25. Benji
Benji
“You’re not going to try to take me cross country skiing, are you?” Lyssa asks as she climbs into my truck, shooting me a distrustful look.
I choke out a disbelieving laugh. “Not thirty seconds in, and you’re already questioning our date?”
“Well, all I’m saying is, even with gravity on my side, I sucked at skiing,” she grumbles. “I can’t imagine doing it on a parallel surface would improve things.”
“No skiing,” I promise. “Though, my sister was on the cross country ski team in high school. If you ever want to learn.”
“Really? That’s a thing here?”
“Of course!” Her eyes widen at my response, and I smile, wondering what kinds of things she did in high school.
There's so much to learn about her, and I'm genuinely excited to start.
Her feet slide up the dash immediately as we pull out of the apartment garage, and my smiles widens, remembering the last time we drove together.
I pass her my phone to turn on some music. "1788."
She looks at me, confused, and I motion at the phone. "That's my passcode. Feel free to turn on some music. Whatever you're into. Even if it's what we listened to in the gym."
I expect her to laugh, or say something snarky in response, but she remains quiet. When I steal a glance at her, she's scrolling through my music app, but her brow is furrowed.
"Can't find what you're looking for?" I ask.
"It's not that." She shakes her head. "I just…it caught me off guard. You letting me use your phone so freely."
I frown. "Why wouldn't I? There's nothing on there to hide."
The long beat it takes her to respond is filled with everything she doesn't say, and I can't help but tighten my hands on the steering wheel. I can only imagine what her dynamic with phones was like with her ex, but I don't know if I'm ready to hear that answer.
"So, there aren't any nudes on here or anything?" Her joke is weak, but clearly an attempt to deflect, and I try to take it in stride.
"I mean, you might see Grant's pale little asscheeks if you go digging, but that's about it."
She chuckles, the sound genuine, and I relax slightly. "I'll leave those to Andi," she says, putting on some music. We drive along for a few minutes in companiable silence, but then I feel her gaze on me, assessing.
The side of my mouth quirks up. "What?"
“I just realized, you're not using a map." It's a statement, not a question.
"I'm not."
"Did you grow up here?” she asks.
“Nah, but northwest of here. Near Pelican Rapids.”
“Is it even colder up there than it is here?”
“Most winters, yeah.” I glance at her, and she blinks back at me, eyes wide. “Great for the ice, though. My dad would flood our backyard and build it up so that we had our own personal rink.”
“So that’s how you and your brother got so good at hockey,” she says, then grimaces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
“No, it’s…it’s good.” I think back to those winters, smiling to myself.
The ice was choppy and at times soft, but it was ours.
We spent weekends out there with our teammates, and evenings, working on tricks until our wrists ached and our mom was yelling to get inside before we got sick.
“We were on skates before we could walk. Sometimes my mom had to bribe us with cookies just to get us back inside.”
“Chocolate chip?”
I nod, and she sighs. “A classic. Top tier. I was worried you were going to say oatmeal raisin.”
“Hey, don’t knock oatmeal raisin. Those have their place.”
“Oh no. Are you a closet oatmeal raisin sympathizer?” She clutches her chest in mock horror, and I chuckle.
“I could be. So keep that in mind before you throw out such reckless opinions.”
I drive for another minute in silence, and then she says, “Bristol.”
“What?” I glance at her.
“Bristol, Tennessee. That’s where I grew up.”
I know this moment is significant – she’s giving me another piece of herself that she’s held back from everyone else. I feel special for it, but I also can’t help the laugh that works its way up my throat. Before I know it, I’m bent over the steering wheel, wiping a tear from my eye.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re telling me, when that guy used the terrible pickup line on you at the bar –” I choke on another laugh. “– he was right?”
“I…” she trails off, and then giggles as realization dawns. “Yeah, I guess he was.” She joins me, laughing in earnest now, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t music to my ears.
We pull into the parking garage, and she leans over in her seat to peer out the window, frowning as she reads the sign we pass. “The Mall of America?”
I hum in response, rotating the steering wheel as I back into a spot.
“Are you taking me on a shopping date?”
I grin, throwing the car into park and turning the ignition off. “That depends. Do you want to go shopping?”
Her nose crinkles. “I’m not big on shopping.”
“I know.” I laugh. “I remember the boot debacle. Vividly.”
She huffs and unbuckles her seatbelt. “So what are we doing at a mall?”
“This isn’t just any mall. This is the Mall of America. You can do far more than shopping here. Hell, people even get married here.” At her look of alarm, I laugh again. “Easy, little fighter. We’re not doing that, either.”
We exit the car and I guide her into the mall, enjoying her genuine look of amazement as we weave through the crowd.
Even though it’s a weekday, it’s still busy, and we find ourselves turning, twisting our shoulders and pivoting around groups of people.
She doesn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, she seems to enjoy it, taking in the various groups that pass us by, smiling to herself as snippets of conversation float past our ears.
Between the chatter, the colorful storefronts, and the sweet and savory smells wafting from restaurants, some might consider it sensory overload, but it all reminds me of my childhood.
Whenever my parents agreed to a splurge growing up – whether it be hunting for Halloween costumes, looking for my sister’s perfect prom dress, a birthday celebration, or even a wedding for a cousin here and there – this became a full day trip for our family.
It certainly isn’t the same place it was ten or twenty years ago, but as I take in the families here now, I know they’re here for the same type of experience.
Our family could spend hours shopping on one floor alone, and there are multiple – not to mention the ever-changing theme park.
When Lisa spots that particular jewel, she steps forward as if to explore it further, then stops and turns to me, eyes wide.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “You weren’t kidding. ”
The corners of my mouth twitch in amusement. “I never kid about a Minnesota staple.”
“Are we going in there?” she asks, stepping a few feet closer. Her eyes track an orange roller coaster as it flips upside down on a bright blue track. Excitement is written all across her face, and my stomach plummets. Shit. Did I choose the wrong date activity? Should I try to pivot?
“I didn’t know if you were into those kinds of rides,” I admit, feeling defeated. When she turns to me, though, she doesn’t look disappointed.
“That’s fair. I don’t see why you would.
” She pauses and relief sweeps over me as I realize she’s not upset.
She eyes me, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same as me; how little we really know about one another.
“I love roller coasters. Big drops, twists, loops, all of them. I guess you could call me an adrenaline junkie,” she adds with a smile.
I grin back. “I should’ve guessed. But in that case, I know a place with way better roller coasters to take you when it’s warmer out.”
Her brows raise. “Oh, really?”
“Mmm. Just be prepared to scream.”
“I have no doubt you can find a way to make me scream,” she teases, and there I find myself, blushing like a teenager in the middle of a mall filled with people. At her laugh, I know she’s noticed.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand. When she takes it, a different warmth fills me. Damn this woman. She's my own personal roller coaster.
I guide her through the chaos to our actual date location: the mall’s aquarium. When she sees the signs, she twists to face me, leaving her hand in mine. “There’s an aquarium in here, too?” she exclaims. “What doesn’t this place have?”
“I truly don’t know,” I reply with a laugh. “Maybe… archery dodgeball?”
She squints up at me, attempting to gauge my seriousness. “Is that a thing?”
“It is. Can’t say I’ve seen it here, yet, though.”
“Give it time. I’m sure it’ll be the next pop-up.”
We descend the escalator, and her eyes shine as she takes in the initial ponds, alive with the movement of dozens of fish. A weight lifts off my shoulders at the sight. If she’s already excited by this, she’ll love the rest of the experience.
“If they did do a pop-up, is it something you’d want to do?” I ask.
She pulls her gaze away from the ponds. “Archery dodgeball?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, absolutely.” The grin that spreads over her face is mischievous. “But be prepared to lose.”
I feign a look of betrayal. “You wouldn’t want to be on my team?”
“Absolutely not!” We pause to scan our tickets, and she adds, “Well, I guess it depends. I want to be on whatever team Grant isn’t on. I feel like he needs a good ass-kicking.”
“Oh, he would definitely be on the other team. I need to kick his ass every now and then, too. Just to keep him in line. Well, as in line as Grant can ever be.”
She giggles, and I want to bottle the sound. “In that case, I guess I’ll be on your team. If I’m allowed.”
I give her hand a squeeze. “Always.”