard what she’d said, but none of it made sense. “But you were the first overall draft pick. You won the Naismith. You set the collegiate record for most consecutive double-doubles. You’re Eva frickin’ Montgomery.”

  “Thanks for the Wikipedia highlights,” she smirked.

  I followed Eva from the buffet line to an empty table. Despite the seafood extravaganza her parents had provided, few others had filled their plates like we had. Most guests hung around the open bar, sipping chilled white wine and short glasses of bourbon.

  Eva scooped a tender, garlicky mussel out of its open shell with her fork. “Do you think it’s weird being here?”

  “Fucking surreal,” I blurted out.

  Eva’s features darkened. She cast her honey-brown eyes to the tablecloth.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized in haste. “That sounded way harsher than I intended. We’ve come a long way in a short amount of time, but sometimes …” I hesitated. “It’s a lot to just forgive and forget.”

  Her eyes remained on her assorted silverware. “I felt sick the whole time.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “I kind of blocked it out until the end of the game, you know? I was just so locked in,” she said, “I didn’t think about anything else. But then the final buzzer came and everyone was rushing onto the court and hugging me and confetti was going everywhere. I don’t think I realized you hadn’t come back from the locker room until we were doing pressers afterwards.”

  She picked up her fork and knife and cut a mini crab cake into smaller pieces. “No one knew anything. How you were. Where you were. We were grand marshalling a Disney parade when I got a notification that you’d come out of surgery.”

  I laughed because I was uncomfortable. “Ruined the most Magical Place on Earth for you?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head. “It sounds self-centered, but I couldn’t enjoy any of it. The celebrations. The late night TV appearances. The photoshoots. I knew I’d fucked you over. There was no way anyone was going to draft you.”

  I exhaled. “But then they did.”

  “But then they did,” she echoed quietly. “Sorry. Kind of heavy for a family barbecue.”

  “Well, you did warn me that your family did barbecues different.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “I’m going to get seconds,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the buffet line. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” she rejected. “But if you get the lobster bisque, bring an extra spoon.”

  “Do you want me to get you your own bowl?”

  “No. I’ll just have some of yours if you get it.”

  I stood from the table. “So you want me to get it.”

  “Only if you want some.”

  “You’re being very confusing right now.”

  Eva laughed. A genuine laugh. It was warm and round.

  “Get some bisque for us to share. And some of your famous pasta salad, too, if that mayonnaise hasn’t curdled by now.”

  I walked toward the buffet table feeling giddy but unstable. It was a little confusing why she’d invited Mathilde and me to her family’s get-together. It was clear Eva didn’t have an easy relationship with her parents; maybe she’d needed a buffer between her parents and herself. But at the same time, she was actually starting to loosen up. I think I’d heard her laugh more in one afternoon than the entire time I’d known her.

  I was in my head and not really paying attention as I shuffled down the buffet line. I ladled up a bowl of creamy lobster bisque before moving next to a basket that contained cheddar biscuits. Eva hadn’t requested one, but it looked too good to pass up.

  I reached for the last biscuit in the serving basket, but jerked my hand back when I saw another hand doing the same.

  “Oh! Sorry!” I hastily apologized. “Go ahead!”

  The young man motioned towards the final biscuit. “It’s alright. I’m sure more are on the way. Aunt Virginia won’t let anyone leave hungry.”

  I stopped to better regard the man. He had a handsome, boyish face, and his dark hair was buzzed short and faded near the temples. He was tall and thin, maybe a little taller than Eva, but not by much. Like myself, he was dressed more casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

  “You’re Eva’s cousin?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You all came together, right?”

  “Uh huh,” I confirmed. “We both play for the Shamrocks. I’m Alexandra,” I introduced myself. “But everyone calls me Lex.”

  “Kenny,” he returned the introduction. “Everyone calls me Kenny.”

  “That makes it easy,” I chuckled.

  “How long have you and my little cousin been together?”

  “Together?” I looked back to Eva. She sat by herself at the long folding table with her hands in her lap. In my absence, none of the party’s other guests had dropped by to say hello. “Oh. We’ve only been roommates since the start of the season.”

  “Roommates?” He laughed. “I thought we were past all that. It’s 2024.”

  It took me a long moment to realize what Kenny was insinuating.

  “Oh! We’re-we’re not dating,” I stammered. “We’re just teammates. And roommates, too, I guess. There’s actually three of us who live together, but not like together together. We all have our own bedrooms.” I glanced again in Eva’s direction. “She probably felt sorry for me, and invited me to your family party ‘cause I had no other plans this weekend. My family is all back in Wisconsin.”

  I knew I was rambling, but my brain was spinning. Eva Montgomery was gay?

  I somehow made it back to Eva and the long folding table without spilling lobster bisque down my t-shirt or fumbling the last cheddar biscuit.

  Eva inspected the offerings I set before her. “No pasta salad?”

  “Oh, uh, it was all gone,” I lied.

  I’d been so distracted, I’d completely forgotten about it.

  Eva dug enthusiastically into the bowl of bisque, drawing up thick pieces of lobster meat on her spoon. She made a noise, practically sexual in nature, when her lips wrapped around the utensil.

  She covered her mouth with her hand. “God, that’s good.”

  My eyes went to her manicured hand and then to her plump lower lip where a dollop of bisque stubbornly clung. Her tongue darted out to collect the creamy soup.

  “You should have some,” she encouraged. “My mom gets it from a restaurant up in Gloucester. It’s totally craveable.”

  My brain was still malfunctioning. Instead of picking up my own spoon, I stupidly opened my mouth like a baby bird waiting for its supper.

  Eva didn’t hesitate. She dunked her spoon into the bowl and popped it into my mouth.

  She rested her elbow on the table and waited for my appraisal. Her gaze never left my face. I wasn’t a big lobster fan, coming from the Midwest, but the thick broth was rich and flavorful, and the lobster knuckle was tender and buttery.

  “Jesus, that is good,” I gulped.