Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
One of the many reasons I never pursued acting professionally was because I don’t enjoy wearing costumes. While other students were excited come wardrobe day, when they’d get the full workup for their characters—hair, makeup, and clothing—I dreaded the ordeal. The poking and prodding, and for certain characters there would be the added prosthetics.
Acting requires a level of play that never came naturally to me. You are literally playing dress up and pretend. Those are childhood games for a reason. I was in love with the language and expressing emotions through language, but I was not in love with the physicality of performing.
My disdain for costumes carried over into the one holiday a year when this was also a requirement. Halloween. Whenever possible I avoided dressing up, but Hullabaloo was putting on a kids’ festival and Josie volunteered the rest of us to help run the games. I tried to convince them that I could run a game in my regular clothes, but they used the It’s for the kids argument and I had to cave.
Thankfully, they didn’t insist on final approval of the costume, so I went with the next best thing.
“Lindsey Pavolski, that’s cheating.” Josie slammed her hands onto hips, causing the frilly wings on her back to flutter. “You agreed to dress up.”
“I am dressed up. School teacher is a valid Halloween costume.”
“That’s what you wear to work every day.”
In my defense, this was not what I wore every day. Not all of it, anyway. “I bought this cat cardigan specifically for tonight, and I rarely wear my hair in a bun.” Spinning, I added, “I even put an apple-shaped eraser on the pencil stuck in my hair.”
Tinkerbell turned sarcastic. “What was I thinking? You’re practically unrecognizable.”
“Games go live in fifteen minutes,” Miles said as he joined us. Dressed in green from head to toe, he’d fully committed to the aesthetic, which suited him, really. The man who only threw children’s parties dressed as the boy who never grew up. “Thanks for coming, Lindsey.”
“You’re welcome.”
They’d done a great job decorating the area in front of the office. We were right on Grandview on Mount Washington, which offered an amazing view of downtown across the river. Workers were flooding off the incline, hustling home to either give out candy, get their kids ready to collect some, or to turn off all the lights and hide from the trick or treaters.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Josie asked him.
“About what?”
She gestured toward me. “About her costume.”
Miles tilted his head. “You’re a teacher, right?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“The kids will get that. Good idea.”
Josie huffed and rolled her eyes as Megan and Ryan arrived. The moment she saw them, she threw her hands in the air. “You guys, too? You’re all cheaters.”
“What?” Megan said.
“You’re just wearing your regular softball uniforms. Those aren’t costumes.”
“Costumes are just clothes worn out of context,” Ryan pointed out. Very big-brained of him. “We aren’t at a game, so instead of uniforms, they’re costumes.”
If Josie huffed any harder she was going to shake those wings right off her back. “You’re totally missing the spirit of the holiday.”
“Are we late?” Becca asked, rushing toward us in a blue and white checkered dress with an odd shaped puppy strapped to her chest.
“Finally,” Josie said. “Someone in a real costume.”
“Is that Noah under there?” I stepped closer and lifted one ear. The little one looked snug and warm in the terrier costume.
“He’s Toto,” Becca said. “Jacob is parking the car.”
“Which character is he?” Megan asked.
“The Scarecrow.”
I booped Noah’s nose. “We won’t let the witch get you, buddy.”
“Where are Donna and Calvin?” Becca asked.
“They hit traffic,” Josie said, “but they’re on their way. The only person we’re missing it Trey.”
As opposed to the wedding, this time I knew Trey was coming. Nothing had changed during rehearsals except that instead of him sitting in the back, out of the way, he was now a full part of the production. On Tuesday, he’d brought Ethan in to discuss how they would build the set, which made Leo’s day.
A great deal of chatter went into the mechanism part, which I was happy to let them handle. So long as it worked come show time, that’s all I cared about.
Wednesday went well, with Kandace making a noticeable effort, and since we’d already made so much progress, we cut out early today so everyone could get to whatever Halloween festivities they had planned. Which was good because getting my hair in a bun took far longer than it should have.
“He’ll be here in a minute,” Jacob said, shedding straw as he walked our way. “I just saw him parking around the corner.”
Jacob Kim was not a small man. Somewhere over six feet tall, one of his side jobs back when he and Becca met had been working as a bouncer. To see him in plaid and overalls with hay coming out of every possible opening was hilarious.
“Isn’t that itchy?” Ryan asked.
“Like crazy,” he said. “Why aren’t you guys in costumes?”
“Thank you,” Josie said, happy to finally have someone on her side.
As if on comical cue, Trey walked up in a ball cap, polo shirt, and khakis with a whistle around his neck. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic is crazy out there.”
Josie stared in disbelief. “Are you supposed to be a…coach?”
He looked down as if checking to make sure. “Yeah, I thought the whistle would give it away?”
Hiding my laughter was not easy. I, of course, knew what he’d be wearing, just as he knew that I was showing up as a teacher. But no way was I going to ruin the surprise for Josie. To be fair, when planning this, I had no idea she’d care so much.
“Next year I’m assigning the costumes,” she said. “Donna and Calvin better?—”
Right on cue, the pair came walking up in matching overalls, tool belts, and work boots. As a photographer, this was technically a costume for Donna, but we’d all seen her wear those overalls half a dozen times so they qualified as her normal clothing at this point. As a construction foreman for his own company, this was definitely everyday wear for Calvin.
“You’re fired!” Josie yelled. “You’re all fired !”
A broken woman, she stomped off toward the building, wings flapping wildly as she went.
Acting as if his girlfriend hadn’t just stormed off in a tantrum, Miles said, “Thanks again to all of you for doing this. Here are your game assignments.” He distributed one sheet to each couple, then handed a sheet to me and skipped Trey.
“Trey didn’t get one,” I pointed out. One could argue that I was a professional paper passer-outer and for someone to be skipped was unacceptable.
“He’s with you,” Miles said. “Instructions for each game are there. This is meant to be fun so bend the rules as you see fit. Just make sure everyone is safe and the kids have a good time. Head out and find your stations.”
Not at all surprised about being assigned together, I handed over the paper. “We’re at the bobbing for apples game.”
When Jacob gossiped to Becca that Trey was helping with the play full time, the call demanding information was almost immediate. Yes, he was helping. Yes, we were spending more time together. No, I didn’t dislike him on sight anymore.
She’d acted as if I had announced our impending engagement.
“That doesn’t sound sanitary,” Trey said, reviewing the rules. “Ah, they aren’t really bobbing.”
“No, thank goodness.” According to the paper, the kids would technically be fishing for apples. “Where is this thing?”
Squinting, he scanned the area. “I’m guessing we’re the cauldron down on the end.”
We headed that way, and I asked, “Do you need glasses?”
With a hand on the small of my back, he navigated us around a group of preschoolers. “I’m only wearing one contact. The other popped out as I was getting ready and I didn’t have time to put in a new one.”
That was something I didn’t know about him. “Can you see to drive?”
“I can see enough, yeah. I realize being so old and all you’d think I’m nearly blind, but it isn’t that bad.”
Again with this. “I didn’t call you old. I said you’re older than I thought you were. There’s a difference.”
We finally reached our booth and found a collection of three plastic children’s fishing poles with what looked like little hammocks where the hooks should be. Trey dropped the instructions onto one of the canvas bag chairs and reached for a large clear bag of stuffed animals.
“It’s okay. I thought you were older, too, so that makes us even.”
He thought what now? “How old did you think I was?”
“At least my age.” Three small yellow ducks landed on the six foot table behind us. “Maybe a little older.” Three pink pigs appeared next. “It was just a guess.”
Had this man never interacted with a woman before? No wonder he hadn’t found anyone to try his eternal dating theory on. He’d probably offended every woman by the second date. If nothing else, he needed to update that contact prescription for sure.
“You thought I was pushing forty ?” Vanity wasn’t one of my greater faults, but come on. I was barely over thirty. Not even thirty-five yet. “Are you serious?”
Three alligators hit the table. “Not because you look old or anything. It was more the way you act.”
Was this supposed to make me feel better? “You’re saying I act old?”
“You said yourself that you’re always cranky. Cranky people are typically older.” A dog, a parrot, and a cow joined the other animals. “Do you see the box we’re supposed to put the tickets in?”
He could stick the tickets in his ear for all I cared. “So I’m too cranky for my age. That’s what you’re saying?”
“You’re too cranky for any age.” Trey lifted the plastic cloth hanging over the table. “Ah ha. Found the box.”
Screw the box. “If you think I’m too cranky then why are you here?”
Trey looked around, clearly confused by the question. “I’m here to help run a game for the kids.”
“I mean with me . Why didn’t you tell Miles to put you with someone else?”
“I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
“But you don’t like me.”
“Yes, I do.”
This man was a roller coaster ride in human form. “You just said I’m too cranky.”
“So what?” He picked up a fishing pole and tried to snag one of the apples floating in the water. With a swift sweep and jerk, an apple lifted out of the water swinging on the small hammock. “This is going to be tough for the little ones.”
“What do you mean so what?” I demanded, knocking the apple back into the water, which splashed over onto my shoe. Just what I needed. The temperatures weren’t bad, but that didn’t mean I wanted wet toes.
“Lindsey, this is about fishing for apples, not fishing for compliments. I’ll tell you all the things I like about you later. For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”
Disarmed by both his honesty and the matter of fact delivery, I stopped arguing. Was I so sensitive that being called old and cranky in the same breath sent me into a tizzy? Coming from anyone else, I’d have said whatever and gone about my business, but I didn’t like hearing them from Trey. Which meant I cared what he thought about me, and I didn’t like that one bit.
When someone’s opinion started to matter, that meant they could hurt you. A level of vulnerability I preferred to avoid.
He practiced picking up the apple again, and I reached for one of the poles to try my hand at it. “I don’t need to hear the things you like about me.” Applying his swoop and lift technique, I pulled up an empty hammock.
“You don’t need to hear or you don’t want to hear?” he asked, perfecting his fishing pole process.
Focusing on the apples, I stayed quiet.
“You aren’t good at accepting compliments, are you?”
“I haven’t had a lot of practice.”
Trey leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Then we’ll have to practice that, too.”
An hour in, the crowd finally started to dwindle. I had no idea so many kids lived on Mount Washington, and I was reminded yet again why I preferred to teach adult-adjacent students. The little ones were rowdy, loud, and unpredictable.
One pint-sized pirate threw the fishing rod at me when he failed to snag an apple on the first try. Then a video game character I couldn’t name in a million years ran up at full speed only to slam his palms on the water and soak far more than my shoes. And who could forget the little girl in the ice-blue dress and long blonde braid who skipped the fishing pole entirely to snatch an apple with her bare hand and take a bite before we could stop her.
A handful were upset that we only had stuffed animals to offer and not candy, which they’d clearly already had more than enough of, and then there were the sweet ones who made the splashing and the tantrums worth an evening on my feet. One in particular made my night.
First, he was wearing his own baseball uniform, which was two sizes too big but so in the spirit of wearing what you want that I considered adopting him on the spot. Though his mom would have fought me for him, and she’d have won, of course.
As soon as he saw Trey, the boy yelled “You’re Coach Collins!” as if my booth mate didn’t know his own name. Apparently, Joshua—per the name on the back of his jersey—had a cousin on the Carnegie football team, and the little fan had been to every game of the season. He’d even gotten a high five from Trey after one crucial win, and by his reaction, you’d think he met a real live superhero in the flesh.
Joshua paid little attention to me, but that was understandable. I wasn’t the celebrity that Trey was. The child was five years old, profoundly enjoying kindergarten—his words amazingly enough—and he had aspirations of being the next Derek Jeter.
I assumed that was a baseball player.
His T-ball team took the championship in the spring, and he was looking forward to moving up to Little League next year. His mother reminded him that they hadn’t decided yet if he would move up or not. The boy was on the small side so I could see her concern.
“Coach, tell her I need to move up.”
How was the big guy going to play this one?
“Sorry, buddy,” Trey said. “Moms overrule coaches. What she says goes.”
“Aw, man.”
“Do you want to take a shot at the game?” I asked, holding out a fishing pole. “Catch an apple and you get to pick a prize off the table.”
Joshua looked up. “Can I, Mom?”
“If you want to,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “We have six tickets left.”
He took one and handed it to Trey. “One game, please.”
If my nephews were this polite, I’d steal them more often.
The caldron was nearly as tall as he was, making seeing the apples more difficult. After a minute of watching him struggle, I could tell that Trey was itching to help. If they did this again next year, I’d remind Miles to supply stools for the smaller children.
“Do you mind if I lift him up?” Trey asked the mom.
“I’d appreciate it, thanks.”
Sweeping the boy up, he tilted and swept him around as if he was the fishing pole. “Slide it right under that one. That’s it. Almost there.” The apple rolled into the hammock and Trey lifted Joshua, who held the pole out with the apple still in place.
“I did it. Look, Mom, I got the apple all by myself.”
No one corrected the claim as Trey lowered him back to his feet. “Come around and pick the one you want,” he said, showing the boy to the table.
After a thorough perusal of every animal on the table, he said, “That one,” pointing to a rainbow-colored hippo that no other child had given a second look.
“He’s all yours,” I said, handing over the prize.
“You want me to add him to the rest?” his mom said, pulling a tote bag off her shoulder.
Joshua shook his head. “No, I’ll carry this one. Thanks, Coach Collins,” he said with a wave. “Thanks, Mrs. Collins.”
Stunned into silence, I stared as the boy trotted away with his mom picking up her pace to keep up.
“Did he call me Mrs. Collins?”
Trey was about to pop a vein trying to hold back his laughter. “He did.”
I’d never been called Mrs. anything, and it felt…uncomfortable. Like wearing a shoe that was too small. “I don’t like it.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not proposing. Not marriage, anyway.”
What did that mean? “Are you proposing something else?”
“Dinner.”
“I ate before I got here.”
Trey crossed his arms, stretching the sleeves of the Polo tight over his biceps. “I meant tomorrow.”
The imaginary shoe tightened like a vise across my toes. “You mean like a date?”
He grinned. “Two friends hanging out over a meal.”
We were back to semantics, but that grin was hard to resist, even for me. “Are you buying?”
“We can go Dutch if that makes you feel better.”
That would feel more like hanging out. “Okay, but I get to pick the place.”
With a nod, he said, “Deal.”