5. Gabe
5
GABE
One year later
“Your mom was here earlier. Let me see if Michael is ready for another visitor,” the redheaded nurse tells me.
“Thanks, Darla,” I say, and she gives me a flirty little sway of her hips as she heads down the hall of the assisted living home. I park myself in a leather chair in the fifth-floor lobby and return to the game on my phone.
I scan the board quickly, eyeing the possibilities. R . I tap my chin. Something with an R . Or a C . Or maybe . . .
I smile. Devilishly, I’m sure. Because I’m going to mess with Arden. Peering down the hallway, I see no sign of the nurse, so I open the chat with MustLoveBooks.
Gabe: Is R-A-B-E a word?
Arden: As in broccoli rabe? Yes. Whether it should be considered a food is debatable though.
Gabe: What in the holy hell is broccoli rabe? Why isn’t it just broccoli? Why do we need to keep adding things to vegetables?
Arden: Don’t you know? Vegetables now must be hipster hybrids of other vegetables. Also, rabe is the stalky, leafy part of the vegetable, if you want to get technical.
Gabe: You mean the part of the veggie that should go in the recycling bin?
Arden: Let me guess. You hate broccolini too.
Gabe: I’m not fooled by broccolini. If someone can’t tell that word is a patent ruse to trick people into thinking broccoli is cute, they’re a fool.
Arden: Obviously, you’re no fool. You are a broccoli hater though. Now c’mon, play a word. A customer just walked in, and if my book-buying radar is still top-notch, I’m predicting he snags a hardback of the new Koontz.
Gabe: If you’re right, bowling is on me.
As I planned all along, I form a word with my kickass bank of letters, and I swear I can hear her jaw dropping as I play—brOCCOLI.
Arden: You tricked me by building off my C !! I thought you were spelling RABE.
Gabe: Rabe is child’s play. *blows on fingers*
Arden: And you used all your letters! You know I have to pay for bowling now. That trumps everything else.
Gabe: Oh, well, what do you know? I did play all my letters.
Arden: Also, the customer has the new Koontz tucked under his arm.
Gabe: Damn, you’re sharp. But close is only good in horseshoes. Bowling’s still on you.
I exit the app when the thunk of Darla’s shoes grows louder. She turns the corner and wiggles her fingers, giving me come-hither eyes, too, as she’s done for the last few visits. “I’ll take you to Suite 505 now.”
Once I stand, she sets a hand on my arm, even though I know precisely where Suite 505 is since I’ve been visiting its resident as often as possible for a year now.
But Darla is persistent, and last time I checked, I was still single . . . ergo . . .
“My shift ends at five,” she says.
“Good to know.”
“And I don’t have any plans tonight.”
“Is that so?” I arch a brow.
She gives me the flirtiest smile in the history of smiles. “That is very much so.”
I tell her to enter her number in my phone, and it takes less time than a peregrine falcon capturing a fish for her to type in those digits. I give her mine too.
“Text ya later.” She spins on her heel and heads the other way.
I turn into Suite 505 and flash a smile to the man slouched in the blue upholstered chair, staring at the screen of the laptop perched on a bureau. I check out the action on the diamond. “Pops, are you watching last night’s Giants game?”
“Yup. Posey hit a three-run homer.”
But when I peer more closely at the screen, that’s not Buster Posey running the bases. In fact, that’s not who the Giants are playing this week. I’m pretty sure that’s a game from last season.
“Pops, that looks like a game from last season,” I say, gently trying to guide him back to the present.
He waves it off, tsking at the video. “You could have mowed him down with your curveball.”
I laugh and clap him on the shoulder. “Doubtful, but glad you think so.”
“I know so. I watched all your games.”
That he did.
I settle in and enjoy the year-old game with him, catching up on things that happened yesterday and years ago, too, reminding him as best I can of what took place when.
* * *
Later that day, Darla texts me, asking if I want to get together.
I say yes, even though I’m wishing I could figure out the best way to broach the same subject with Arden.
Do you want to see a movie? Grab some dinner? Go to a beer festival? Drive to Calistoga and check out a bookstore there I know you’ll love? Play mini golf over in Whiskey Hollows?
Those are all remarkably easy to say when asking someone out. Remarkably easy to say to Arden too.
Trouble is, when you become good mates with a woman, it’s hard to tell her that you think you might want more than just Words with Friends. You might want more than friends in general. Especially since I’ve never been known as the serious kind, and Arden most definitely isn’t a casual girl.
That night I take out Darla. She’s upbeat and fun, and a whole lot of flirty, but everything feels like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.
I’m more distracted than I want to be on a date, and this is getting to be the norm for me.
And that’s a problem.