“Actually, you’re supposed to go up to the box. Mrs. Kucera is up there with your things.” Mrs. Kucera—Micky. I laugh at the formality, especially with how informal Micky is. We get up to the box, and I thank him for the escort. When the doors open, I’m met with balloons, streamers, and a couple of handmade banners that read: BANKSY’S MEMORIAL SERVICE and REST IN PEACE. The other women cheer and a champagne bottle pops. I freeze. “Holy!” Micky rushes me and wraps me up in a hug. “Congratulations!” “It wasn’t a proposal!” I laugh. “We know, but you took down the biggest player on the team, and
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