Page 40 of Houston, We Have a Problem
When Darcy and I step into the wave of shouts and screams, she leans into me, her eyes a little wide as she takes in the chaotic scene. I’m not complaining, and I even put my hand on her back in case she needs support to deal with all of this. I’m glad she came with me, even if she’s throwing out all sorts of mixed signals. I deal with that all the time with Badir when he can’t decide what sort of pitch I should throw, so I’ll do my best to take things in stride.
Maybe she’s just as wary as I am of trying to turn this into more than a next-door neighbor kind of relationship. I have no idea what her dating history is like—technically I don’t even know for sure if she’s single—but despite my past lineup of relationships, this feels like it’s all new to me. I’m perfectly fine if we take things slow and build a friendship first, just like Kit said.
In fact, it might be smarter if I make sure that’s what we do. Seeing her in the bleachers, laughing with Jack and Molly and cheering for my Scorpions, had my insides doing a jumbled sort of dance, like my body couldn’t decide if I was nervous or elated. I started picturing her being there for every game,cheering on my kids with the same enthusiasm she seems to give everything in her life. I started imagining her showing up with Capri Suns for the boys and a kiss for luck for me, and I think my heart may have latched on to that idea a little too strongly for my liking. It’s not about the kiss—of course I want to kiss her. I could barely think about anything else for the first two minutes after I saw her.
But when I imagine that kind of support system, one that goes beyond my siblings, I start to hope again.
And hope is a dangerous thing.
“Is it always this loud?” Darcy asks when a couple of the boys start some sort of screaming contest right in front of us.
I chuckle. “I’m guessing you don’t have any brothers.”
“Just my little sister.”
I tuck that detail away in the mental folder I’m titling “The Real.” Things that make Darcy more than just a fantasy or an ideal. The more I can learn about her, the more these intense feelings might make sense. “How much older are you?”
When a boy comes barreling past us toward the bathroom, Darcy jumps back, colliding with my chest and knocking me back a step. My arm wraps around her instinctively, and neither of us move for five whole seconds until I find the will to let her go. It’s not easy. At all.
“Sorry,” she says.
“Don’t worry about it.”Feel free to do it again.I should not like holding her as much as I do, but there’s something solid about her. With most of my past girlfriends, I always felt like I had to be delicate and careful with every touch and movement. Darcy isn’t much bigger than Bonnie was, but she seems like the kind of girl I can hold without breaking her.
“She’s three years younger,” Darcy says, reminding me that I asked her a question about her sister and probably shouldn’t be trying to think of excuses to hold her again. Anotherboy will probably run past us. Or I could pretend to slip on that spot of ketchup on the floor and grab her on my way down. “She just finished physical therapy school and is doing an internship back in Pennsylvania, and she is way too excited about scaring people into healing faster because they don’t want to disappoint her.”
I like her already. “Pennsylvania. Is that where you grew up?”
“In Ardmore, just outside Philly.”
I still wonder how she ended up clear across the country in New Mexico, but I’m grateful for whatever entity dropped her in my lap. “Did you go to college?”
She laughs, raising an eyebrow at me. “What’s with the sudden inquisition?”
“I’m killing time while we’re stuck in line.” It’s the excuse that makes me sound less pathetic, but we’ve almost reached the counter. I don’t want to stop asking her questions, so I hope she doesn’t mind the inquisition.
“I did go to college,” she says. “Back east.”
And that seems to be a touchy subject because that’s all she says. Whatever data control entails, I can’t imagine it’s very difficult. I want to know what she majored in—maybe she’s feeling unfulfilled—but instead I start talking about myself.
“I went to UC Santa Barbara. But only for two years, and then I got drafted by the Red-tails.”
If she thinks it’s pathetic that I never got a degree, she doesn’t show it. Instead, her eyes have drifted to the menu even though it only takes about ten seconds to decide when your choices are ‘hamburger,’ ‘hamburger with cheese,’ ‘hamburger with cheese and a pickle,’ or a hot dog.
When she says nothing, I scramble to come up with another topic. “Did you have any pets?” I relax at the sight of her smile as she turns back to me.
“If you’re going to ask so many questions,” she says, “I feel like I should get to ask some too.”
“You have questions? Ask away.” I’ll be an open book for her.
“Is it worth the extra twenty-five cents for the pickle?”
I blink. She wants to ask me about pickles? “I don’t like pickles,” I say stupidly.
“Well, I love pickles,” she replies with a wink. Awink! “I think the world is equally divided between people who like pickles and people who don’t so everything can stay in balance. Seems like you and I were meant to be friends.”
Look, I’m not saying I believe in something ridiculous like soulmates, but…
Darcy pulls her phone out of her pocket, frowning at the lit-up screen before she says, “I should take this. It’s my boss. I’ll be right back.”
