Page 17 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

One of the best things about Freya is that she’s predictable. Now that I’ve figured out her schedule at work, it’s almost comically easy to predict when she’s going to show up at my house. Usually, I’d be kind of annoyed about it because, you know, that’s someone in my personal space. I’m not usually so hot on speaking to other human beings, especially one who tried singlehandedly to ruin my career.

Okay, fine, that’s not really true. I can be honest with myself.

I can even be honest enough to admit to a painful truth. I don’t think I hate Freya at all.

No matter how hard I want to pretend to, she has made my life better already. I’ve barely known her a whole month, but it feels hard to remember a time without her. God, I’d even miss her if she left.

Maybe it’s being trapped inside all day, every day, but days when Freya doesn’t swing by suck. And the days when she can stay for a while are awesome. I’ve never watched so much TV with anyone, not since John and I were kids.

I think we used to be close, once. But we were never anything like Freya and Matt seem to be. They trust each other in a way that I barely thought was possible. Not that I don’t trust people. I trust my teammates to help me win. I trust my coach to know what’s good for me.

I trust my mother to make the world’s most inconvenient decisions possible about me and my life.

But with Freya and Matt, it’s like an easy sort of togetherness, a way of existing that’s full of shorthand and codes and not even needing to speak to know what the other means or is thinking. They just get on. And Freya has been doing this all alone for years.

I couldn’t do all that on top of having her job too. I have no idea how she can have that much patience for other people at work and come home and have anything left.

It’s not that I want all of this with John, but once upon a time, I wanted something more than what we have now. Which is nothing. In fact, I barely ever think about him or his family at all these days. And he’s too busy with his perfect wife and perfect kids in their perfect lives to pay any attention to me.

We weren’t ever that close, but it’s been getting worse as we get older. And yet, seeing Freya and Matt almost makes me want it. Almost.

More than anything, it makes me want to look after her, I realize. Not because I think she can’t do it alone, but because all she does is do it alone.

Anyway, Freya, as predictable as ever, knocks on my door exactly at the time I expected her to. I walk slowly to make it look less like I was lying in wait for her, then open the door and feign surprise, which quickly turns real as I notice she’s brought another box of gifts.

“What’s this?” I ask, gesturing at it before ushering her inside.

Little does she know, today I’ve got a surprise for her. She’s been working so hard for me, and it’s time I gave her a little something back.

“It’s nothing,” she says, handing me the box, a pink flush rising on her cheeks. “I just made cookies for Matt and thought I’d bring you some spares.”

“Thanks.” I push her through to the living room and sit her down, my stomach churning. She really is the best. Like, she bakes and cooks and does all this stuff for Matt on top of her full-time job, and then brings it to me too. I wonder if the girl ever sleeps, because I can’t figure out where she gets all the time from.

I also wonder why she decided to care about me. I don’t exactly make it easy for her.

She takes a seat, and I give her the best smile I can manage. “Oh, no,” she says, her face falling.

“What?” My face immediately snaps back into its usual neutral, which feels much better. This kind of caring thing does not come at all naturally to me.

“Why are you smiling? It’s weird. Are you ill? Are you dying?”

“No,” I scoff. “Just do what you’re told and sit there, okay?”

She throws up both hands, her face twisting into an expression that draws all my attention to the two creases above her nose and down into her bright green eyes. I have to not think about her eyes right now. I can’t be distracted by my own thoughts about her being attractive or whatever. That’s not what any of this is about.

Even if she is kind of cute.

She stares expectantly at me, and I set her box down on the table and take a deep breath. Somehow this plan seemed so much better when I thought of it last night. But I’ve committed now, and I’m not a coward. Not usually, anyway.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure she obeys. She gives me an even harder look, but obeys.

Quickly, I rush over to the hidden bunch of flowers I bought earlier and pick them up. “Okay, open,” I say, positioning myself in front of her, holding the bouquet out.

Freya blinks her eyes open, frowns hard, then realizes that none of this is a joke as I keep holding the flowers out. Hesitantly, she takes them, looking down into the blooms. “What’s this?”

“Flowers,” I say like it’s obvious, because it is, and because I don’t want to answer the real question she’s asking.

“Why?”

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