Page 42 of Taking It To Overtime

Although if Ihadembarrassed myself, at least there would have been enough blood in my brain to grab something to eat on the road. As it is, I don’t remember driving to the rink, or picking up Spags. I remember the dimple in Vera’s lower lip as she sunk her strong white teeth into the soft pink. I remember the curve of her lashes sweeping down to her cheeks and back up both in slow motion and with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, theheat of her mouth against my skin, against my lips. The “yes” that sat between us unspoken.

I thought about bringing her here, to our old stomping grounds, toourbooth, but that was high school stuff. The Robbie who earned just enough money to pay for extra ice time and buy her a plate of fries and a milkshake. She wouldn’t mind coming here, I’m almost certain, but I’ve also seen her photographed in Michelin star restaurants.

She dated that guy on the foot network. The Australian one who looks like he stepped right off a rugby pitch. The same one that made my toxic masculinity rear its ugly head as I realized I’d been silently sizing myself up next to all of her potential romantic partners. While the others might out-earn me, or have prettier faces, fewer scars, a less crooked nose, I was confident I could take them in a fight. I could put them on the floor if need be. But that chef—whatever his name is—would have put up a fight I didn’t know if I could win. I didn’t like it.

Erik told me it was normal, considering the fact that I was still in love with her. I politely told Erik that if he put his therapist hat on and tried to psychoanalyze me again, I’d report him to the ethics board. Fucker had laughed right in my face and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Tell me more about that,” he’d said, and I’d briefly wished he’d never left Chicago and moved to Quarry Creek. Never sat next to Quinn right behind the boards, or been thrown up on the Jumbotron. He’d done significantly less calling me on my bullshit when he was far away. “Repression isn’t good for you, you know. It can lead to all sorts of…backups.”His gaze had dropped to my crotch, and he cackled as I informed him I was going to tattle to his wife.

If this is my one chance to give Vera what she’s used to, to show her a taste of what we could be as adults or if things hadbeen different, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m pulling out all the stops tonight.

I turn on my stool, eyes searching for the booth back in the far corner. It’s separate from the rest, behind a half wall and a million potted plants, in a world all its own. It used to be a public phone, often used by the local Amish community when they needed the convenience of modern telephone lines. When the phone was removed, Mol put in a half booth, just big enough for two, or a small party of four. Despite larger tables, better suited to three hockey players and a five-foot-eleven girl, the twins, Vera, and I had taken to cramming into the small space because of the relative privacy.

Once I’d made Vera mine, the twins found a new table. Or, rather, they did the prudent thing and suddenly had plans anytime Vera and I were headed to Checkers.

I’m curious to see who’s there now. A couple looking for some privacy from the lunch rush? Teens hiding out during the heat of summer the way I used to? Some harried professional trying to grab a quick bite and slip out the door? It shouldn’t matter. I don’t have a ton of time to sit and eat, but I can’t help the pull to see who’s there. Just peek around the greenery and see if I recognize a face.

I hear her laugh first. A spark through my stomach that both thrills and terrifies me. Thrilled because she’s here. In our old spot. After agreeing to have dinner with me. And I’m here too, even when I rarely leave the rink during camp. She brought me here in her own way, or the universe did, and I’m so fucking grateful to have an extra moment, even tangential to her presence. I’m also terrified because I feel so damn happy to be near her. I want her here, at Checkers, in our booth. I want her with me always. I can’t see a path to make that happen. I’m not sure I care.

I don’t realize I’m moving toward the back booth until a voice says.

“Well, Robbie Oakes. Isn’t this just like high school all over again?” The woman speaking is blonde, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, and big blue eyes hidden behind round glasses.

She’s familiar enough that I place her as Birdie—sorry Bridget—but only because I knew she was Vera’s lunch date. I’m not sure I’d recognize this girl in the high collared dress and loafers, although I might have recognized the dress. I think she wore the same one back then.

It’s nothing like high school, but I still say, “Hi Bridget. How have you been?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me. I’m doing well, thank you.” Her mouth is wide as she smiles, twin dimples in her pale cheeks, and at least she doesn’t seem upset that I’m crashing her social time. Even if she thought I wouldn’t recognize her. “I have to be getting back to the library, but it was so nice seeing you, Vera. I’d love to meet up again if you have time. I’ll bring that book I was telling you about.”

“Please.” Vera stands and scoots in front of me to hug her old friend. “I’ll text you when you’re off work.”

Bridget reaches into her canvas bag and pulls out a small blue wallet, but Vera shakes her head.

“Don’t even think about it. My idea, my treat.”

“I can pay for my turkey club,” Bridget says. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

“If you try to leave any money, I’ll be forced to reimburse you. I’ll slide the cash through the library return slot.”

There’s a moment of silence as they appraise each other, a battle of wills and pride. Bridget breaks the standoff.

“Thank you. Next time is on me. Robbie?” I think I nod. “Good to see you.” She leans into Vera, as if the hushed tone of voice will keep me from overhearing.

“Remember the thing we were talking about? First, things happen for a reason, even if we don’t know why. Second,” Her eyes dart to mine as if she’s afraid I’m going to push my way into their conversation. “History only repeats itself if we don’t learn from the past.”

I have no idea what those cryptic messages mean. My traitorous little brain hopes it has something to do with me. With this relationship we’re pretending to rekindle.

It only occurs to me after Bridget is gone and Vera sits back down that I’m still standing at the end of her table like a cement pylon. I slide into the recently vacated booth, folding my hands on the Formica tabletop.

“Checkers,” I say as she smooths her hands over her lap. “I should have guessed.”

Vera’s eyes dart away from mine. “I couldn’tnotcome say hi to Mol.”

“Of course not.”But you could have taken a different booth.

“We didn’t want to take a table someone else might need when there’s only two of us.”

We both lean around the plants to take stock of the almost empty diner. Two men sip coffee at the bar counter, three empty stools between them. A family with three kids that all look too young for school sits at one of the big silver tables. No one is paying any attention to us back here.

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