by Hazel Kelly
“What does he do now?”
He looked down at the table and straightened his silverware. “Bits and pieces.”
“My dad’s in construction.”
“I know.”
I leaned an ear towards him. “How do you know that?”
“My dad used to work for your dad.”
“Oh. Did he quit or—”
“He got fired.” Luke shifted in his chair. “Can we move on?”
“Sure. Are you an only child?”
“No,” he said. “I have a little brother.”
I smiled. “How little?”
“He just turned twelve.”
“Bit of an age difference there,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“You must be a great role model for him.”
“I try,” he said as the waiter arrived with our wine.
He offered to pour a taste first, but Luke insisted he fill our glasses outright.
“Not into the whole swirling and sniffing part, huh?” I asked.
“I don’t have a lot of patience for pretension.”
“I see. So was this school your first choice?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I got an offer from Notre Dame, too, but I wanted to be closer to home. Because of my brother.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “And is playing at this level much different from how it was in high school?”
“Completely different,” he said. “In high school, there was always this feeling that, while the coaches wanted us to win, they also cared about helping us become well-rounded individuals, good sports, disciplined thinkers—that kind of thing.”
“Sure.”
“But here it’s a completely different vibe. We’re essentially cattle, assessed strictly on what we can bring to the game and nothing else. It’s a lot of pressure.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“We’re expected to maintain a certain GPA, obviously, but I don’t think our coaches really care about anything except our win-loss record.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I figured it would be like this, but it can be awkward trying to grow up and figure out who you are when the people you spend all your time with are only interested in one aspect of your personality.”
“So you’re more than the meathead jock you have to be forty hours a week?”
“I certainly like to think so,” he said. “But let’s keep that between us. My scholarship depends on it.”
F O U R T E E N
- Luke -
I was so relieved to have changed the subject from my family that I may have rattled on about football a little too much, but I figured that was better than walking out, which was exactly what I wanted to do when Rosie mentioned my dad.
Fortunately, I kept my cool, didn’t back myself into any corners, and managed to make her laugh at least a half a dozen times before our starters arrived.
And the temporary discomfort I felt when I started talking about myself was worth it for her full attention. I loved having her big hazel eyes on me, even if they were hiding behind her thick black glasses.
However, as much as I wanted to give her enough information for her article, I was keen to learn more about her, too, to make things feel more…datey.
When the calamari came, I was relieved that she led by example, squeezing the lemon over the plate before dunking a ring in the red sauce, so I’d know what to do. Despite having heard of it, I’d never actually eaten it before.
It wasn’t bad. It was just different than the onion ring crunch I was expecting.
“No way,” I said, when I heard the soft background music change. “Is that…?”
“What?” she asked, her fork frozen a few inches from her lips.
“They’re playing our song.”
She shook her head. “We don’t have a song.”
“Yes we do.”
She lowered her fork and lifted an ear towards the ceiling.
I watched the expression on her face change. “It’s the song we danced to at homecoming sophomore year.”
She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me. “Why do you even remember that?”
“I told you,” I said. “I don’t forget anything.”
She licked her lips, her eyes still studying me.
“Not when it comes to you.”
She cast her long lashes towards the floor.
“It was the first time we spoke in a year.”
“I remember,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear.
“I’m sorry.”
She furrowed her brow. “Sorry for what?”
“Sorry that we have such a shitty song.”
She laughed. “It is the worst.”
“And I’m sorry it took me so long to talk to you again after you shut me down.”
“I didn’t shut you down.”
I forked another piece of calamari and dragged it through the dipping sauce. “It was a classic shut down.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said. “But it’s not your fault that I was too immature to handle it with some dignity.”
She lowered her voice. “I’m not sure I even meant to say no.”
“Now you tell me. After all those years of counseling.”
“Shut up. You did not go to counseling.”
“No,” I said, “But only because the pain cut too deep.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes.
“You could’ve broken the silence, too, you know?”
“When?” She leaned back in her chair. “You were always surrounded by a band of animals. And what would I even have said?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. You could’ve said anything at all, and it would’ve been the right thing.”
“Look, Luke. I don’t know why you’re so interested in making me blush, but—”
“I do.”
“Just cool your jets,” she said. “I’m not used to this kind of attention.”
“Bullshit. You basically had your own fan club in high school.”
“It wasn’t a fan club. It was a newspaper.”
I scoffed. “I hate to break it to you, but most of the guys working for that newspaper weren’t doing it for their love of language.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you don’t know how stunning you are.”
“What do you think of the calamari?” she asked, nodding towards the plate between us.
“I think it’s twice as good as your attempt to change the subject.”
“You’re embarrassing me now.”
“Then I apologize,” I said. “That was never my intention.”
She took a big swig of wine before looking back at me. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
“Shoot,” I said, laying my fork across my bread plate.
“Find us a new song.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?”
“Anything but that one.”
“I’m going to need time,” I said.
“Take all the time you need.”
The waiter brought our main courses a few minutes later, and the food was so delicious it actually eased my nausea over the prices. My potatoes were nice and fluffy, and my portion of chicken carbonara was enormous.
“If you were going to ask for some of my food, you’re running out of time,” I said, as the bottom of my deep plates became visible.
“I’m not going to ask for your food,” she said. “And if that was your way of suggesting I offer you some of my raviolis, you can forget about it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive.”
“In that case, you’ll be the first girl I’ve ever taken out who hasn’t tried my meal.”
“It only seems fair,” she said. “I don’t expect you to touch the food on my plate.”
“Is that an only child t
hing?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“I guess you’ll want your own ice cream after this, too?”
Her face dropped. “It didn’t even occur to me to save room. I think I’ll be too stuffed.”
“Whoa, okay. Relax. No one is going to force you to eat ice cream before you’re ready.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I got worried there for a second.”
“I noticed.”
When the waiter came with the check, I snatched the billfold before Rosie had a chance.
“Let’s at least go halves,” she said.
“Absolutely not,” I said, making my most stoic face when I realized the cost of the meal was the same as my weekly grocery shop. “I’m the one that asked you out.”
“No you’re not. This whole thing was my idea.”
I lifted my eyes. “No it wasn’t. I asked you first. In Mr. Principe’s science class. Remember?”
She groaned. “Let it go. I’m not that girl anymore.”
“I hope that’s not true,” I said, calculating the tip in my head.
“This place is expensive. Please, Luke.”
“Save your begging for later.”
She leaned forward. “If you think I’m going to sleep with you because you bought me a few raviolis—”
“I can’t believe you’re sitting there thinking about sleeping with me.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I think it’s exactly what you said.” I laid the small leather folder on the edge of the table.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said. “Really.”
“And what about mine?”
I knocked back the last of my wine and licked my lips. “We’ll deal with that later.”
F I F T E E N
- Rosie -
When Luke said his only plan for the evening was hanging out with me, I could barely contain my excitement, but we both agreed that we weren’t quite drunk enough to rock up to a party.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he suggested we go back to his place since he’d just discovered some delicious drink and had all the fixings to make me one.
Obviously, despite the fact that my skin felt like it was full of buzzing bees as a result of his proximity, I said that sounded good.
“So where’s your roommate tonight?” I asked as he flicked the lights on in his apartment.
“There’s a party at the baseball house,” he said. “I think he was going to pregame somewhere and head over around ten.”
I looked at the floor in the sitting room and decided to keep my shoes on.
“Please excuse the mess,” he said, pulling some ginger ale out of the fridge. “My roommate’s a rich prick who’s never had to clean up after himself a day in his life.”
I slid onto a barstool on the opposite side of the counter.
“Not that I think all rich people are jerks,” he said, glancing at me.
I rested my elbows on the counter. “Don’t worry about it. The place smells so much like Febreze I haven’t even noticed we’re not in a laundry room.”
“Perfect,” he said, dropping some ice cubes into the short glasses between us.
“Ginger ale?” I asked, scrunching my face. “That’s the drink you’re excited about?”
“Have some patience, will you?” He grabbed the drinks and headed for his room. “I’ve yet to add the final ingredient.”
I swiveled around on the barstool and watched him disappear into his room.
“You were supposed to follow me,” he said, his voice spilling out the open door.
“I’m not a mind reader,” I said, holding the hem of my dress as I slid off the barstool.
When I leaned against his doorframe, he was standing at his desk, pouring Jameson into the glasses. “Jamo and Ginger’s, eh? That’s the big surprise?”
“You’ve had it before?”
“My mom drinks those when she’s ‘only drinking to settle her stomach.’”
He screwed the lid on the green bottle and set it back under his desk. “I never tried that,” he said, carrying the glasses over. “I drink to get drunk myself.”
“Me too,” I said, taking one of the glasses from him. “And I am partial to a little whiskey.”
“I figured,” he said, watching me as he took his first sip.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, noticing his small room was much tidier than the common area.
“Just that you’re not like the other women I know, and they don’t care much for whiskey.”
“I bet I can drink you under the table when it comes to this stuff,” I said, licking the sweet mixture off my lips.
“If you want me under the table,” he said, taking a seat on the futon against the wall, “all you have to do is ask.”
I walked over to the shelves in the corner and let my eyes scan his textbooks: Intro to Econ, Leisure Management, Stats, The Art of Public Speaking…and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
“What’s this for?” I asked, pointing to the spine as I looked over my shoulder.
“My American Classics course.”
“Surely you’ve read it before?”
He nodded.
“Did you choose that class?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink.
“I did.”
“Because…?”
He shrugged. “Because that book was on the syllabus.”
“Is it your favorite?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve just always liked it.”
“Is it the characters?”
He scratched the back of his head. “I suppose I do admire Huck.”
I shifted my weight to my other foot. “Go on.”
“I like that he makes up his own mind about things instead of letting his environment dictate his beliefs.”
I squinted at him.
“Feel free to put the fact that I’m literate in your article,” he said, swirling his glass so the ice cubes clinked together. “If you think it might surprise other people as much as it clearly surprises you.”
“I don’t mean to be surprised,” I said. “I just didn’t think reading was something we had in common.”
“I’ll choose not to be offended by that.”
“Do you read a lot?”
“No,” he said. “Only when I have to, but I like it. That’s why I signed up for the class.”
“Right.”
“What’s your favorite book?” he asked.
My mouth twisted.
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“The way your face lit up when I asked that question,” he said. “Is it safe to say that’s the toughest question of the night so far?”
“Hands down.”
“And if you were held at gunpoint and had to answer?”
I sighed. “Probably Jane Eyre.”
I turned back around, letting my eyes wander from the bookshelf to the wall beside it, where one of those frames that holds a dozen pictures at once was hanging. Naturally, I recognized a few of his friends from high school, and there was one of him and his mom at graduation, but I didn’t see anyone that I thought could be his dad. Front and center, though, there was a picture of Luke squatting down beside a little boy who looked about ten years old.
“Is this your brother?” I asked, pointing at the photo while my eyes traced the outline of the little boy’s wheelchair.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize he was disabled.” I turned around when he didn’t say anything.
“Only from the waist down.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but the air in the room had shifted since I’d pointed out the picture. Would it be rude to ask how it happened? To ask if he was born that way?
“He was in a car accident our junior year,” he said finally.
“I’m so sorry. I had
no idea.” My mind raced back to junior year, the year Luke got suspended in the fall for fighting. Or at least, that was the story I heard. “What did you say his name was?”
“Patrick.”
“He looks just like you,” I said, studying the photo.
“Handsome bastard.”
I smiled and turned around. “How’s he coping?” I asked. “I mean, I know it’s been almost two years—”
“Twenty-two months and six days actually.”
I swallowed. “Right.”
“He’s doing great,” he said. “Bounced back a lot fucking better than the rest of the family anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say. I poured half of my icy drink down my throat and tried not to think about how hard it must’ve been for Luke to have his athleticism so regularly celebrated when his little brother would never walk again.
He patted the cushion beside him, and I made my way over to join him on the futon, relieved that his reaction to my curiosity hadn’t been to push me away.
S I X T E E N
- Luke -
It was all my fault.
He never should’ve been in the car.
He should’ve been at home with me, except I wouldn’t come home. I refused, telling my mom I was going out after practice with some of the guys.
An hour later, some asshole in a hurry ran a red light and plowed straight into my mom’s car.
She walked away without a scratch.
Patrick hadn’t walked since.
And it was all my fault.
Fortunately, after I got suspended for beating the shit out of some kid who called him a retard, my football coach intervened, arranged for me to see a guidance counselor, and helped me refocus and get my act together.
But I was still ashamed of the fact that, like the rest of my family, I’d come apart when my little brother needed me most. Of course, now that I’d pulled it together, I knew nothing was more important than making him proud.
But I didn’t want to go into all that with Rosie.
The last thing I wanted was her pity, especially when it was the last thing I deserved.
She sat on the futon beside me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Maybe I should’ve told you when I mentioned him before. I just don’t want him to be defined by the fact that he’s in a wheelchair, you know? It’s not who he is.”