Never Ever ✔️

chapter 26

"Open it," Reet demanded, pushing the package into Varun's hands. It was his birthday-October 14th-and she was making sure he celebrated being thirty years old. He had a tired look that he hadn't worn on his twenty-ninth birthday, but that was to be expected after the last six months. She'd made him a cake, three chocolate layers, vanilla buttercream frosting, and candy bar shavings, got a babysitter, and was making him open his presents.

He was being a good sport about it, shaking each box and making ridiculous guesses-a hula hoop, a Subway sandwich, a new car-before opening each one, careful not to rip the paper. It was like an old habit from being a kid with nothing. Everything got re-used. But Varun having that habit made reet chuckle.

The first gift was a picture of the three of them, skinny-limbed and tousled hair, their shoelaces untied, teetering on the edge of Being adult's . It was taken after three of them had a fun basketball game. Reet had scabbed knees, Varun wore a backwards ball cap and sported little biceps, and Nats was a looking like the big sister, her arms folded in front of her, her smile shy. Varun clutched a basketball against his left side and had his other arm slung over Reet's shoulders. Reet had an arm around Varun on her left, Nats on her right, a cheesy, squinty-eyed grin on her face.

"I remember the day this was taken," Varun said, softly smiling.
"Me too. But was it . . . before?" Reet asked. "I couldn't remember."
"Yeah. It was."
"It was a good day. We got to go to a pre-season Jazz game, remember? You got four free tickets , and you took us."
Varun nodded. "The Jazz against the Clippers. The Jazz killed 'em."

"I got sick-"
"And threw up in my collectible cup," Varun finished.

"You didn't even get mad at me. You carried it away like it was no big deal. Which boy does that?"

"I was afraid if I didn't get rid of it, Nats was going to puke too, and I didn't have another cup."

"Open the other present," she said.

"You got me two?"

"I got you more than two. Open it!" Reet insisted.

He tore off the wrapping and pulled out a collectible, 32-ounce mug with a screw-on lid and Karl Malone and John Stockton on the side, the old Jazz logo rimming the top.

"Where did you find this?" he cried.

"I have my ways. It's not exactly the same as the one you had . . . but close. And bonus, there's no vomit inside. However, there is something else." Varun screwed off the cap and tipped it over. Two Jazz tickets slid out into his hand.

"They're for tomorrow , which is why I asked Annika to watch Gia. And-" Reet picked up the final box. "You can wear this."

"There's a definite theme going on here," he mused, but pulled the ribbon from the remaining box. When he removed the folded, purple jersey, shaking it out so he could see it, his eyes widened and swung to hers.

"Eaton?"

She shrugged, worried that maybe she'd messed up. "I was going to get you a Malone, #32 jersey, but then I saw that. And it felt right. I got one for myself too. It made me laugh. It's like Nat's going with us that way."

His throat worked for a moment, his eyes clinging to the jersey. "I love it," he whispered. "Nats would get a kick out of it." His eyes rose to hers. "Thank you, Ri."

"You're welcome. Your final gift is hotdogs at the Delta Center, so go change. We're gonna be late."

They landed on the day of game .
They weren't late, but the skies were dark and cold as they walked hand in hand from the crowded parking lot, hurrying against the sharp wind. The leaves scattered like flocks of starlings, rushing, lifting, and twirling away. Reet's legs were so cold in her ripped jeans she couldn't feel them, and her toes felt like foreign objects on the end of her four-inch heels.