Chapter Twenty-Two
For a Monday night, the bowling alley was hopping. After circling for almost ten minutes, Brad had to park at the far end of the lot next to the giant pile of snow left behind by the plow.
“If I’d known I’d be going on so many dates, I would have packed better clothes,” he complained, plucking at the black T-shirt he’d worn.
“It’s a bowling alley,” Ivy reminded him, like she hadn’t scrutinized every shirt she’d brought with her like her life depended on it.
“Hold on, I think my butt just vibrated.” Brad lifted his hips and dug around in his back pocket. His eyes flitted across the screen, then he read, “‘Things got hairy at work. Be there soon.’ Aw. That’s so sweet he texted.”
Ivy discreetly checked her phone. Nothing from Grant. Tony was probably texting for both of them, since Grant usually drove.
“Should we get a lane?”
“You’re going to have to wait,” the teenage employee informed them when they tried to book a lane. “It’s league practice night.”
“I didn’t even know they still had bowling leagues,” Brad whispered loudly as they found a seat on the bench by the claw machine.
“When you suggested bowling, were you imagining staring at Tony’s ass the whole time?” Ivy teased, shrugging off her coat and folding it neatly in her lap.
“I was, and I’m not afraid to admit it.” He sighed heavily and leaned on her, his body curling like a question mark. “I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want to leave Wisconsin.”
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “It sneaks up on you like that.”
Tony rushed by, walking as quickly as he could without running. He made it almost to the counter when he stopped so quickly, he almost toppled over from forward momentum. He turned on his heel and made his way back to Brad. Ivy was under no illusions that he gave two shits that she was there, too.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, squeezing between Brad and the claw machine and almost pushing Ivy off the bench. “Work ran long and there was nowhere to park.”
Brad put his hand on Tony’s knee. “You’re like, two minutes late. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s bowling league night.” Ivy leaned around Brad and waved. “Hi, Tony.”
“Oh, hey.” He wiped some dust off his pants. “Sorry I’m all dirty. I came right from work.”
“That’s fine.” In all the years she’d known him, Ivy had never once heard Brad say that dirt was “fine.” Whatever Tony was doing with him behind closed doors had to be downright magical if he was leaning in to the mess.
“I completely forgot about bowling league.” Tony put a hand on Brad’s back, his fingers playing his spine like a washboard. “Did you want to do something else?”
“Bowling’s fine. I don’t mind waiting.”
Screw being dick drunk. Her best friend had been possessed by an alien.
Ivy looked toward the door, expecting Grant to burst through at any moment at the same frenzied pace as Tony. He didn’t. But parking hadn’t been easy, and hardly anyone had left since they arrived, so it was possible he was circling the lot, trying to find a spot. Any minute he’d come inside.
Any minute.
“Do you want to play air hockey while we wait?” Tony asked Brad. “Or Skee-Ball? There’s a little arcade.” He pointed to a small room with a few machines, lit by the glow of neon signs.
“Sure!” Brad hopped up enthusiastically, and Ivy did not know who that man was.
Instead of sitting on the bench alone like a loser, she followed the couple into the arcade to watch them play air hockey like the unwanted third wheel she was. She checked her phone. Nothing from Grant.
Was he standing her up? Had he changed his mind since their flirty texts? Or had those snapped him out of whatever erection-induced stupor he’d been in, and he realized he’d made a horrible mistake?
Brad squealed every time he hit the puck, his foot popping into the air with the effort.
She could ask Tony, confirm that Grant was coming, but she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he wasn’t there. The only thing worse than being stood up was being perceived and then coddled while being stood up.
“Weaver, party of four. Your lane is ready.” The speaker was tinny, and she almost didn’t hear it over the clatter of the puck bouncing back and forth.
“Our lane is ready,” she announced, because Tony and Brad were still locked in their game.
“We’re almost done,” Brad promised, narrowly saving a goal.
Ivy sighed. “I’ll go tell them we’re here.”
There was a short line at the counter Ivy was happy to stand in, because it was something to do.
Anything was better than watching Brad and Tony be happy while she stood off to the side, invisible and miserable.
But then the uniformed clerk touched the intercom button and leaned into the microphone again to announce, “Weaver, party of four. Your lane is ready. Last call.” Ivy threw her hand into the air like she was back in elementary school.
“Here!” Ivy moved to the front of the line. “Sorry. We’re here. Weaver, party of four.”
The unamused teen, whose name tag read Zee with they/them in smaller letters beneath, leaned to the side to look behind Ivy. “Where’s the rest of your party?”
“Two of them are in the arcade and the fourth is on his way.”
Zee sighed and rolled their eyes. “All members of your party must be present to bowl.”
“But three of us are here in the building,” Ivy said, confusion rising on the same tide as anxiety.
“It’s a league night. We don’t hold lanes for more than ten minutes.”
A lump formed in Ivy’s throat and salty tears stung her eyes.
It was a silly thing to cry about, but she deserved to cry over something silly.
She was going to have to go back to Tony and Brad and tell them they couldn’t bowl because Grant had stood her up.
Even if he wasn’t standing her up, he hadn’t cared enough to tell her where he was, how long he was going to be, or apologize for being late.
A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder.
“Zee, I think you can relax the ten-minute rule a little,” said Grace Underwood.
Zee looked down at the counter. “Yes, Mrs. Underwood.”
“We also need our pins reset on lane seven.” She smiled warmly, but it was the smile of a woman who was used to being obeyed the first time she asked for something to be done. Zee darted away to fix her problem.
Grace guided Ivy away from the counter. “Are you okay, honey? You look upset.”
Ivy sniffled and blinked rapidly. “I’m fine. Got a sneeze caught.” She wiggled her nose to sell the lie. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you bowled.”
“Some of the teachers started a team and it sounded like fun. Great way to get out of the house a few nights a week.”
“Is Mr. Underwood here?”
Grace shook her head and laughed. “God no. Tim doesn’t like having fun. This is just for me.”
“Oh.” Ivy was surprised. Bowling was the kind of hobby her parents would try together.
She could easily see them with wrist guards like Grace’s, wearing matching shirts with their names on them.
It seemed like the kind of low-impact activity with great proximity to beer that would have interested Tim.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Grace prodded.
“I’m sure. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Underwood.”
“You’re an adult. You can call me Grace.”
Zee’s tinny voice came over the intercom again. “Mrs. Underwood, your lane is fixed.”
“I don’t know if that child will ever get to call me Grace, but they have a job and they’re coming to school and we’re all really excited about that. It’s so good to see you, Ivy.”
Grace hugged her tightly, and Ivy’s tenuous grasp on her emotions almost slipped.
Over Grace’s shoulder, she saw Brad and Tony exit the arcade, and then Grant appeared next to them with wet hair and an aura of irritation.
His posture was rigid, and even though his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, she could tell they were balled into tight fists.
“Good to see you, too,” Ivy said, shooing her back to her group.
As a longtime educator, administrator, and Grant’s mother, Grace likely would have taken 0.
5 seconds to diagnose what Ivy had been upset about if she saw Ivy with Grant.
The only thing worse than him not caring about their date and showing up late would be his mother scolding him about it in public.
Ivy marched right past Grant and up to the counter to tell Zee their entire party was now present. It felt good to ignore him. Triumphant, even. She was unbothered by his indifference—which was a lie, but he didn’t know that.
“We’re all here now,” she said.
“Shoe sizes?” Zee asked, ennui infusing every letter.
When Grant stepped up to give his shoe size, he tried to put his hand on Ivy’s lower back, but she sidestepped his touch at the first brush of his fingertips.
“I haven’t been bowling in so long,” she said to Brad and Tony, turning her back to block Grant from the conversation. “Should we put the bumpers on?”
Tony picked his red-and-white bowling shoes off the counter. “I don’t care how old you are; bumpers are cheating. They’re like training wheels or water wings.”
“They’re supposed to be like training wheels and water wings,” Grant said from behind her, but Ivy didn’t look. “They’re to help kids learn.”
“I never had training wheels or water wings. I learned,” Tony said.
From the corner of her eye, Ivy saw Grant pick up his shoes from the counter. “I don’t understand how you survived childhood.”
Ivy was relieved to find they’d been assigned lane one, far away from Grace.
If her luck improved any, Grace would leave without ever knowing Grant was in the building.
Ivy sat in one of the ancient white-and-orange chairs and pulled off her boots, tucked them under the chair, then started to put on her bowling shoes.
Long legs in dark blue jeans appeared in her peripheral vision.
Grant untied his boots and took them off.
There was a hole forming in the toe of his right sock.
“We’re going to order a pitcher of beer and a pizza,” Tony announced. “Any requests?”
“Brad knows what I like,” Ivy said, tying her shoes.
“I’m easy,” Grant added.
She moved to the chair in front of the computer that controlled their scoreboard and began to enter their names. Brad. Ivy. Tony. Her fingers hovered over the keys. The urge to enter Grant as “asshole” was strong.
The asshole in question sat in the seat next to hers.
“Did I do something wrong?”
When he’d asked her the same question at the Walk in the Park, it had felt like an opening to bare her soul. Now it felt like a trap.
“You were late,” she answered flatly, typing his name one letter at a time with her middle finger.
“I went home to take a shower,” he explained, like that should be enough. When she didn’t immediately exonerate him, he pressed her. “Did you want me to show up dusty and sweaty like Tony?”
“At least he let Brad know he was running behind.” She sounded cold, but it was better than letting him see how hurt she was.
“Did…did Tony not tell you where I was?”
“I don’t think that’s his responsibility.”
He sighed. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slide down the chair into a slouch. It was like the taut strings of irritation that had been holding him upright had been suddenly cut.
“Tony said he’d let Brad know we were going to be late. I wouldn’t have gone back to my apartment if I didn’t think you knew I was on my way. I thought it was handled.”
Ivy finally looked at Grant. He looked utterly miserable, which was a salve to her own wounded ego. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“I forgot to plug my phone in last night, so it died.” He brushed her hair away from her neck to inspect the faint hickey he’d left behind. “I was a little distracted when I got home.”
A hot blush started in her cheeks and traveled down her body to pool between her legs. She remembered his teeth on her skin too well, how that small pain had made her feel so alive. Every kiss had lit up her nervous system like it was made of firecrackers. His mouth made her greedy.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you knew.”
She’d spent so many years being mad at Grant that she didn’t have the energy to stay mad at him for even half an hour now. Ivy rested her forehead against his. Cold, wet tendrils of his lush hair tickled her face.
“You could’ve shown up filthy. I wouldn’t have cared.”
He cupped her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb. “I needed to cool off.”
“It’s thirty-seven degrees outside.”
“Work was…” Grant sighed like a farmer during a drought. “The day ended on a rough note.”
She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” He took her hand and moved it higher up his leg. “Dad’s been a lot lately, and I’m tired of it.”
“We have beer!” Brad announced loudly. Ivy and Grant broke apart like teens caught on the basement couch. “And there’s a pizza in the oven.”
Grant glared at Tony, who was carrying four cups, stacked two in each hand. “You were supposed to tell them we were going to be late.”
“I did!” Tony set the cups down on the small table in their section and took his phone out of his pocket. He read the message like a court reporter repeating the record. “‘Things got hairy at work. Be there soon.’ See?” He held the phone out for Grant to read it for himself.
“That’s not a good text! It gives zero information and doesn’t even mention me.”
“Then next time, charge your phone and do it yourself.” Tony stuffed his cell into his pocket, offended. “Brad understood what I meant.”
“Brad understood enough,” Brad interjected and began to pour their beers. “If you’d been twenty minutes late, I think I would have been panicking.”
Tony put a hand on Brad’s lower back. “If I’d had to circle that parking lot one more time, I was going to start sending you minute-by-minute updates.”
From where Ivy sat, Brad didn’t have a thing to worry about when it came to Tony.
That man was smitten with a capital S. She wanted to believe the same could be said of Grant, but the past twenty-four hours were currently whirling inside Ivy’s brain like glitter in a roughly shaken snow globe.
She was confused with a capital C, and feared the worst.
She might be fucked—and not the good kind—with a capital F.