She would forget to tell him I was ten to fifteen pounds overweight depending on the season, though I worked out more than any of my friends, even my model twin sisters. I may or may not have a love affair with cookies, cake, brownies, and basically anything with refined sugar. I mean, sugar is always there for you, and it comes in so many forms, showing up exactly as you needed it, when you needed it. Like now—I needed it in liquid form to get me through the rest of this conversation, and there it was, waiting for me on my desk in all its dark and handsome glory. I took a long swig of my Dr. Pepper and let the fizz settle my soul.
Mom finally got her story straight in her head. It must have been bad. I finished off the entire bottle of Dr. Pepper while bracing myself. The good news was there was more in the breakroom. See? Sugar is always available.
“I told him you are the smartest girl ever and a metall . . . meta something . . .”
For some reason she could never say metallurgist. Technically, I was a melt cast metallurgist, but that was really a mouthful for her to say.
“I told him you were an engineer who worked with steel,” she said, frustrated with herself. “And I told him that you were no prissy thing. I said, my Emma works hard and plays harder. Told him you even played football.”
“Mom, I was the kicker.” Seriously, it was no big deal, I walked on the field, kicked, and walked right back off. Too many of the boys were afraid to touch me, which our team used to its advantage.
“I know,” she squealed. “That’s the best part I wanted to tell you. You two know each other. He was the quarterback for Edenvale High the year you played.”
I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment. Sawyer King? In a rush, a memory hit me. It was our homecoming game and Edenvale High was the it team—they still were. They were the largest high school in the neighboring three counties at the time. The small town I grew up in, Carrington Cove, didn’t have a high school back then so we went to the county school in Pine Falls. I remembered him because he was one of the best football players in the state during my senior year, not to mention extremely good looking. I’ve always had a bad habit of forgetting things, like everywhere. The night we played them my senior year I left my shoe behind. Just one. You would have thought I would have noticed the cold grass beneath my foot or my uneven steps, but I guess I was so used to walking out and kicking barefoot that it didn’t faze me, or maybe it was because I was so bummed we’d lost. But regardless, Sawyer King, for some weird reason I’ll never know, found my cleat.
I remember being embarrassed when he came running after me and called, “Hey Cinderella, you forgot your shoe.” Embarrassment had been a new feeling for me. I was the girl who pretty much did anything, whether I was dared to or not. I belched louder than the guys, jumped off cliffs, got dirty, and obviously I felt comfortable enough to “play” football. But then Sawyer King, the epitome of every girl’s high school fantasy, acknowledged my existence. He had the prettiest amber eyes and the all-American good boy looks. The kind of looks that rendered my seventeen-year-old self speechless. He must have been used to it because he flashed me his pearly whites and tossed me the shoe. “Good game, Loveless.” I stared after him, watching him run to catch up with his teammates. He did football pants justice, that much I remembered. And when he looked back and caught me staring. Good times. Hopefully he didn’t remember any of that.
“I think I remember him.” I felt bad lying to my mom. She was the best. She drove me crazy with her relentless matchmaking attempts, but there was no better mother alive than Shannon Carrington. I was only tired of trying to pretend that I had any hope of finding the one. Truly, I believed my name was a curse. I was the friend, never the girlfriend, certainly never the wife.
“He remembers you.”
Great. “Well, it’s not every day you see a girl play football.”
“Or kick fifty-five-yard field goals.” She and dad were still proud of that.
That too. “I hope he’s a good eye doctor for you.” That translated into please can this conversation be over with?
“He’s amazing. Best prescription I’ve had in ages. I’m seeing better than ever.”
My plan worked? Fantastic. “I’m happy for you. I should get back to my report.”