Page 39 of Taking It To Overtime
Technically, she hadn’t gone with him at all. Her mom had dropped her and Annie off in front of the middle school and she’d seen him there. The same way she’d seen almost all the other kids in her class and most of Robbie’s. She considers telling Robbie that, or informing him she won’t go with Drew if he doesn’t go with Jenni anymore, but she doesn’t.
“Well, he was nice to me,” she says, “and he didn’t treat me like a baby.”
“I’m nice to you. I don’t treat you like a baby.”
He looks so grown in his dark dress pants and sport coat and she is a whiny infant. A kindergartener, after all. She’s ruining everything with her poor attitude. At this point she should send him home, or back to the party, or somewhere where she can’t keep putting her foot in her mouth.
“I’ll prove it,” Robbie says, and his hands are on her shoulders as he searches her eyes. “I don’t think you’re a baby,” he says and then his lips are on hers.
His mouth is soft even as he presses too hard against her. Her eyes are still open, but his are screwed shut, and she can count each of his eyelashes as he stays pressed against her.
It’s awkward, and nothing like the books or movies, but it’s still her first. It’s still Robbie. Her stomach lurches and her brain goes dizzy, goosebumps spreading down her arms, and then his eyes pop open too and green meets brown behind the square hedges as they both wonder what happens next.
Partof me wishes I could say that I had my head banged six ways from Sunday in my Staycation Express Room, but it would be a lie. There weren’t even any more kisses—not real ones, at least—before we both fell into separate beds and passed out at the end of each day. Robbie was tired after a long day of corralling kids—something he swears takes more stamina than a pro hockey game—and I was worn out after a few days trying to find my footing in a town that moved on around me.
Who knew impromptu hometown visits and lying my ass off could be so damn exhausting?
The next morning starts with a Styrofoam cup held in front of my face. Robbie not only woke before me and snuck down to the complimentary continental breakfast for caffeine, but was thoughtful enough to bring some back.
“Coffee?” I sit bolt upright in the middle of the queen bed I’d claimed for myself. “For me? Gimme.”
He holds the cup out to my wiggling fingers and I bring it to my mouth, gulping down the bitter, slightly burnt liquid. The coffee is strong enough to hold its shape even without the cup, but I don’t turn down caffeine. Ever.
“It’s from the lobby,” he says, wincing along with me as I swallow my first sip. “I owe you something better, but I have to get an early start to the rink.”
“This is perfect, Robbie. Thank you.” I force myself to drink some more.
“I wasn’t sure if you still take it black, but I brought fixings.” He holds out a cardboard tote, the cups and sugar packets rattling with the movement.
I haven’t taken my coffee black since high school. At home, I usually go for something sweet and exotic. I like the rose water latte or the lavender matcha cold foam at Tandy and my local shop, but I highly doubt Robbie has those ingredients in the box.
“I brought a little of everything.” He ducks his head like doing so might hide his smile.
“This is so thoughtful. You remembered how I took my coffee?”
He puts the container down and I pry off one of the plastic lids to find something that looks and smells like vanilla creamer.
“That’s oat milk. Tristan’s a big fan. Half and half,” he points to the second cup, “and regular milk.” He shows me the third cup and starts peeling back the lid. “Of course I remember. That one lady did that interview about model diets and you added it into your morning routine.”
Kate Moss. Kate Moss made a comment to her best friend Lily Allen about a super model’s diet being black coffee, vodka, and cigarettes. At fourteen, I only had regular access to one of those three. After over a decade in the business, I’d add cocaine is a pretty common fourth for a lot of girls, especially at the height of show season. They decrease appetite, and give girls more energy, even if they are all hell on the complexion. Beyond the coffee, I never saw the appeal.
Tandy and I tried to smoke a pack of cigarettes once. Me, because all the models I knew smoked, her because she was dating a line cook who smoked like a campfire, and to be my moral support. The first inhale burned on the way down and hurt even worse when I hacked it back up in a spluttering cough.
“Thank you,” I smile as I add a healthy dose of half and half to my cup. I usethe plastic spoon to stir it all together and pretend I’m not counting down from ten in my mind so that I don’t appear desperate before asking, “Tristan?”
The name sounds familiar, and it doesn’t matter—it doesn’t, honest—but I can’t help but wonder if I’ve seen her connected to him in the past. A gossip rag, tagged on socials, at some charity event. Her arm draped through his as they smile at each flash of the camera. Okay, maybe not smile, but turn their heads and find the light as the photogs snap away. Did she lean into his side and gaze up at him, painted lips pulled back into a breathtaking smile? Did his hand sit low on her back, sliding down when no one was watching? Did he pull her in closer, letting her take the weight off her ice pick heels as she leaned against the firm muscles of his chest?
Either the cream is off, or my green-eyed monster is showing herself.
It took years to shove my jealousy back into a dark box, turn the lock, and hurl the key into an abyss. Everyone promised me that if I stopped looking for him, he’d eventually fade away like a bruise. Still tender but not as obvious and without the constant ache. Then one day I’d wake up, and he’d be a distant memory. I’d never forget him, but I’d be able to look back on the years and experiences we had together under the rose-tinted gaze of youth. Most people don’t marry their first love. They use them as a practice round, a learning experience.
Everyone was wrong.
Not knowing how Robbie was doing,whohe was doing, wasmyundoing. My brain circled the unknown, creating possibilities even more horrible than each one before. I was a woman obsessed. Especially after the draft.
It was Tandy who offered a solution. Tandy who had a one-who-got-away back home, too. We started easy. Once a day, Ihad fifteen minutes to search for his name and read anything that came up. Tandy sat with me, holding my hand, and helped talk down my anxiety to manageable levels. Over time, we moved to every other day, then twice a week, once a week, and finally once a month. I haven’t actively looked for news about Robbie Oakes in over a year.
One of Robbie’s dark eyebrows lifts toward his hairline. It’s like he can see in my innermost thoughts projected onto my forehead. A Saturday matinee at the cineplex, starring Vera Novak, dressed head-to-toe in green.
