Chapter 5
Andrew
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No worries. I appreciate you coming with me today. I’d hate for the tickets to go to waste, and I didn’t wanna go by myself,” Henry answered before he shut the car door for me.
Just like before, he was in his candy-apple red Mustang, but this time, the top was up.
“Is the top not working?”
“It works fine. I just didn’t think you wanted it down,” Henry answered.
“Why?”
“Because last time, every time the wind moved your hair around, you looked really annoyed about the whole thing. I figured you’d prefer the top up.”
In the grand scheme of life, Henry noticing that I really hated my hair being knocked around wasn’t even a blip in the universe, but here in the front seat of the car, it felt like absolutely everything. I couldn’t believe he’d taken the time to care about something so mundane, but he had.
I knew perfectly well that he wanted the top down because he’d said that was the whole reason he bought the car. I wasn’t going to take his enjoyment away just because I was a baby about my hair.
“Please put the hood down.”
“At the risk of sounding like an ass, it’s the top, not the hood. And I’d rather you be comfortable, Andy. That’s more important to me.”
I winced internally at the name. Someone at Halo had assumed that’s what I went by, but it reminded me of middle school, so it wasn’t my favorite choice.
“No, I promise it’s fine. You said last time that the removable top was the whole reason you bought the car. Please put it down.”
It would have been impossible for me to explain why it mattered so much to me that he not be inconvenienced, but it did. My stomach tied itself in knots over the idea that he’d left the top up for me. There had to be a solution that gave him what he needed.
“Henry, please put it down,” I repeated. I heard the urgency in my own voice, which was so dumb since our disagreement was about freaking car parts.
“Hey, whoa. Let’s slow down. It’s really not a big deal. I ride with my top down all the time. It’s not going to kill me to give it up when you’re in the car with me.”
His voice was gentle and soft and so different from what I was used to.
After our trip to the park and tacos, I’d spent the evening in my room at Halo researching everything I could find out about Henry.
And there was plenty. Legitimately a hotshot attorney who skyrocketed in the entertainment industry when the usual trajectory was to grind for years, even decades.
He’d managed to do it with a take-no-prisoners mindset for his clients.
His known client list was impressive, so I’d guess the quieter ones were blockbusters.
“It’s just not fair,” I said weakly.
My insistence about this felt foolish even to me, but after twenty years, maybe longer, of making sure everyone else came first, old habits died hard.
I wasn’t even sure I wanted the habit to go away.
Wasn’t taking care of other people important?
I didn’t remember a lot from Sunday school growing up, but I was certain that one was mentioned a lot.
“What’s not fair is you being uncomfortable only because I like something. So we’re gonna leave the top up, and if we come up with a compromise later, then that’s fine. But for our first date—actually, our second date because I count the tacos—I wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”
Henry’s pretty brown eyes had a glint of determination. He dared me to argue whether or not our trip to the food truck was a date. I’d told him then I was tired, and I felt the same now. If he wanted to call it a date, then I would let him.
“Did you keep yourself busy this week?”
“Of course, there’s always something to do at the Halo House.”
“Tell me about it, please.”
Ugh, exactly what I hoped he wouldn’t ask.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about what I did around Halo House… Busy in court this week?”
I could feel Henry’s eyes on me, but I refused to confirm it by looking at him. Of course he was watching the road, but I felt the subtle shift when his attention diverted to me. I couldn’t say I hated it. I kinda liked it, but I didn’t have the first clue what to do with that.
“No, plenty of meetings though. For the most part, I don’t go to court except on one-off occasions.”
“What if you have to take something to trial?”
“Unless it’s a traffic ticket, my clients would bring on a litigator. My specialty—” Henry paused, found my hand in my lap where it was minding its own business, and laced our fingers together. “I’d like to know about your week though.”
“I mean… Oh, before I forget, where is the tournament?”
“It’s close to Malibu, so we’ve got a ways yet. Since you’re a fan, hopefully you’ll enjoy it…”
“Yeah, it’s great, and I’m sure I will.”
Dear Lord, I hated pickleball. Loathed and detested it and didn’t understand the point. Just play tennis, for Pete’s sake. Except I didn’t really like tennis either. But I couldn’t exactly tell Henry without admitting I was a liar.
On top of that, I hadn’t actually done anything at Halo House this past week except sleep. Just like I’d done the week before that, and the week before that, and all the weeks before that too.
Six months on, and my greatest accomplishment was another nap logged.
I couldn’t even bring myself to interact with everyone else.
Most days were nothing more than going downstairs to make a grilled cheese or a PB&J, then sneaking back up to my room to avoid everyone.
I’m sure they thought I was insane because I still dressed like I was headed to the country club.
Phoenix said funding was available for new clothing, but that should be saved for someone who truly needed it.
Everyone else at Halo House seemed to be making a place for themselves there, or finding their way, or discovering some kind of purpose.
But me?
I floated along doing nothing. Much like the traffic because, like all California freeways, we inched forward at a slow crawl.
If I were a writer, which I definitely wasn’t because I’d write a much better plot for my life, I’d claim it as the perfect metaphor.
The very clear upside? I was sitting in a pretty car with a cute guy and, for whatever reason, he liked to hold hands.
That part was nice.
“Hey, where’d ya go?”
Crap. Think. Think. Think.
“Uh…uh…I was thinking…uh…about the tournament thingy. Where did you say it was again?”
“Not sure I did say, but it’s at the Harbor Racquet Club. Have you been?”
Henry spoke like dropping by one of the most exclusive private clubs in the area was nothing. The application fees were more than I’d made in my collective life.
“Yeah, it’s nice.”
Actually, it wasn’t because the food was fussy and they never gave you enough of it, so you left starving. The manager was snippy with the staff too when he thought no one was listening.
We’d only made it about half a mile in the last twenty minutes, which gave me plenty of time to stare out the window and prepare myself for the horror I was about to endure.
“Fingers crossed. My colleague said the same, but he’s been wro—”
“Ooh, Ikea!”
We’d turned the corner, and up ahead, the enormous blue box dominated the landscape.
There weren’t any within miles of where I’d grown up.
I’d been in California for years, but I’d never been to one.
I loved the commercials for them though.
Every time I made plans to go, something would happen, and I was forced to cancel.
Jonathan had always promised he’d go with me, but somehow, we never found the time.
“Guessing you’re a fan?” Henry asked with a chuckle and a finger squeeze.
“I’ve never been, but I always meant to go. Never got around to it. Lame, I know.”
“Not lame. But if you don’t mind mazes, it’s a good time.”
“The last maze I was in involved a corn field.”
“I take it you survived?”
“Survived?” I scoffed. “Killed it.”
The car inched forward, and I continued to stare out the window as the blue box loomed closer.
“Andy, I have a question for you, and I need you to answer honestly.”
“Yeah?”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Tell me the truth. You don’t want to go to the pickleball tournament at all, do you?”
Shoot.
My brain scrambled to think of an answer that wasn’t a lie.
“What do you mean? Of course I do.”
Why did this matter? I could have told him the damn truth. But he’d heard me talk about pickleball at Halo House, so how the heck could I explain that I didn’t even know how to say what I liked? Half the time, I couldn’t even remember, for Pete’s sake.
Henry remained quiet while he expertly moved through traffic and, like magic, managed to get over to the exit in time. His hand never left mine, but he didn’t talk either. There was every possibility that I’d messed this up, and I couldn’t even say what this was.
Off the feeder road, he pulled into the parking lot of a strip center lined with restaurants. When Henry switched off the ignition, I was fully prepared to get it with both barrels, but there was no way on God’s green earth my mouth was going to open first.
“Andy, I need to ask you something. It’s important to me.”
I stayed quiet because I had no idea what was coming next, and I hated that feeling.
“I feel like you’re lying a little to me.”
I whipped my head around and stared at him. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t that.
“I don’t care about the tournament. What’s important is that you’re honest with me.”
“This is silly. Sure, I like it.”
“I know you told Walter you did, but you don’t, do you?”
I shook my head.
“And you don’t like being called Andy, do you?”
I shook my head.
“And you don’t want to go to the racquet club either, do you?”
Another shake.
“Let’s go to Ikea.”
“Andy? Andy?”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” After we’d parked, we’d followed the crowd up the escalator. We’d barely started, and I was already overwhelmed by the first few apartment setups.