Page 42 of Getting the Grinder
He’s getting aggravated, but the irony is, we were on opposite sides of this exact argument yesterday.
“Are you being melodramatic?” I ask.
That gets me an almost smile. He seems to think about something for a few seconds before he says, “It’s something I have medication for at home. That’s it. Not a big deal.”
“So then why are we going to my apartment first? Let’s go get your medication.”
He shifts and clears his throat. “No, it’s okay.”
“Come on, Leo. Don’t be like this. I can take an Uber from your house if I need to. If you’re sick enough you couldn’t even get through dinner, let’s go get your medication.”
“It’s not like that. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”
“This is bullshit. After the way you pushed me last night, and I spilled my guts to you? I’m not even asking what you have, I’m just saying go get your medication.”
I can see the tension in his jawline as he says, “Fine.”
Though I want to keep talking to him, I know if I say the wrong thing, he’ll change his mind. So I sit and worry about all the things that could be going on with him. Whatever it is, it can’t be easy to keep up with his schedule and the grueling physical requirements of hockey.
“Are you probably going to be alive in five years?” I ask, the not knowing killing me.
“Unless you kill me first, most likely.”
“What, like deliberately? Or do you mean the burden of even speaking to me might do you in?”
He flicks a quick look at me. “Both.”
“Yeah, you’re for sure being melodramatic.”
He laughs softly. “Maybe.”
A few minutes later, he pulls into a neighborhood of condos in a golf course community. It’s upscale, but nothing like Carter and Suki’s house. He uses an opener to open the double garage of one, pulling inside.
There’s not much in it. A bicycle. A bunch of golf stuff. A Cleveland Crush team poster hangs on one wall.
I get out of the car when he does, but he turns and stops me as I follow him.
“I can just go grab it real quick.”
“Can I come see Birdie?”
His dog grew on me in the time we spent together at Carter’s. She’s one of those dogs you can tell is grateful just to be warm and fed, because she hasn’t always been cared for.
He hesitates, then nods. I’m expecting his house to look like a dungeon or something, but it’s just an average bachelor pad. Functional furniture, white walls and minimal decor.
Birdie is waiting for him, her tail swishing back and forth as soon as she sees him.
“Hey, girl,” he says, bending down to pet her.
“Want me to take her out?” I ask, walking over to pick up her leash from the kitchen counter.
He practically lunges at me. “No, don’t.”
I set the leash back down and say, “Sorry.”
Cringing, he shakes his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s ...” He sighs heavily and walks over to the kitchen sink, picking up a pill bottle from a row of bottles next to the sink. “I didn’t want you to see these, that’s all.”
“Oh.” I take a step toward the door, wishing I hadn’t pushed him to let me come in. “I’ll just meet you at the car.”
