Strike

"Yes."
"Yes, what?" I ask Jimmie after she's rolled her eyes enough times for me to forget that they aren't bright green bowling balls, like the one in my hand.
"Yes. My answer to the question you asked last week. At Keisha's wedding, you remember?"
I look down, spinning the hard, heavy bowling ball while contriving a facade of confusion.
Keisha's wedding last week. Jimmie and I sitting at the foot of the long, extravagant mahogany table, laughing at the fact that Keisha had asked me to be the best man, because, as her delicacy would have her put it, all of her husband's male friends were "unavailable."
"It's obvious he has no friends." I'd said, chewing the salmon carefully
"Well, he don't need no friends. The only reason Keisha fell for him is 'cause he's a playaaaaah..." Jimmie had drawled, giggling as she reached to hold my arm for support, slightly tipsy from the reception hall's "ooooh, free refills?" wine bar. Her violent red curls had brushed against my jaw as she laid her head on my shoulder, and for a moment, there was nothing in the world I feared more than the next moment, when she pulled away.
Yes, I know what the question was. No one knows better than I.
"What question?" I wrinkle one eyebrow, perhaps a little too purposefully.
Her lips purse.
"The one about my love life. Whether or not I have plans for it." She pauses. "I do, you know. My boyfriend and I are very much in love."
"Oh? I didn't even know you were dating anyone." My nonchalant tone is a carefully constructed house of cards.
"You do now."
"Interesting." They may be cards, but they're as good as bricks.
"Interesting? That's all?"
"What did you want me to say?" I focus on the lime swirls that spin like a heroin trip on the surface of my bowling ball.
"For heaven's sake, Danny, you're my best friend. Don't you want to know about him?"
"Nah. Maybe later. Frankly, I'd rather take my turn now." Of course I want to know about him. There hasn't been a him in her life for the last year. Other than me, anyway.
"Well. Then. Nobody's stopping you." Her eyes are dimming, but I don't know where the light switch is.
I turn around toward the bowling lane, truthfully confused.
I had been so careful these past months, determined not to be a mere rebound from her three year relationship with my old roommate.
Out of nowhere, my foot pivots and I turn around to face her.
"And why haven't I heard about this...uh, fellow...before now? I'm your best friend, aren't I?" It's possible there's a puff of wind blowing on the house of cards now.
She smiles, a wry, smug affair that burns down the whole house. The light is back on.
"Why the sudden interest, detective?"
"No interest. Mere curiosity. Very different than interest, my dear Watson. Curiosity. And a very vague, superficial curiosity at that, seeing as it doesn't really involve me anyhow." I'm spinning the ball between both hands without thinking, an expression of anxiety. Stop it, I tell myself. I'm not nervous.
"Or does it?" I force myself to look at her, into her laughing eyes.
She holds my gaze as the edges of her smile deepen, picks up a ball and moves toward the lane. I watch, unsure how to form the words that need to be said. How do you admit cowardice, how do you confess that you always wanted to say it, but couldn't? How do you force yourself to sudden speech when you are already realizing it is probably too late, you waited too long, that even now, the longer you wait, the worse it becomes, until finally it reaches the point of impossibility?
"Well, it should. Since it's you."