24. Giant men skating around at seventy miles per hour on knife shoes, equipped with wooden weapons, is anything but boring.
24
"Giant men skating around at seventy miles per hour on knife shoes, equipped with wooden weapons, is anything but boring."
Marissa Martin
I was sure we were about to kiss. All the signs were there. The sudden silence, the way he looked at me, how his chest heaved up and down, his gaze set on my lips, and those tingles when we touched. I graze a finger over my hand, still feeling them. But instead of making a move, I cleared my throat like a coward.
Then, when he f ollowed me to my room, I thought for sure that was our second chance, but of course he just wanted to borrow a charger.
Needless to say, I didn’t really sleep last night, and my body began to overheat whenever I closed my eyes. The reason? Aaron was there every single time. Try to fall asleep looking at such a gorgeous man. It’s torture.
Speaking of torture, I now have to live with that same man and pretend I’m completely unaffected by his touch, his gaze, and the fact that he’s breathing the same air as me.
I was supposed to get over him. How did we get to this point? It’s like the more I try to forget him and bury my feelings, the harder they bounce back.
Thankfully, he’s going on an away trip for a few days, and I’m sitting this one out. I went with him on the last one, and I already missed work yesterday.
“Hey,” he says as I come out of my room. As always, he’s awake before me—and not wearing a T-shirt. I look him straight in the eyes—no need to be blinded by that eight pack—but his eyes are just as dangerous. Like molten chocolate, trapping you in the best way possible. “Sleep well?”
“I did.” I smile, taking a seat. “You?”
“Dreamed once or twice about falling from the King Cobra, but other than that, pretty good,” he jokes. “Here’s your charger, by the way.” He nods to the neatly wrapped cable at the end of the counter. “I’ll buy a new one today before we leave.”
“When are you coming back?” I ask as he slides my breakfast plate in front of me. His cooking smells delicious, as always. I’d better enjoy it while I can because I’ll be back to cereal for the next few days.
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean, how long will you be starving for?”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
He laughs out loud, the sound sending my heart over the edge. Aaron’s laugh is downright irresistible. “Five days. I’ll be back on Friday, just in time for our flight to Missouri on Saturday morning.”
My body tightens. Right, I completely forgot about that. I wasn’t very excited to go in the first place. And with everything that’s happened lately, it completely slipped my mind. “Oh, yeah. Our high school reunion. You know, we don’t have to go. You’ll be exhausted, and you have a game on Sunday night.”
He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. We already got the tickets and paid for the hotel. Besides, it’ll be fun.”
I really want to tell him I can’t make it anymore, but I am weak. So weak. “I guess,” I say, looking at my food. The idea seemed fun on paper. But actually going back to my old high school ten years later, sti ll single and with a few extra pounds, is a lot less appealing.
“It will.” He sits down next to me with his plate. “The organizers said there’ll be a dance floor, and you know how awesome my moves are.”
That pulls a smile out of me. “That’s true.”
Plus, I’ll be with Aaron, and when have I ever not enjoyed my time with him? I dig into my food, picturing us arriving together at the school gymnasium. The other upside of going with him? No one will even spare me a second glance.
After saying goodbye to Aaron—and my home-cooked meals for the coming week—I call my dad to chat on my way to work.
“How was your birthday surprise yesterday?”
“It was great. We went to the bookstore and Velocity Valley, two of my favorite things.”
“I’m glad you had a great day, honey,” he says, his voice dipping low. “I’ll still celebrate you on your actual birthday, of course, but it’s fun that he’s able to surprise you like that.”
I bite my lip, unsure whether I s hould bring this up. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you celebrate on my birthday?” I’ve been wanting to ask him that, but every time, the conversation shifted, or Aaron was there. And I felt it was a discussion for only the two of us. “It wasn’t exactly a good day for you,” I murmur.
“Of course it was,” he breathes out. “It’s the day I met you. My entire world changed that day.”
“But you lost Mom,” I say, swallowing hard, tears welling in my eyes.
“I did, but I got you. The doctors said I might lose both of you. I begged them to do anything they could, and they were able to save my baby girl. As hurt as I was to lose the love of my life, I was also given another one.”
“But isn’t it wrong to celebrate the day she died?” The surprise element isn’t the only reason why I’ve always been grateful to Aaron for coming up with this idea. I don’t know if he was thinking about that when he started doing it, but it helps to celebrate my birthday without the sadness that always accompanies it.
“I’m celebrating your life, and I also take the day to think about your mom. I like that Aaron is doing that for you, but I don’t want to celebrate your birthday on any other day. It would feel like cheati ng. Like I don’t want to remember her.”
“That makes sense.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I wish I could have known her.”
“Me too, honey. She would be so proud of you. I know I am.”
A shaky smile pulls at my lips. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Now, whose brilliant idea was it to have this conversation over the phone, huh?” he groans. “I can’t hug my daughter.”
I laugh, drying my tears. “Sorry, Dad. It just came out. But I’d love to talk to you about her sometime.”
“We will, honey.”
“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’m almost at Warlington Lane, but break a stick tonight in Tampa.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Talk to you soon.”
I hang up, feeling a little lighter. It’s strange, but hearing Dad talk about Mom that way makes me feel closer to her somehow. I guess sometimes, the good things are found in the little moments we celebrate, even the unexpected ones.
I reach the coffee shop early, and I even have time to try making one of my mom’s cinnamon roll recipes before I open. She had a lot of recipes for those—her favorite pastry—and I think making them is a great way to honor her, to think about her. My dad has been an amazing parent my whole life, and I always had ever ything I ever needed. But now, after growing up, I think about my mom more, curious what she was like. I know we look alike, but do we have the same laugh? The same facial expressions? As I start on the dough, my mind wanders to Aaron. We’ve never touched this topic, and I wonder if it’s the same for him. Does he miss his parents? Or does he resent them for abandoning him? Maybe it’s a bit of both.
When I get home, I find a spot on the couch and start reading one of the books I scored during my birthday run. I need a distraction from all the emotional turmoil of these past days. But being in Aaron’s space isn’t exactly helping. So, I grab my computer and start scrolling through apartment listings. Living with Aaron isn’t healthy. No matter how much I enjoy it on the surface, it’s hurting me, and I need to do something about it. Now that the business is thriving, I think I’ll be able to afford something decent around here.
I spend the entire day alternating between my apartment hunt and checking my online dating profile. Hey, I’m really trying here. I answer a few DMs and even take the initiative to message a guy who seems nice and normal compared to the rest of the profiles I come across.
The apartment search, however, is a cold shower. All the places I can afford look unsafe to live in, and after a fruitless search, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to move out of Aaron’s place. I guess I could go back to living with my dad, temporarily, but if I go back, he’ll never let me go. Not to mention, that would definitely hurt Aaron. Moving out to get my own place makes sense, and he wouldn’t question it. But moving back in with Dad? That would certainly arouse his suspicions.
I’m debating whether or not six p.m. is too early to put on my PJs when Beth calls, offering to come over to watch the game with me. I invite her over, feeling truly grateful to have a friend like her. I know she’s solely doing it for me. Lucas is home with no game tonight, and she could easily stay back and enjoy her time with him.
“Hey,” I say, hugging her when she arrives. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“No worries. Lucas was going to watch the game anyway, and I’d rather watch it with you,” she chuckles. The fierce rivalry between the two teams is one thing, but Lucas seems to particularly hate the Raptors. Probably because of their friendship with his girlfriend, which, to be fair, is understandable.
We start unwrapping the cartons o f Chinese takeout she brought along and settle in front of Aaron’s large ultra-HD TV.
“So, how’s the online dating scene? You haven’t given up on it, have you?” she asks, chopsticks hovering over her carton of chow mein.
I shake my head, swallowing my piece of chicken. “Nope. I even DMed a guy today. Actually, I haven’t checked whether he replied or not.”
“Ohh, let’s see.”
I grab my phone from the coffee table and open the app. I have seven new DMs, and tingles course through me as I open each one. What if the guy who’ll finally make me forget about Aaron is somewhere in this pile of messages?
“He hasn’t answered yet,” I say with a sigh, genuinely disappointed. “I have some colorful messages, including a super disturbing one. Gosh, I can’t believe I answered him. He seemed nice at first.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s asking if I can send him my old and worn-out shoes.”
“Ew!” she says, putting her food down. “Really?”
“The online dating space is a dark place, Beth. I can’t believe you coerced me into this.”
Her eyes widen. “How could I ha ve known? I’ve never tried it. I just thought it’d be easier than real-life dating after last time.”
I shiver at the reminder. “You were right. It’s easier but definitely weirder.” I chuckle, and she laughs. “But this guy, Art, seems cool. Look.”
I open his profile and show her his picture. It’s not a selfie, but a candid picture taken by someone else. He’s leaning against a wall, laughing out loud at what someone is saying. The guy looks like a model posing for Calvin Klein or some other casual denim brand.
“Wow, not bad!” Beth says, giving a firm nod. “What does he do?”
I smile. “He’s a journalist. Pretty cool, huh?”
“So cool. That’s probably why his profile doesn’t have any gross spelling errors.”
“That’s what caught my eye first too,” I say, only half joking. Every time I see a “should of” or a double negative on a profile, I immediately close it. I know it’s wrong to discriminate based on grammar—some people have genuine spelling problems—but it’s a pet peeve of mine. Plus, everyone on these dating sites seems to have some kind of weirdness about them. Gus’s, from earlier, was loving smelly shoes. Mine is being a grammar freak.
“No, really. He looks nice. I see the potential.”
“Right!” I grab the phone, my heart fluttering at all the possibilities with Art. “Oh my gosh! He just answered.”
My fingers are shaking as I tap on the conversation and read his text.
Art
Hey, Marissa. What brings you to the app?
I show Beth the text, and she nods. “Very normal. I approve. Chat with him; see where this goes.”
I bite my lip as I type an answer, trying to be honest, but also not freak him out with my first text.
Marissa
I’m single and I’m tired of it. I tried going out and meeting people in real life, but that didn’t go well. How about you?
We keep messaging back and forth, and I’m really enjoying our conversation. He’s recently single and ready to start dating again.
“Oh, shoot! The game!” Beth blurts out, and I freeze.
I throw myself back on the couch to grab the remote and turn the TV on. How could I forget about a hockey game? Especially when Aaron is playing and my dad’s coaching.
“Crap.” I fumble with the remote, finally landing on the right channel. The game started three minutes ago, but thankfully, there hasn’t been any goal yet. “I can’t believe we missed puck drop.”
“I know. Has that ever happened to you before?” She chuckles, sitting on her foot.
“Never.” And then it hits me. For the first time, one of my distraction attempts actually worked. Chatting with Art made me forget about Aaron. Even if it wasn’t for long, it’s still a win.
Still, I’m glad I haven’t missed too much of the game. Both teams are duking it out on the ice—the kind of hockey I love to watch. Plays are aggressive but precise, and the players aren’t afraid to take risks. It’s part of the reason why I’m such a fan of the Raptors. I’ve always rooted for the teams my dad and Aaron played for, but this one really connects with me. The guys are all hungry and dedicated, and they’re some of the best players in the league. After that huge loss last year, they’re not going to let it happen again, and they’re playing every game with the same raw intensity. Toronto is equally fierce. They faced us in the Eastern Conference finals last year, and they want the win just as much as we do.
That’s why I don’t understand people who say hockey is boring—looking at you, Greg. Giant men skating around at seventy miles per hour on knife shoes, equipped with wooden weapons, is anything but bori ng. Not to mention, they’re allowed to punch each other.
Grabbing my drink, I settle against the couch, and my mind drifts back to Art. I hope he likes hockey. I haven’t asked the dreaded question yet, but I’m crossing my fingers that we have that in common, because it’s truly the best sport in the world.