Page 62 of Pity Parade

Yikes. Trina is gorgeous, funny, and talented. I hate that she feels like she can’t show off to the people from her youth. “So, when you get married and have a baby, you’ll go?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m thirty-three now, and by the time either of those things might happen, I’ll probably be over thirty-five. At that point, I’ll just look pathetic to them.”

I stop walking and grab ahold of her arm. “Trina, you’re not pathetic.”

“I know that,” she says. “I’m telling you how things are where I’m from. I don’t have anything to prove to those people. Honestly, I could not care less what they think.”

I want to believe that’s true, but there’s something about her body language that suggests she cares more than she’s letting on.

“I went back to my ten-year and my fifteen-year,” I tell her.

“And was it everything you dreamed it would be?” Her eyes sparkle with humor.

“I didn’t know what my expectations were ahead of time, but it wasn’t great, and it wasn’t bad. It just kind of was. I hung out with my friends, and we had fun. Everyone had had their highs and lows.”

“Was your wife still alive at your ten year?” I love how she’s not afraid to ask me that. Most people who know about Jess bend over backwards not to talk about her so they won’t upset me.

“No, Jess had been gone for two years by then. In fact, I almost didn’t go because I didn’t want to spend the whole night talking about what had happened.”

I open the door to the ice cream parlor for Trina and wait for her to walk in. When we get to the counter, she smiles at the woman taking orders. “I’d like two scoops of rum raisin and one scoop of cotton candy.”

I make a face like the combination is nauseating. Then I tell the woman, “I’ll have two scoops of bubble gum on a sugar cone.”

Trina laughs. “That’s so much grosser than mine.”

“The bubble gum in the ice cream is real gum,” I tell her like that’s somehow a selling point.

“How does that make it better?” she wants to know. “Have you ever chewed cold gum? It’s as hard as a rock.”

Now that she mentions it, Tyler and I nearly broke our jaws trying to chew that gum. I stop the woman before she starts making my cone and change my order. “I’d like a scoop of peanut butter chocolate and one of birthday cake instead.”

Trina smiles. “Now that sounds good. Not better than rum raisin and cotton candy but still pretty solid.”

“You can have a bite if you want,” I tell her. “As long as you share yours.”

Trina’s chin bobs up and down in agreement. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But just know that if you get greedy, you’re going to have to buy me another.”

After we get our ice cream, we walk down the street to the park and sit on a bench facing the playground. I’m having a great time. Trina is not only funny, but also self-deprecating, and so beautiful it’s all I can do to not stare at her constantly.

We continue to chat about our starts in life, and then when I’m taking the last bite of my ice cream cone, I’m hit in the head with a football. Luckily, the thrower is a little boy, so I’m not hit hard enough to do any real damage. He runs over to me with a look of concern etched across his face. He says, “I’m so sorry, mister. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

I stand up with the ball and ask him, “What were you aiming at?” He points to his friend standing in the opposite direction. I lean down and show him how to hold the ball and how to give it a spin when he releases it. “That should get it where you want it to go,” I tell him.

“Thanks, mister!” he says. “I bet your son is great at football!” Then he runs off. Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve just taken a punch to the gut. My son would be ten years old had he lived, and I bet he would be a good football player. Either that, or he’d be a piano player like his mother was.

I’m unable to form a coherent sentence so I stand there like I’ve just been cast in quick drying cement. I can only imagine what Trina is thinking right now.

Much to my surprise, she does the last thing I’d expect her to do. She scoots over and takes my hand in hers. Then she says, “It’s okay to think about him, Heath.”

And just like that, tears pool in my eyes and before I know it, I’m crying like a baby.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TRINA

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