Page 11 of Puck to the Heart
“I got caught up in the lab. I’m leaving soon, and I’m planning to go grocery shopping on the way home. You’re making chicken and dumplings for me, right?” I left it to the last minute, as usual.
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit under the weather, and I don’t think I can make it. I know you’ve got those concert tickets, and I’m so sorry, honey, but I don’t think this weekend will work.”
Hurt welled, stinging my eyes, and I was grateful he didn’t video call me to see it. “You’re not coming?”
“I’m sorry, Liv, I feel like shit. I’ll be awful company, and I know how tired you are; I can hear it in your voice. If I have something serious, I’d rather not give it to you, especially if you’re working yourself to death.”
Tugging the elastic out of my hair and scrubbing one hand over my aching scalp, I took a moment to consider. Iwasexhausted, and when Dad was sick, all he did was sleep, but not getting to see him after this hell week might just be the icing on this cake.
As if he heard my thoughts, my father spoke up. “Livy, you know I love our visits. I’m only suggesting we reschedule this one. You need a break, and I need to stock up on NyQuil. Okay?”
He was right, and I said so.
“I’m always right.” I snorted. He laughed, and it ended in a cough. “Enjoy your free time. And make sure it’s actuallyfreetime. You’re not getting paid overtime if you go in on the weekend.”
“How did you know?—”
“I’m your father. I know everything.” He chuckled, sounding so far away the tiny piece of me who was still a little kid missing her dad ached.
“Sure, you do. What am I thinking right now?” It was an old game; one we played from the time I could barely speak.
“You… want fries. Extra crispy, extra ketchup.” He sounded pleased with himself.
I let out a startled laugh. “Yes, but to be fair, I always want fries with extra ketchup.”
“Still counts. I love you, Livy. And I’m serious. Take some time for yourself.”
“I love you too. But I make no promises. Bye, Dad.”
We disconnected, and maybe it was a weird combination of exhausted relief and guilt, but I snapped a photo of the tickets in my hand and sent it to Polly.
Hi, Polly! I have two tickets for the Knights game on Saturday. Would you like to go with me? I think it might be more fun with a friend.
Polly
I’d love to! You should bring a book, though. Just in case.
* * *
I don’t considermyself a flaky person, but I nearly backed out at least three times. I was almost late, but I made it to the arena with a few minutes to spare.
What possessed me to go to the game, I didn’t know. The last one was miserable, but maybe with a less amorous seat partner, it would be bearable.
And I’d never tell him, but I tucked the book Ash sent into my purse.
The gesture was surprisingly sweet. Like he hadn’t minded the blow to his ego of me reading during his game. And I didn’t know how to parse it out. There was no formula to figure him out, no steps to follow, and any wrong move on my part might lead to disaster.
With too many thoughts chasing their tails in my mind, I found Polly outside the arena in the same navy coat as last time. The air smelled crisp as we scanned our tickets and entered, the constant din of thousands of people less assaulting without the additional abrasion of coworkers I didn’t like.
Polly was simplylovely. As we walked and talked, I learned about her great nephew Ethan who’d recently retired from playing professional baseball, and she mentioned her grandson, whom she said she’d practically raised.
“He’s very handsome, Olivia, I’m sure you’d like him.” A mischievous glint in her eye made me wonder what, exactly, she meant.
“I’m sure he’s very nice.” He would have to be if Polly had a hand in his upbringing. She was nothing like I would’ve expected. Cordial but funny, clearly well-off, but still able to enjoy beer and a truly astonishing basket of loaded fries with me. Ilovedher. I wanted to be her when I grew up. Hell, I still wanted her to adopt me.
As the game neared the end of the third period, I turned to Polly. “Polly, how do you feel about rock bands? Specifically, covers of eighties hair bands. There’s this concert on Thursday, and my dad was supposed to go but he got sick, and—” Oh, hell I was babbling, the beer that loosened my tongue might’ve loosened ittoomuch.
“Actually, dear, I have plans on Thursday, but I’m sure my grandson would love to go with you.”
