Conventionally Yours Read online

  And if nothing else, I knew myself. I didn’t travel well. My social awkwardness tended to worsen when I got anxious—something that new and uncomfortable situations often triggered to begin with. Summer camps and field trips had been misery for me growing up, and even now as an adult, day trips to local conventions could be stressful. And Vegas would be an entirely different beast.

  Yet none of that stopped me from wanting to go, to play, to win. Badly.

  After giving Emma her treat, I followed my mom into the breakfast nook where Mimi, my other mother, was setting out the food on the colorful stoneware she collected. Mimi—whose given name was Judith—had been a part of our family since I was six, and in many ways, I related better to her than to my bio mother. Actually, I looked more like her too—shorter, dark hair, thin build—and teachers frequently mixed up who was related to whom and how. I didn’t care. I loved them both, even as they drove me to the brink sometimes, especially lately. My bio mom was taller, statuesque, with hair she kept highlighted, built more like an aging starlet than the renowned neurologist she actually was. She took the seat next to Mimi, leaving me to sit across from them, a double firing squad of expectations.

  “Food looks good. Thank you.” Weekends were one of the rare times they cooked big meals together, and growing up, we’d anticipated the Saturday bounty like a mini-Hanukkah.

  “It’s that challah I made when Rebecca was home on spring break,” Mimi enthused. The mention of my genius older sister, who was in her final year at Harvard Med, made my jaw ache. But Mimi was undaunted as she served us all generous portions of the egg casserole and sides of turkey sausage and fruit. “Thought it might be a nice treat as we head into the end of the semester rush.”

  “Yeah. Lots of grading for you?” I was intent on keeping the focus off me as long as possible.

  “Well, lots of grading for the teaching assistants.” Mimi laughed lightly. A biochemist, she was a long-time faculty member at the university—one who brought in more than her share of grant funding for her groundbreaking research. “And you? Lots of papers due?”

  Here we go. “Some. It’s a light term.”

  “Well, let me know if you need me to look anything over.” Mimi might be one of the busiest faculty members, but she’d always made time for us kids, everything from homework to heartbreak.

  “And don’t forget about the writing center,” Mom added.

  “Got it.” Writing wasn’t my strong point, but my classes for the postbachelor certificate program were notoriously soft, most students having done what I’d intended to do—use the program as a stepping-stone toward other graduate programs. A number of students were in my same boat, having missed out on acceptance letters senior year and going for a second try at the programs they’d really wanted. But even knowing that I wasn’t alone didn’t make my situation any easier to stomach.

  “Alden. Are you taking exams seriously?” Eyes narrowing, Mom set her fork aside to lean forward as she warmed to her favorite topic—how to fix my life. “It’s past time we discuss your future beyond this year.”

  “Is it?” I groaned, the couple of bites of casserole I’d managed turning to glue in my stomach.

  “We know you’re disappointed.” Mimi’s kind eyes were full of sympathy, but there was also a resignation there that made me want to squirm. This was high school all over again, them bound and determined to figure out why I was fine academically and floundering socially. The endless pressure to add extracurriculars and pursue prestigious colleges like Gracehaven. Me never feeling quite good enough, letting them down over and over.

  Disappointed didn’t begin to cover it. Disappointed was last year, when the first wave of rejections for my medical school applications had come in. But everyone had said to try again, to spread my search wider, to be more flexible. Do this certificate, work even harder, get better references. And be patient.

  This? The feeling after all that had failed, after there wasn’t a single acceptance, as even the chances of being waitlisted dwindled to nothing, was devastation. Disappointment was something I knew how to navigate, but this emptiness inside me was on a scale that I hadn’t yet figured out how to cope with.

  “You’ve got options though.” Mom held up her hand, ticking them off on her well-manicured fingers. “You can finish the certificate program, do the second year focusing on health administration. Or transition to an MBA.”

  “A PhD program is also still a possibility,” Mimi added. “Especially with your strong grades. With an undergrad in math and minors in biology and chemistry, you’re well set for any number of options.”

  Ah. Options. The moms were huge on plans of action and choosing acceptable options. But no one wanted to hear about the option I really wanted, which was to play Odyssey until I forgot that we’d ever dreamed of me being a doctor. But I didn’t say that, just nodded and forced myself to take another bite to buy myself time.

  “I do wish you’d written your entrance statement on being neurodiverse. I really think it would have helped.” Mom shook her head.

  “Yes, embracing your differences and challenges would have shed a better light on your résumé,” Mimi agreed.

  “So say my mothers,” I groaned. “And when not even medical professionals can agree—”

  “Which is what you could write about.” Mom always acted like the parade of experts they’d dragged me to in junior high and high school were a fun field trip, a life-enrichment experience, and they both had zero problem bringing it up around other people. I, on the other hand, didn’t much care for public airing of my issues—and really didn’t like remembering their quest to fix me, unable to understand why things were so much harder for me than my older sisters, who had glided through school and landed in top medical programs with almost balletic ease.

  “It’s too late now, anyway.” I did not want to rehash my shortcomings all morning. At least they weren’t dredging up how many times I’d taken the MCAT entrance exams and all the money involved in the tests and application fees and study courses. I had the grades, sure, but those tests. I never failed to freeze up. “I’m…weighing my options.”

  I tried to sound deliberate, the way they both always managed to play uncertainty off as thoughtfulness, but it didn’t work, both of them shaking their heads simultaneously.

  “You need a direction,” Mom said firmly, and Mimi made a noise of agreement. “I want to hear that you’re committed to a course of action. Soon. Deadlines are fast approaching. You need an appropriate plan for your future. You can’t keep closing yourself off from the world and losing yourself in that game.”

  That game was the one bright spot in my life right now, but this was an old argument between us, and I wasn’t going to relitigate it. Instead, that ticket and everything it represented flashed like a neon billboard behind my eyes. Get to Vegas. Win. Join the pro tour. Find a way past my fear of flying. Use pro tour commitments to hold off big decisions that threatened to swallow me whole. Figure out my own life and my own direction away from all their expectations and pressures. It wasn’t a terrible plan.

  “I’m not. In fact, I’m considering a trip with…friends.” Friends was pushing it. Professor Tuttle was more of a mentor. Meanwhile, Jasper and Payton loosely tolerated my presence but didn’t invite me along for anything outside of the games, and Conrad and I were closer to enemies than anything else. But, I knew the word friends would immediately reassure the moms, get them to back off.

  “That’s wonderful.” Mimi beamed.

  “You getting social interaction is always good.” Mom sounded exactly the same as she had about the nine zillion different clubs she’d made me try as a kid, but then her tone shifted to something far more ominous. “But, I want you to come back with a firm commitment to your future. Or else we’re going to need to have a different talk. One about living arrangements.”

  Hell. Sweat gathered along my hairline. I’d known that at twenty-three I couldn’t keep living at home, under their benevolence, but I’d hoped to buy myself a little more time. And now, with both of them nodding grimly, I supposed I was locked into going on the trip, no matter what my own reservations were…and no matter who else was along for the ride.

  Chapter Five

  Conrad

  Late. I was late for the Sunday game, and while hardly a novel situation for me, I still hated it. But flat-out sprinting from Maxine’s house also wasn’t an option, so I settled for a half walk/half jog that put me at the game store ten or so minutes behind schedule—which considering that I’d gone from my grocery-store gig to two hours of sleep to covering the lunch rush at the pizza place because someone else was sick, to racing home because I’d forgotten my gaming bag, to back downtown was something of a minor miracle. I was close to falling over from exhaustion, but I was there. Had to count for something.

  As I entered the store, my shoulders relaxed the way my body always did there, the glassed-in display cases, shelves of board games, racks of play accessories, and tables of casual gamers reassuring me in a way that little else could. This was my place. It wasn’t my hometown game store, which had been smaller and darker, but the smell of new cards and old coffee was the same, as was my feeling of belonging. After nodding at Arthur, who was looking particularly intimidating cleaning off one of the cases as if its existence offended him, I found my group at one of the back tables. Alden was glaring at the closed door to the private room, but everyone else was kicked back in the folding chairs.

  “I’m here. Previous group running behind?” I asked as I took the chair next to Jasper. “Guess I’m not actually late.”

  “It’s three forty-five. We said three thirty,” Alden pointed out. “That the other group is also late doesn’t make you less so.”

  I blinked at him, wondering not for the first time what the hell his problem was. He had a major tendency to go hyperliteral, especially when plans didn’t go his way. His tone was more matter-of-fact than belligerent or accusing, but it grated. While less accusatory, he still sounded like my dad, all harping on personal responsibility and not interested in good excuses.

  “Late Saturday night?” Payton gave me a tired-looking grin. They had on dark sunglasses and a giant fuzzy hoodie and undoubtedly were nursing a world-class hangover. They and I used to be regulars at a lot of the same places a lifetime ago, when my biggest worry on weekends had been where the action was, whether at an all-night gaming marathon or an off-campus party.

  “Didn’t make it home until seven thirty.” I went for honest, even if not the whole story.

  “The best.” Jasper gave me a high five. “I love living vicariously through you people.”

  I doubted he’d want to live vicariously through six hours of shelving assorted pet-food products, but I nodded anyway. “And you? What trouble did you find?”

  “Only the good kind.” Jasper pulled a deck box out of his bag and removed a stack of cards. “Opened some more packs, sifted through the single card bins, and ta-da! Boss-ass new deck. Every creature card in it transforms.”

  “Formidable.” Before I could ask to see, Arthur came over. Dude was built like a wrestler, with tats, big arm muscles, rumors of a career in special forces cut short, and a deep voice that sent would-be shoplifters scurrying for safer targets. However, he also had a lot of respect for Professor Tuttle, as evidenced by the deferential nod he gave him.

  “Sorry about the other group. They should be out soon. Got something in I thought you guys might like.” He held out his massive hand to reveal rainbow-striped unicorn card sleeves.

  “I like.” Payton delicately plucked the pack out of his hand. “Ring me up when you get a chance.”

  “Do you have any more?” Professor Tuttle stroked his chin. “Maybe those would finally convince Julio to play.”

  “I’ll grab you a pack when I ring Payton up. But I doubt that husband of yours is going to become a regular here anytime soon.”

  Professor Tuttle laughed, both because no way would his elegant husband go for the unicorns, and because his inability to catch onto the game was a running joke among us.

  The store didn’t specialize in LGBTQ gaming or anything like that, but we also weren’t Arthur’s only group likely to have some rainbow-loving members. It was a big part of why I felt so secure here. Arthur might be scary as heck, but he ran a tight ship and didn’t put up with any offensive behavior. And while Professor Tuttle never shared anything personal beyond our first names on his show, he was a founding faculty adviser for the Safe Space Alliance on campus. I’d never admit it aloud, but I admired his forty-year partnership with his retired drama professor husband almost as much as I did his impressive grasp of the game.

  They had the sort of relationship that ordinary people never achieved—like something out of a movie. I could envy it, but I also knew it was never happening for me. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I’d want that in my life. There were too many times when I’d seen how love screwed people over, that sort of commitment setting one up for near-inevitable hurt.

  “So.” Professor Tuttle turned in my direction as Arthur left our table. “Who’s up for the road trip? We should start making plans.”

  “I am,” I said at the exact same instant Alden did. My gaze locked on his, catching the moment when his eyes dimmed, his face seeming to collapse in on itself, disappointment clear in the way his shoulders sagged. Yeah, he’d heard me. And it was pretty darn obvious that he’d been hoping for me to not go, but now he was stuck. As was I. Damn it. I couldn’t change my mind now without looking like a giant tool.

  Across from me, Alden’s expression returned to neutral even as his posture went stiff, like no way was he going to let us see him rattled. Arrogant. Stubborn. Perfectionist. Jerk. He was all those things. Was I really going to spend two weeks with that?

  Even as I questioned my resolve, I could see myself winning the tournament, could sense the relief, could almost feel the crispness of the check. Yeah. I was going.

  “You got off work?” Jasper asked me. “I had to call in a bunch of favors to make it happen for me. Arthur’s being more flexible than usual, but he wants us to take T-shirts advertising the store, like as a sponsor.”

  “Yeah, I figured it out.” I managed to sound casual and not panicked. No one, Alden especially, needed to know that I was using my last cash to do this, the rent Maxine wouldn’t take along with whatever else I could scrape together. I was setting myself up for the gamble of a lifetime. If I failed, chances were high that I’d come back to no place to live, no steady job, no plan B. But I’d been there before, starting from scratch. It was simply a risk I had to take.

  “Excellent. I’m so looking forward to this.” Professor Tuttle smiled even broader than the Gamer Grandpa logo on his shirt.

  The private game room finally cleared, an obnoxious group of older adults dedicated to a popular kids’ card game filing out. As we got set up with the cameras, Alden sniffed the air.

  “Did the other group have food? There are rules for a reason. Now it stinks of pepperoni in here.”

  I looked away. With anyone else, I’d laugh and admit that the smell was undoubtedly me, still in the plain black T-shirt the pizza place asked us to wear, no time to shower and change before I’d had to hurry here. But, with him, all I could do was glare.

  “My kingdom for Arthur letting us have drinks at least. He could make a killing if he’d add an espresso bar instead of just keeping that swill on in back.” Payton sank into one of the chairs. “And tell me I don’t have to go first. We’re doing tournament-style matches today, right?”

  Friday’s video had been the more casual four-person Odyssey game, while today Professor Tuttle wanted to do two matches in the more popular two-player tournament format.

  “That’s correct. And if you’re going to sit out the first match, let’s do Conrad versus Jasper’s new deck to start.”

  “Awesome.” Grateful to not have to face Alden, I unrolled my play mat and set up opposite Jasper.

  “Do you need to borrow a tournament-permissible deck?” Alden was already riffling through his bag as though it was a given that I would need to borrow something.

  “Nah. I worked something out yesterday.” As per my usual, I’d cobbled together a workable deck from cards I already owned and the packs from Jasper.

  Once we got started, I kept waiting for my adrenaline to kick in, but all I felt was tired, three days of very little sleep catching up with me. Waiting for Jasper to make a move, I couldn’t hold back a yawn. He played a giant Cyclops Wizard, one that made me quickly need to adjust my strategy. But my brain was fuzzy as I looked over my hand of cards.

  “I hit it with Sudden Extinction.” I slapped down a card.

  “Conrad.” Alden sighed before Jasper could. “You can’t play an extinction card against a wizard. You should know that.”

  “Crap.” I did know that. I was simply so darn tired, even my toes ached. Stupid, newbie mistake. And of course Alden had to be the one to call me on it. Had anyone else pointed out my mistake, it wouldn’t sting so much. Something about Alden always made humiliation that much more intense, made me feel like a newbie kid.

  “You know, plenty of people go to MOC West for a lot of different reasons. You don’t have to play in the tournament.” Alden made himself sound all reasonable. And he wasn’t lying—these sort of cons were as known for the social opportunities as for the tournament play. I’d attended enough regional events to be able to look forward to the mingling, the speakers and panels, the after-hours parties, the casual pickup games, and continual people-watching. But unlike a day pass to a regional con, this ticket included a spot in the tournament—usually a pricey add-on. No way was I turning that down when it was my whole reason for going, for putting up with Alden and the hassle of this road trip.