Page 16 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I was pretty sure I would never feel that spark until the moment I caught Darcy’s wrist, and suddenly I was on fire.
The doorbell saves me from clenching and unclenching my hand like I’ve been doing all morning, and I jump to my feet, hurrying to the door to grab my delivery. I stuff a few twenties into the kid’s hand and take the bags from him, closing the door before he realizes how much I just tipped him. I heard movement on the other side of the wall a few minutes ago, which means someone is awake next door and I don’t have a lot of time.
I hope it isn’t Darcy making herself breakfast—I’m pretty sure she hadn’t been to bed yet when I found her outside and will probably still be asleep. But another part of me hopes itisDarcy I heard so she’ll be the one who answers the door. Jesse seems great, if a little quiet, but I don’t necessarily want to test my theory that he knows exactly who I am and isn’t a fan. I may be a bit too cocky for my own good sometimes, but I know I’m likable. It just might take some time to get the silent giant to warm up to me, especially with that awful first impression.
It wasn’t my fault that my phone decided to shuffle random music after my playlist ended, and I was elbow deep in paint and soap so I couldn’t change the song from that nightmarish but epic banger. Whatever it was, I need to find it again because I have a feeling it would make a killer workout song.
Focus, Hou. Grabbing a couple of plates, I arrange the two meals I bought as haphazardly as I can. The goal is to look as homemade as possible, which is a total lie, but I’m pretty sure a part of me broke when I held Darcy last night and she told me about her superstitions. She is the most open and honest person I’ve met in a long time, and that makes me desperate to impress her.
There is likely some underlying trauma hiding in that desperation, like if someone like her can see value and worth ina guy like me, it must be true, but I’m more focused on getting these plates of food to my new neighbors than I am on self-reflection.
Priorities.
With a plate in each hand, it takes me a second to figure out how to get the front door open—put one of the plates down, dummy—and then I’m on my way, feeling ridiculous and hopeful and entirely unsure how I want this scene to play out. I don’t know this girl. She’s not even going to be in town for long. Besides, she practically told me we were destined to be friends when she said that bit about only being friends with guys.
But here I am, ready to make a fool of myself because of a few nerve endings triggering.
Nobody tell Micah. My little sister would freak out about me liking a normal, non-famous person and would launch into a full plan to woo my neighbor, complete with balloons and a squirrel. (Don’t ask me how the squirrel would factor in. I’m running on a few hours of sleep here.)
When Darcy answers the door—mental fist pump that it’s not Jesse—she blinks at me for a second before looking behind me, as if she expected someone else. “Uh, hi,” she says, her eyes dropping to the plates of food in my hands. “What’s this?”
I shrug, calm and casual. “I figured you guys wouldn’t have much by way of groceries yet, so I made you—”
“I have an order for Houston?”
I nearly drop the plates as I turn to look at the completely different delivery guy holding out a plastic bag with my name clearly printed on the tag.
I curse at the same time Darcy says, “I guess now I know why my order was late.”
“There may have been an accidental interception,” I admit, knowing instinctively that she’s fully figured out myscheme so there’s no point in me trying to pass it off as a misunderstanding. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“I know,” Darcy says, taking the bag and giving the delivery guy a wave. “Jordan told me.”
I swear again. That traitor. I guess he’ll never get over the few meals I tried to make when we were college roommates for a couple of years. After nearly burning down our apartment, I got relegated to dish duty. Jordan handled the cooking.
Thankfully, Darcy seems more amused than anything as she watches me. “He also told me you’re trying to watch your language, though that seems to be a work in progress.”
“Jordan is dead to me. But he’s not wrong. On either count.”
“I get the cooking thing,” she says, opening up one of the Styrofoam containers from my order and pulling out a fingerful of scrambled egg. I have no idea why I’m so fixated on those eggs as they rise to her mouth, but I am. “If you’re a baseball player, you’re probably out on the road a lot.”
I wish I could go back in time an hour and redo this entire thing; she doesn’t sound remotely impressed by me. “Most of the time I feel like I barely live here,” I agree. “We’ve got a chef at the clubhouse, so I’m usually eating my meals there.” Not anymore, if I end up retiring like I keep telling Roundy I might do.
“And the swearing thing?”
She asks the question casually, pulling out a bite of hash browns this time, but I still feel like a little kid getting in trouble for using a bad word at school. I don’t know how this woman has so easily gotten under my skin, but I’m not sure I’m complaining.
“It’s a habit I picked up in the dugout,” I tell her, choosing honesty over another lie this morning.
She smiles a little. “Not all people consider it a bad thing. Why change?” I want so badly to know what she thinks about it, even if it shouldn’t make a difference in my own goals.
“My sister, mainly. She hates it. But also…” This part is harder, but if I’m ever going to connect with someone enough to actually build a life with her, I have to practice being honest with myself as much as I want to be with others. “Also my mom,” I say quietly, feeling the sting of her loss even twenty years later. “She died when I was seven, and she was all things gentle and soft. If she knew what came out of my mouth sometimes, I think she’d die again of shame.”
I’m tempted to keep my eyes on my slippers, but Darcy is quiet for long enough that I can’t help but look up. As soon as I meet her gaze, her expression softens.
“That’s really sweet, Houston. I know that’s not an easy change to make, but I think she’d be proud of you for trying.”
The language thing isn’t even a big deal, but when I first realized my shoulder was going out, something changed in me. I wanted to be more deliberate in my life, in small ways and in big. And lying to my neighbor about making her breakfast because I want to see her smile is probably not the best way to accomplish that.
