Page 50 of Summer Ever After
“Is being with them the only time you feel that way?”
“I wish.” He pushes out a humorless laugh. “I get date gut, friend gut, and the worst one of all…golf gut.”
“Golf gut.” I suppress a smile. “That sounds serious.”
His tone lightens. “It’sveryserious. I spend a lot of time in the bathroom for that one. I have to budget that time in before every tournament.”
“It’s a whole different T time—toilet time.”
Walker buckles over with laughter. Making him laugh justbecame one of my proudest achievements. I’m out, folks. There’s nothing else I need to do with my life.
“For a second, I thought I was sharing too much information with you, but you took it to another level.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, still feeling proud.
“Listen, Pollyanna, I still don’t think you fully grasp the gravity of golf gut or family gut.”
I puff out a laugh. “Pollyanna?”
“Yeah, you’re like Pollyanna over there. Remember that old movie? Grandma Deedee would play it on repeat at our house after my dad died, like she was trying to send us subliminal messages about being happy amidst struggles just like Pollyanna was happy in her circumstances.”
“I do remember that. And actually, I think you just paid me a compliment. Pollyanna was a very optimistic person.”
“You’re the closest thing to Pollyanna I’ve seen in real life, which means you and I come from very different places, especially when it comes to family dynamics.”
“Maybe you should try being like me a little bit more. You know, telling yourself the glass is half full.”
“Nah, that’s not really my style.”
“Well, if you’re just tolerating my positivity, why are you even here?” We’re walking toward the north end of the island, nowhere near the canals where Walker is staying. “Shouldn’t you be headed in the opposite direction?”
“I’m not tolerating your positivity. I’m walking with you, making sure you get home safe. It’s the least I can do. I mean, you wore my jersey number to the game.”
I grab him by the shoulders and forcefully turn him around, pushing him in the opposite direction. FYI: his biceps are bigger than they look. “I don’t need a chaperone. You can head home to your own house. ”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to hang out?”
“Goodbye, Walker!” I wave behind me as I walk away.
“Goodbye, Pollyanna!”
For the love! Did he just give me a nickname?
He only used it two or three times.That doesn’t classify as a nickname. Itcan’tclassify as a nickname or else another one of my favorite micro-tropes just got ruined by Walker Collins.
This man is killing me.
Walker
“Fifteen-foot putt for eagle,”Pete says, dropping a golf ball in front of me on the putting green in his backyard. He walks back to his camp chair on the edge of the grass, where a shade umbrella is set up, and takes a seat.
I’ve hit balls into these five pins on Pete’s property a million times before. I know the rises, dips, and curves like the back of my hand. I should be able to make a fifteen-foot putt from here with my eyes closed.
I step up to the ball, and my stomach immediately reacts. I feel the tenseness all the way to my fingers, but I take a deep breath and begin my putting process anyway. I look at the hole, look at the slope of the ground, look at the hole again, look at the ball, pull back slightly, and swing. The ball starts slow but picks up speed as it falls into the dip on the right side of the green, causing it to sail past the pin ten feet.
My defeated stare lands on Pete.
“No matter,” he says, casually sipping his iced tea. “Ten-foot putt for birdie.”
