Page 9 of The Dating Pact

I plopped down in one of the blue Adirondack chairs close to the giant oak tree with the tire swing I’d fixed two years ago, as Brooke jogged to the farmhouse, returning with the jeweled container she kept her supplies in. She had received her medical marijuana card long ago and bought everything from the dispensary. She’d tried to explain it all to me at some point, describing how she used a weaker strain with lower THC and higher CBD. Whatever that meant, I didn’t know, but she rolled up the weed like the professional she was before handing it to me and holding up her neon-pink lighter.

I stuck the joint between my lips and leaned over, allowing her to light the end. I inhaled, closing my eyes as the burn made its way down my throat and lungs. The first time I’d ever smoked was with Brooke, and I’d hacked up my intestines for approximately an hour. But now, I was used to it.

Used to the way it felt—for a moment like I couldn’t breathe, and then how my body became heavy. I helped myself to a second drag, blowing plumes of smoke into the air then passing it back to Brooke. She stuck the joint in the side of her mouth like some cool James Dean character in an old movie as she fiddled with her cell phone for a few moments, cuing up her playlist that was always a strange mix of genres and songs, from the Beatles to Doja Cat with Stevie Wonder and Hozier thrown in too. Because why not?

We were high and making up our own words anyway.

“So, how was today?” she asked after a while, accepting the last of the joint. She stubbed it out and tossed it into the little trash bag next to the cooler of drinks she’d brought with her.

I helped myself to a root beer. She somehow always found A-Treat in the old-school bottles, and I couldn’t pass that up. I popped the top, flipping it back into the cooler. “All right.”

She raised her brow, clearly wanting an explanation for my vague answer. “Yeah?”

I ignored her, and knowing that she’d been planning her sister’s wedding shower for weeks, I asked, “How was the party?”

“Really good.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, and we both stared at each other for a beat before chirping, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” at each other like a couple of knuckleheads.

Once we calmed down from our laughing fit, we enjoyed the setting sun and the warm breeze that rustled the leaves as Weezer’s “My Best Friend” played out of the little speaker on the closed fire pit. It was times like these I wished I could press pause and live in them a little longer. Being here with Brooke, doing nothing, and somehow everything was perfect. Or, at least, as close to perfect as I could get anymore.

A different kind of perfect than what I used to have.

I took a breath and said, “I think I might start dating,” at the same time, she said, “I think I’m ready to be in a relationship again.”

Both of our eyes widened at our matching ideas, and Brooke stuck her finger in the air. “Let me get some forks. We need cake for this!”

I would’ve eaten my David Beckham cake with my hands, but I tipped my head. “Yeah, all right. Forks are good.”

FOUR

BROOKE

With utensils in hand, I fell back down into my seat, and Jude removed the plastic cover from the cake I’d special-ordered last month. As soon as he told me that birthday story, I’d been waiting for his big day to roll around, and it was totally worth it. Jude’s smiles came easy, but he didn’t let his hair down very often. Metaphorically, of course, since his lion’s mane locks were currently down and waving around his shoulders. He could’ve passed for a Viking with the beard and barrel chest. Only thing missing was some blue paint.

With the platter between us, resting half on his knees and half on mine, we dug into the marble cake with buttercream frosting. Jude had a major sweet tooth and would settle for nothing less than the sweetest of icings.

“So, you first,” I said, pointing at him with my fork.

He shoveled a giant piece of chocolate into his mouth, mumbling around it, and I shook my head with a roll of my eyes. Although, really, I’d seen worse. We both had.

That was what I loved about Jude. I had no reason to impress him. We let it all hang out with each other. I teased him about his “dad bod,” while his frequent joke for when something unlucky happened to me was, “What a kick in the ovaries, huh? Oh, wait. You don’t have any!” He’d sometimes disappear from my presence for twenty minutes with a short, “Gotta drop the kids off at the pool,” and I’d definitely let out a squeaker in front of him on multiple occasions. Nothing would surprise either one of us anymore.

He swallowed his bite of cake and licked a dollop of icing from the corner of his mouth. “You know how my family’s been,” he started because, yes, I did know. He’d told me about how Amelia had been asking for a mommy more and more lately, and how his mom and mother-in-law occasionally dropped hints about how he needed to get out. And to his credit, he had tried. Like, five times. But still, he had tried. He inhaled a breath that made his shoulders rise and fall. “I guess… I don’t know. I guess I feel like I owe it to them to start dating.”

I squinted at him. “You don’t owe it to yourself?”

He scooped up a glob of icing, wagging his head side to side, though he stayed silent for a minute. So, I did too. Jude was a talker, often empathetic and perceptive, but sometimes he needed a few moments to form his thoughts.

“I hung out with the boys today,” he said eventually. The boys being his best friends, whom I’d met in passing a few times.

“What’d they have to say about it?”

“They were all for it. Said I had to be happy for the kids to be happy.”

I licked the tines of my fork. “Good point.”

---