Chapter 4 #2
Beth threw her head back, laughing a warm, generous sound that made a few people look over. Their attention was quickly pulled
away by the sound of a ball cracking off a bat. The crowd roared in delirium while the runner on first took off. To Emmy’s
shock given Hollander’s stats, the ball stayed in play, narrowly skipping by the shortstop out into left field. It allowed
the runner to score, putting them in the lead, and left Hollander on second base with a double.
“Huh,” Emmy said, impressed.
The crowd continued to cheer while the next batter approached the plate.
“Do you have a date to the wedding yet?” Beth asked in another reroute of conversation, paying minimal attention to the activity
on the field. “I can’t believe he-whom-we-do-not-speak-of is going to be there.”
Emmy palmed her face with her hand. “I know. And no, I don’t. Can I borrow Lenny?”
“I don’t think I’m willing to share. But why don’t you ask your texting guy?”
The thought had honestly occurred to Emmy, but she hadn’t let it grow to more than a blip on her mental radar. Because that
was absurd. Right? She couldn’t ask this guy—this stranger —to be her date to her sister’s wedding when they had never even met before. Could she?
But when she thought about it, she knew him better than anyone else she could get to know in the time between now and the
wedding, so he was less stranger than it might seem.
“I don’t know, Beth. That might be a little too weird.”
Beth shrugged a shoulder. “Get to know him more. Ask him to meet in person. If you’re still into him, see if he’s willing
to go with you. I mean, a trip to Cancún with a bunch of free booze? Who’s going to turn that down? Speaking of, I am still
willing to be your plus one. I’ve kept my calendar clear, just in case.” She pressed a hand to her chest like she was humbly
offering up her services. “I am willing to make the sacrifice.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Always happy to help. So, what’s up with work? You and Gabe going to duke it out for the senior analyst title?” Of course
Beth knew every detail about the bane of her existence.
Emmy squared her shoulders, feeling confident. “Yes, and I am going to win.”
“That’s my girl. Screw all these boys who think they run the world.”
“Screw ’em,” Emmy said, and tapped her margarita once more. The sound made her remember she had another pending night out
to plan for. She only had so many in her system; she’d need at least two days to recharge her introvert battery after this
simple happy hour with Beth. “Except, ugh .” She threw her hand to her face again. “I’m supposed to go out and celebrate with them this weekend. My whole team. Alice
set it up.”
Beth smirked at her. “So that’s what it takes to get you to go out? Your boss has to mandate it?”
Emmy smirked back at her. “She thinks it’s a good idea I hang out with them. Some kind of team bonding thing, I guess.”
Beth sourly frowned into her drink.
“I agree,” Emmy said. “ And , the worst part is I’ll have to make nice with Olson in public.”
“You know you can call him by his first name with me. This isn’t the dugout dungeon you all work in.”
“Sure, but calling him by his first name humanizes him, and the last thing I want to do is think of Gabe Olson as a human—especially
when my plan is to destroy him at work.”
“Killer,” Beth said with an approving grin.
They decided to share nachos and another round of margaritas. Beth lasted until the seventh inning before she lost interest
in the game and decided her maxi dress was in fact not suited for the chill of a nighttime ball game after all.
Emmy was ready to head out too; she could see the rest of the game play out in her stats app anyway. By the time she made
it home, she was ready for pajamas. The drinks and pile of food had gone straight to the sleepy center of her brain. She kicked
off her shoes inside her front door and peeled off the sweater she’d thrown over her blouse to fight the brisk seaside air.
She fished her phone from her back pocket and saw she had two messages from Axe Murderer.
A warm flush curled into her cheeks as she immediately tapped her screen to open them. The first showed a ten-minute gap between
it and the previous message he’d sent about her parents being cool.
Sorry. Family a hot button?
He’d waited another ten minutes before messaging again.
Bird Girl? Did I mess up?
Emmy leaned her elbows on her kitchen island and chewed her lip, feeling bad for leaving him wondering.
Sorry! I was out at happy hour with my friend. Just got home.
She bit her lip again, wondering what he’d been thinking the whole time she’d gone silent. She normally didn’t want to talk
about her family, but for whatever reason (two margaritas? the nachos?), she found herself willing to crack the door open
a few inches.
And you didn’t mess up. I honestly had to go because I was being rude to my friend by texting you instead of hanging out with
her. But you’re kind of right. My family is a sensitive subject...
She smiled when his typing dots bounced into place.
Whew. Thought I lost you. And I hear you on the family thing. Mine is... complicated.
Oh? What’s your brand of dysfunction? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
A daring thrill zipped through her. She hardly talked about her family issues even when pressed, and here she was volunteering
them to a man she’d never met. She set her phone down and headed for the cabinet to find a glass to fill with water.
When she made it back to her phone, she saw his typing dots still bouncing. He was either writing a novel or rethinking and restarting multiple times. When the message finally popped up, she concluded it had been the latter given its brevity.
My brand of dysfunction is disappointing my parents. They had a vision for my future that didn’t pan out, and they remind
me of it constantly. Your turn.
She made it to her bedroom and peeled off her jeans. She sat on her bed in her underwear and offered him a small sliver of
her heart.
We had a family tragedy when I was a kid, and I entered the profession that kind of tore us apart.
It was far more complicated than that, but any more detail would launch a Google search campaign that would inevitably result
in him finding out her name, and their secret little bubble of anonymity would pop.
Wow, had to go and one-up my dysfunction, Bird Girl. I’m just the prodigy who blew his chance, but you’re a full-on defector
over there. How Game of Thronesy of you to turn on your own family.
Emmy giggled, which she assumed was his intention. At the same time, her chest felt cracked wide open.
Well, you know what they say.
What do they say?
She paused and laughed again.
I have no idea. I was hoping you might know.
Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got nothing, but I’m happy to be in the Screw Up Kid Club with you.
It’s an honor. We SUKC.
Good one.
Thank you.
Speaking of judgy parents, mine think I’m being too picky about dating and wasting time I could be finding someone.
Umm, are they in cahoots with mine? Because same.
Maybe this is how all parents of thirtysomethings act.
There must be a faction plotting against us.
Surely.
Emmy softly smiled at her phone, feeling another thread of the bond tying them together tighten. The list of their commonalities kept growing and growing.
He sent another message.
So, what’s your hang-up? You told me back at the start that you don’t date mostly because of your job. Is that the only reason?
Emmy felt the vulnerable door she’d walked through earlier straining on its hinges as he opened it wider. Just like her family
issues, she didn’t talk about her relationship issues much either, but somehow, she felt comfortable sharing both topics with
him.
She confessed something she hadn’t told anyone other than her innermost circle.
I had a bad experience with my ex. Long story short, he thought I was too focused on my career and made me choose between
it and him. I chose it. It probably makes me a terrible person, but I don’t regret it. I love my job, and I figured that was
going to be the response no matter who I date, so I just kind of gave up.
His dots didn’t appear for long enough that Emmy worried she’d scared him away with her honesty. Her heart leapt when they
popped up.
First of all, what an asshole.
She laughed out loud.
Thank you, I agree. Villainizing women for loving their careers is one of society’s worst pastimes.
I agree, that is a terrible take. I love my job, and no one has ever told me I’m too obsessed with it and should be doing other things with my time.
Exactly. Double standard. And to have it so bluntly thrown in my face by someone I trusted and cared about kind of poisoned
the well for me.
I am sorry that happened to you. Anyone who gives you an ultimatum like that is not worth your time anyway.
Again, she agreed with him, but at the same time, she felt the niggling fear she could never fully quiet darting between the
folds of her brain. With Jacob, anger had helped her say screw him and easily give up dating. But in her loneliest moments, sometimes she worried if all the mean things he’d said to her were
true. She’d never expressed the fear to anyone before, and somehow, the man on the other side of her screen drew the honest
truth from her fingertips.
Sometimes I’m afraid he was right. He told me I’d die alone if I married my career.
He said that to you? Seriously?
Seriously.
His dots disappeared for a few moments, and Emmy wondered what he was thinking.
Sorry, what I really want to say right now might *actually* implicate me in a crime, and I know you have me saved in your
phone as Axe Murderer, so I had better err on the side of caution here. But what a capital A Asshole!
Emmy snickered a laugh.
I will destroy any evidence, don’t worry.
Thank you, but I’m still keeping it PG, just in case.
A smile jumped across her face at the thought that this person she’d never met was ready to come to her defense. The knowledge
drew more honesty out of her.
The truth is, I do want a connection. I’m just afraid I’ll never be able to find someone who understands.
I mean, I think that’s everyone’s fear, right? That we’re all too weird for anyone to love? But that’s obviously unfounded.
Look at all the weirdos out there in happy relationships. You just have to find the right person who will understand and share
your priorities.
Emmy thought about his words and knew there was truth to them. It was just that the finding element of that equation involved a lot of trial and error. And her last error had burned her badly enough to need a break.
He came back with another message.
But also, your ex is a sample size of one. You said you’re a data analyst; you know there are better guys out there simply
by probability. Do not let him bias your perspective.
Emmy laughed again and felt her face warm.
Are you a better guy, Axe Murderer?
Yes.
Okay. Then why are you single? What’s your hang-up?
Honestly, I think people are turned off by the reality of me once they get to know me.
Well, you are obviously getting to know the wrong people then.
You flatter me, Bird Girl. But people tend to have this perception of me, mainly because of how I look, that I’m going to
be a certain type of person. And then when I’m not, they aren’t interested.
Emmy blinked at his message, not sure what to make of it. Certain type of person? She wasn’t sure where to go next, so she went with a joke.
Wait, who am I talking to here? Are you a movie star? Is this Ryan Gosling???
First off, if this was Ryan, do you really think I’d cheat on Eva? That woman is a goddess.
Agreed. Good point.
But no. Not a movie star. An athlete. Before they get to know me, most people think I’m a dumb jock, which is an egregious
stereotype on its own. Some of the guys I used to play with were the smartest people I know. There are more kinds of intelligence
than just book smarts.
Emmy found herself surprised and even more curious. She noted his use of the past tense— used to play with —so assumed she wasn’t talking to a professional athlete.
I completely agree. What did you play?
Baseball.
She sat straight up.
Really? I was at the game tonight!
No way! You’re a fan?
It’s my favorite sport!
( And my job , she thought about adding but held back.)
Damn, Bird Girl, if you get any more perfect, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Emmy almost dropped her phone as a warm wave washed over her. She tingled all the way to her toes. He’d called her perfect . She was cartwheeling sitting still. She fought to compose herself and pulled their conversation back on track before she
did something reckless like ask him to meet for a nightcap.
So, this perception vs. reality thing. Explain more, please.
Ah, yes. Well, the athletic résumé attracts a certain kind of person, let’s say. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m actually
a huge nerd.
A point in the win column if you ask me.
Well, you’re in the minority. Most people want a good time with the himbo jock, and that’s just not me. They lose interest
when I start nerding out about anything deep.
I love a good nerding out.
See, again. Minority.
You said it yourself earlier: don’t let sample size bias your perspective. The nerdily inclined exist aplenty.
You’re right, I did say that. But I’ve unfortunately got more than a sample size of one to go off here. Plenty of dates have
tanked thanks to my inability to connect.
I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.
You’re talking to a man who was fake numbered, remember?
Again, point in the win column. For me.
He paused, and Emmy wondered if he was smiling like she was.
You’re right. This is an unexpected connection.
I see what you did there.
Just stating a very favorable fact.
Emmy could feel the anticipation crackling between them long-distance. Was one of them going to take the leap and suggest
they meet? Her thumbs tingled with the urge to tap out the letters, but the nervous tick in her heart held her back. It was
too much. She didn’t want to ruin what they had yet. And besides, it was getting late.
Favorable, indeed. I’ve got to go to bed. Sweet dreams, Axe Murderer.
A pause passed, and she would have paid good money to know what he was thinking before he came back with,
Good night, Bird Girl.