Chapter 22
Duffy
I walked into the house after the game and had barely dropped my keys on the table when my phone buzzed.
Connor: FYI the heart eyes were for your dad, not you, so don’t get a big head.
I snorted, because before the end of the first quarter, Ellie and all three of my brothers had texted me the clip of Connor looking so adorably smitten while appearing to watch me and my dad on the big screen.
At first, I was fairly certain he had to have been discussing something unrelated to me, like smoked meats or single malt whiskey, because the look on his face had been waaaay too toe-curling, but after watching the clip multiple times, I turned into a delusional freak and had hummed like a damned Disney princess all the way home.
I texted: Sure. Nice game, btw.
Connor: You approve of my performance?
Me: I mean, I have a few notes but I approve overall.
Connor: Such overwhelming support. I’m not sure I deserve it.
Me: Oh, I’m sure you don’t but I’m a lifelong Coyotes fan so I take the good when it’s good.
Connor: And it’s all about your devotion to the team. Has nothing to do with the handsome tight end…?
Me: Teeders is attractive, sure, but I don’t know if he’s really my type.
Connor: Stop trying to make me jealous. You look cute in a hat, btw.
So he did see me, I thought with a happy little grin.
Me: Thanks. You look so-so in a helmet.
Connor: Bullshit. I’m radiant in a helmet and you know it.
Before I could respond, he texted me again. Can I take you out Friday night? I really want to get the “official” second date on the books.
A squeaky little sound escaped me as I opened the fridge and grabbed a string cheese.
Me: Because until we go on an “official” second date we’re just pals, right?
That kiss had been the antithesis of palhood, for the record.
Connor: That’s right.
There was something about playing with him that was so…comforting. Relaxing. Texting nonsensical banter to Connor and getting closer with him through it was the equivalent of rewatching a Nora Ephron movie.
Which scared me, because did that mean we were getting so comfortable with each other that he’d end up seeing me as just a friend?
I was getting far too neurotic about this.
I texted: Where are you going to take me?
Connor: New Ulm.
Me: Oktoberfest??
Connor: You know about it?
Oktoberfest in New Ulm was huge. A total party. I’d gone a few times, and so had my brothers, but the fact that Connor was surprised I’d heard of it meant he had no idea what he was getting into.
And I had no intention of enlightening him.
He was too fun to mess with.
Me: I’ve heard things and I’m totally in.
Connor: Josh told me I should wear lederhosen.
A lot of people dressed up for it, though I’d never been one of them. I was more of a drink-beer-and-people-watch kind of reveler.
Me: He’s right. I bet your big ass looks amazing in the whole suspendered-shorts ensemble.
Connor: This is one of those times where you’re referring to my overall size and not my posterior, correct?
I snorted again, because it was hilarious to me that he remembered that little bit of nonsense.
Me: Sure. We’ll go with that.
We made plans for Oktoberfest on Friday, but no other plans before that because both of our weeks were incredibly busy.
Even though we didn’t get to see each other, we managed to text constantly.
Every day, we’d message throughout the day and always pick up where we left off. About nothing and everything.
Connor: My cat just threw up on my bed.
Me: That is the WORST. Which cat?
Connor: Take a guess.
Me: I really like her style.
Suddenly, over the course of a few days, I knew which of his cats was a pain in the ass (Sammy), which show he was streaming obsessively (currently The Last of Us because he missed that whole thing when it happened), and how many bones he’d broken as a child (eight).
It was a lot of silliness, but we also shared more serious things.
For some reason, when we were texting, it felt okay to be vulnerable.
I don’t know if it was because we weren’t looking at each other or if it was because he’d already seen me during the most stressful and vulnerable day.
I talked about my mom and how much I missed her, my worries about my dad amid all of that, and he told me about his family.
He didn’t go into the details of why, but he shared that he was raised by his grandparents.
His grandma passed a couple of years ago, and his grandpa had dementia and was in a memory care facility.
Connor FaceTimed him every day, and in the offseason, he visited every week.
He was nonchalant about it, even joking a little, but I got the sense that his grandpa meant the world to him and it was a tough situation.
His sister still lived in California, which seemed to help lessen his guilt. It sounded like they were close the way I was with my brothers, like they drove each other crazy but were there for each other, and I was still trying to figure out if the man even had a bad side.
It was like we’d been friends our entire lives, the way we were messaging.
Connor: You didn’t seriously eat it, did you?
Me: ofc I did—egg expiration dates are mere suggestions, not law.
Connor: A MONTH past the date?!
Me: I’ve never gotten sick from scrambling expired eggs.
Connor: Such a weird flex.
By the time Friday rolled around, I was ridiculously excited for our date.
Once again, I’d let Ellie pick my outfit, and once again I had on a full face of makeup.
I took the afternoon off, and Connor was right on time when he pulled into my driveway at one o’clock.
“Wow,” I said, letting my eyes roam over his costume as I climbed into the passenger seat. His body was the epitome of athletic excellence, taut muscle stretched over bone, but even so, the outfit was ridiculous. He looked ten feet tall in lederhosen shorts.
“You look…like you’re testing the strength of those seams,” I said, trying not to stare at his insanely muscular legs.
“Thanks, but it’s a little alarming how obsessed you are,” he said with a grin.
“I think you’re misreading my tone,” I replied.
New Ulm was a little over an hour and a half from the Twin Cities, and I realized as I got into his car that it was strange how much I was looking forward to the drive.
On a normal second date, that might be too big a swath of time with which to fill conversation, but the way we’d been texting and the way things were so easy with him, I was actually excited for this extra time together.
“You know,” I said, “I am more than happy to take a turn driving.”
“You think I’m going to let you drive this car?” he asked, his face telling me he knew exactly what I was up to.
“I’m a great driver,” I said defensively.
“First of all, I highly doubt that,” he said. “You strike me as somebody very capable but also too much of a control freak for their own good.”
“Explain yourself,” I said, even though it actually sounded right on track.
“It means I think you’re probably a very effective driver, but I imagine you also can get bogged down with road rage and hypercompetitiveness.”
“Okay, but that’s everyone,” I said, which made him laugh.
“I guess I’m just going to have to make sure you drink so much that I have to drive home,” I replied.
“Nice try, but I travel tomorrow afternoon so I will not be overconsuming. Your plan’s not going to work today, Distefano.”
“Then I’ll get you next time,” I countered.
Connor merged onto the 169, but we were only in the car for five minutes before I got a phone call from Matty.
“Man, I don’t even want to answer it,” I said with a sigh.
“Why, who is it?” Connor asked.
“One of my brothers, so I’m sure he’s calling to give me shit about something or annoy me in a general sense.”
“Sounds like my sister,” Connor said with a laugh. He glanced at me. “Totally fine if you do take it, though.”
I hit the green button. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, Matt—”
“Where are you?” he asked. “Have you left for Oktoberfest yet?”
“Yeah, we’re in the car. What’s up? I’m not bringing back any beer for you, by the way, because you still owe me for—”
“It’s Dad,” Matty interrupted.
“What?” I asked, terrified in an instant. “What about Dad?”
“He was having trouble breathing at work so they called an ambulance,” he said. “I’m on my way to meet them at the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” I said, my stomach plunging as I pictured my dad struggling for air. “Did they give him his inhaler or a breathing treatment? Did they call the pulmonologist? Have you talked to him?”
“Are you going to let me answer any of those questions?” he snapped.
“Matty—”
“He took his inhaler but he was still struggling. Yes, I talked to him and he told me he was okay, but I could hear his labored breathing. And yes, I called the pulmonologist and he’s on his way to the hospital.”
“Which hospital?” Connor asked me, already taking an exit that would lead us back into the city.
“Which hospital, Matty?”
“United,” he said.
“We’re on our way,” Connor said, loud enough for Matty to hear. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”