Chapter 09
The days since our conversation in the car pass in a flurry, each one stuffed with extra training sessions under the sweltering heat.
I expected sharing this secret with Linden would make things awkward, but we’ve fallen into a careful rhythm of avoiding each other.
He’s taken on some additional shifts at the dog pound, and I spend most of my days at the training facility.
So the plan slips to the back of my mind until I receive a text from Linden. No emojis, no context, just a simple ‘house will be empty for the afternoon’ popping up beneath a thread that’s so far only consisted of grocery lists, so it takes me half a second to catch on.
“I’m sorry, guys, but I’ll have to cancel on you,” I tell Evander and Felix, one of our wide receivers, as we trudge back to the locker room.
We intended to soak in the ice bath for a bit, then find a quiet corner on campus and review our summer reading lists.
A lot of my teammates don’t take their academics seriously, but if the NFL doesn’t work out, I’ll have to put my econ degree to use.
It seemed like a smart choice when I applied for college—not too hard, yet useful enough as an alternative career path.
But the thought of actually having to do something with it has my stomach in knots.
“What? C’mon, man, you too now?” Evander groans. Seb already left an hour into our workout, mumbling something about a video he needed to record for his mom.
“Yeah…roomie emergency,” I claim, waving my cell at both of them.
“Dude.” Felix scrunches up his nose at the sight of my trashed screen. “You need to get a new phone.”
I duck my head, slipping the phone back into the pocket of my sweatpants.
“Haven’t found the time yet,” I lie. I’ve already searched for refurbished models online, but it feels like a huge waste to order one when mine is still working.
Even a little money’s still money I could put into other places.
I need to focus on my car first, which I realize again when I have to call an Uber just to get back to the Nook.
I tell the driver to let me out around the halfway point, then jog the rest of the way, soothing the sting of the unnecessary expense.
Getting out of the car feels like stepping into an oven; stuffy and unbearable. I have to pull out my towel and hang it around my neck to protect myself from getting sunburnt.
A few minutes later, I tiptoe into our little townhouse like a burglar, even though Linden’s car is the only one occupying our driveway. I don’t know why I feel guilty, but there’s this prickle in the air, like we’re about to do something forbidden behind our roommates' backs.
“Don’t be stupid, you’re two consenting adults,” I hiss at myself as I drop my keys on the sideboard, then call out, “Linden?”
“I’m up here!” comes the muffled response, and I follow his voice to the second floor.
I’ve only ever caught glimpses of Linden’s room in passing.
He mostly keeps his door closed, and considering how tiny my room is, I spend most of my free time outside of the Nook anyway.
When we hang out, it’s in the living room or the kitchen.
I don’t know what I expected—probably some typical college-guy room with bare walls and textbooks all over the floor.
Instead, I push his door open and step right into an urban jungle.
“Oh my god, you live in a greenhouse!” I gasp. Linden chuckles from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed.
“Not quite there yet, but I’m trying my best,” he says, a soft note of pride in his voice.
It’s not an exaggeration—there are plants everywhere.
Pothos and English Ivy hang from a shelf above his head, little rocks and vases arranged between them.
His bookshelf is dotted with little succulents, and a sprawling Monstera sits on the ground next to a plant stand that looks like an old ladder.
It holds another dozen pots in various sizes and forms, but I only recognize lavender and aloe vera.
I absent-mindedly close the door behind me and wander over, squatting down to take a better look.
“What’s this one called?” I ask as I gently brush my fingers over the long, stiff leaves of a particularly intriguing-looking plant. They remind me of dark green swords sticking straight up.
“Snake plant.” Linden gets up from the mattress to cross the room and stand beside me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark jeans. Did he dress up for me? I’m still wearing the athletic gear I put on after showering.
“Prayer plant, peace lily, ZZ plant, calathea,” he continues, pointing at each.
“ZZ plant?” I laugh, imagining it snoring.
“It’s short for…uhm…”
I look at him, smiling as his nose scrunches while he thinks. Then his gray eyes light up.
“Zamioculcas zamiifolia, I think. But please don’t quote me on that,” he says, the pinch between his light eyebrows smoothing out again.
“Wow. Do you have all of these for biology class or…?”
“Not really.” Linden huffs out a laugh, stepping back so I can get up and continue wandering through his room.
“I just like plants. Sometimes they’re marked down or even given away for free at the garden center. I can’t stand them getting thrown out, so I bring them here.” He shrugs, then crosses his arms over his chest like he’s waiting for me to make fun of him.
“That’s cool. You must have the best sleep in here.” I grin, but I’m already distracted by an orchid on his desk.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” I murmur, stepping closer. Unable to help myself, I touch the orange petals with my fingertips. They look like tiny sunsets in a pot.
“Oh my God,” I snort when I spot the next curiosity sitting on his windowsill. “What’s that? It looks like an olive tree!”
“That is an olive tree,” Linden confirms with a sheepish grin, scratching the side of his head. “This is more of a…temporary solution. I’ll have to find it a forever home eventually. But it would have ended up in the trash hadn’t I taken it!”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll pay you back with prosperity,” I joke, then halt when I notice his stare. “Or isn’t that one of its meanings?”
“It is.” He pauses. “But how do you know that?”
“Ouch.” I laugh. “Do you mean how does the dumb football jo—”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant!” Linden cuts in quickly, raising both hands. “I just…I didn’t expect—”
“It’s alright. I don’t know that much about houseplants.
My mom was a florist before she had me, and she had all these books about flora and fauna.
I liked to flip through them on rainy days, and she’d tell me stories for each plant.
Although I have to admit I liked the ones about herbs and wildflowers best,” I explain.
I’ve abandoned his desk and turned to the bookshelf, scanning the titles.
It’s all textbooks and non-fiction, plus a few coffee-table books with photographs of nature—the rainforest, the Serengeti, US national parks, gardens from around the world.
There are also a few framed pictures displaying several nature shots.
Endless summer fields, grazing cows, and the colorful fall foliage that Vermont is famous for.
The last one shows what can only be the Woodrow clan—a kindly faced woman in her mid-fifties in a sun hat, her serious-looking husband by her side.
Something about the sun hat tugs at my insides before I look away.
The similarity between Linden and his father is uncanny: the same fair hair and gray eyes, paired with high cheekbones and an elegant, sloping nose.
Three women in their late twenties surround the couple.
One of them must have taken the picture as a selfie, her arm filling the lower-left corner of the frame.
It takes a moment for me to peel my eyes away, and only then do I register the silence spreading between us.
When I turn to find Linden, he’s watching me with sad eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I blink, trying to figure out if I missed something. “About what?”
“Your mom…” He gestures helplessly, and it takes me a second to catch up. A laugh escapes me when I realize what he must have been thinking.
“Oh no, she’s alive and well; don’t worry!” I reassure him quickly. Though I can’t actually be sure—she at least sounded like it the last time we spoke, even when I could barely understand her with the spotty phone reception.
Linden’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing. It’s fascinating to watch how quickly the soft pink creeps in, giving his fairy-like features a healthy glow.
“Fuck, now I’m even more sorry! The way you phrased it…and you never talk about her, so I thought…” he stammers.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “My mom left the US after my parents divorced. We… don’t have much contact anymore. The last time I spoke to her, she was riding elephants in Thailand.”
“Oh. Well…then I’m still sorry, though,” he mutters, but I force a smile on my face and wave him off.
“Ah, it’s okay. She’s living her dream. Is that your family?” I hold up the framed picture, and he nods.
“Yes, my parents and sisters. They took this before I left for college.” There’s an odd tone to his voice, almost distant, but I don’t want to pry, so I put the picture back. For a while, we both stand there, unsure of what to do.
“Well,” we say at the same time, then break off with a laugh. I can hear the nerves in my voice, feel the jitters spread inside my body, the same sensation I got during my high school games whenever I knew college scouts were in the stands, ready to scrutinize my every move.
“So, do we just like…start making out?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
Good Lord, get it together, Mahoney! This isn’t going to be my first time, and it probably can’t get worse than that, either.
But I’ve never been in a situation like this—never met someone just to jump headfirst into bed with them.
It feels like we’re skipping all the bases before, aiming straight for the home run on a random afternoon in June.