Page 104 of Sparking Sara

“Because I didn’t want to get pregnant at twenty-one,” I bite at him, irritated by his irrational statements. “And I don’t hate kids. I often hang out with Joelle’s twins. I even babysat Ivy’s daughter on Tuesday.”

He looks surprised. “You did? But Oliver said—”

“I know what he said. But that’s all part of what I don’t remember. I like kids, Denver.”

“Do you think—” He looks away. “Do you think you and Oliver will have any?”

“I … I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think you need to talk about that before you rush into anything?”

“I’m not rushing into anything.”

He stares at the ring on my left hand and it has me seeing my future. A future with Oliver in it. A future with kids in it—kids that Ollie says he doesn’t want. A future without Denver.

“Listen,” I say. “Can we talk about something else?”

He rakes his hand across the table, pulling all the dominoes into the box on his lap. “You’re clearly not into this game. What else should we play? Tetris?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m tired of Tetris.”

“I know you are, but it’s one of the best things you can do to help your visuo-spatial processing,” he says. “It also helps with critical thinking and problem solving.”

I cock my head to the side, impressed that he knows all those things.

“What?” he says. “You don’t think I’m listening when you go to therapy?”

It shouldn’t surprise me that Denver knows everything about my therapy. Since day one, he’s been the one who was by my side. He was there so much, he even prevented a mistake that was almost made by a nurse who wanted to give me medicine that would have killed me because it had already been given.

He saved me. Again.

Of course he knows everything about my therapy. He knows everything aboutme. He seems to be the only one who does.

“I have the highest Tetris score at the rehab center,” I say proudly. “You may not want to play me. It might make you feel like less of a man.”

He laughs. “Fine. No Tetris. Then what?”

I get up and retrieve the deck of cards he gave me. I put them on the table.

“Go Fish?” he asks.

“I know it’s a stupid kid’s game, but it kind of grew on me.”

I deal the cards with my left hand, knowing it’s what my therapists would have me do.

“Wait,” Denver says. “Something’s missing. We need music.”

I grab the remote to my stereo, turning on the CD player. As the Beach Boys come through my speakers, he smiles.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

“You read my thoughts.”

“You don’t mind the Beach Boys?”

“They kind of grew on me,” he says with a wink.

We play a few hands before he asks me, “Do you ever write in your journal?”

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