Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Seriously, this woman has you doing all types of things you never did. I can’t wait for you to just propose and get it over with,” she says, laughing. “Then you can be normal and send her flowers.”
I laugh. “Funny. But I was wondering if you can maybe put together a care package.” She doesn’t talk. “Get every single cough medicine that you can get and put it together with some flowers.”
“Cough medicine,” she repeats.
“And flowers.” I mention that. “But nothing that says I like you or anything like that. What flowers would you send to a friend?” I ask her, and she laughs.
“No flowers,” she answers. “Yellow rose is the friendship flower.”
“Fine. Send her five dozen of those with the care package,” I say, getting into my car.
“Five dozen?” she shrieks.
“Too much?” I ask her, and she laughs.
“A touch overboard, yes,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“I knew you would,” I say and disconnect the phone. The game is a blur, but we win it in the last minute, thank God, and when I get back into the dressing room, I see that she sent me a text.
Vivienne: Thank you for the soup and the medicine and the flowers.
I smile and answer her right away.
Me: And you said we couldn’t be friends.
She doesn’t answer me, and for the rest of the night, I wonder if she’s okay or if I should call and check on her. I’ve paced my apartment from top to bottom, and when it’s finally a decent hour, I call her, and she answers on the fifth ring.
“You sound better,” I tell her, and she hums.
“I feel so much better,” she says. “I have to say the soup did wonders and so did all the medicine that you sent.”
“Glad I could help a friend,” I say, smiling. “I’m leaving today for Florida, so you’ll have to keep the fish for a couple more days.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “We’ll talk more when you get back.”
“That sounds good,” I tell her, and I want to tell her that I miss her. I want to go to her and take care of her. But I don’t.
“Have a safe flight,” she says, and when she disconnects, I look at my phone in my hand. Am I the only one who feels like this? Maybe she really doesn’t like me that way.
I walk to the plane, and on the way to Florida, I just zone out. The whole way there, I look out the window. I go over everything we have been through, and I know deep down she misses me.
Florida goes by slow, so fucking slow, and we end up losing bad. I smash my stick after the fourth goal, and when we get into the locker room, I don’t even make eye contact with anyone. I shower and head to the bus. Matthew comes over once the plane takes off. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say one word, knowing that my head wasn’t in the game tonight.
“I mean ’cause if it isn’t, we can see what we can do,” he tells me, and I look at him.
“I just had an off night,” I tell him honestly. “Happens to the best of us.”
“That it does,” he says, and that is it. He doesn’t say anything else, and when I finally get into my house, I dump my bag and make my way to my room.
I finally call her a week later—the longest week of my life—and she answers right away. “Hey there,” she says, her voice upbeat.
“Hi.” The smile that fills my face does it automatically. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the library.”
“The library?” she asks, shocked.
“Yeah, the library,” I say. “Then we can get something to eat.”
“Sure,” she says. “What time do you want to meet?”
“Noon should be good,” I say to her, looking at my watch and seeing it’s a little past ten.
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the entrance,” she tells me and disconnects. I put on a track suit and a baseball hat and spot her right away as she walks up the stairs. She’s wearing blue jeans again and a turtleneck with a brown suede jacket, her eyes so blue they look like crystals.
“Hey,” I say, walking over to her, and it’s her turn to come to me and lean up to kiss my cheek. My hand holds her arm for a second, and then I drop it.
“Were you waiting long?” she asks me, and I shake my head.
“Let’s go inside,” I say and put my hand on her lower back as she walks ahead of me. “I was expecting more people,” she says, looking around. As we walk side by side, I make sure my fingers graze hers more than I should.
“It’s Sunday; there’s usually a ton of people on Saturday,” I tell her. We walk up the stairs and into the library where most of the tables are vacant. “What’s your favorite book?”