Just Lunch

by Nia Forrester

  “Sure, but how long a career does the average player have? Honestly.”

  “Six years, or so,” Alexa says. “Granted, that’s not an incredibly long time, but in that time they will have amassed wealth of over two million dollars. And that doesn’t count signing bonuses.”

  “Actually … I think the average career is more like two years and nine months,” Rand says.

  I don’t know that this qualifies as him defending me, but I feel good about it nevertheless.

  Garrett gives a low whistle. “Still, though … that’s more in three years than the average person makes in a lifetime of working.”

  “Yeah, for the risk … no, not the risk, the almost-certainty of traumatic brain injury, back, neck, spine … leg injuries,” I say.

  Alexa is shaking her head. “No one put a gun to their heads and made them choose this career. They’re among the few privileged who …”

  “Who surrender their right to complain about injustice?” I snap. “Even when it’s happening in their communities?”

  “Hardly their communities. Have you seen where some of these guys live? How they live?” Alexa says now. “Well, I have …And believe me, the last thing in the world they have to worry about is being shot in a drive-by.”

  “No,” I say. “But they may get pulled over in their Ferrari in their fancy neighborhood, and get shot by a trigger-happy police officer.”

  “Okay,” Garrett says. He steps forward, somewhere between me and Alexa, even though with me at the doorway and her still perched on the center island, we are nowhere near each other. “This is getting kind of hot, so why don’t we just …”

  I look at Freya who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the entire exchange. I watch as, with the flick of her wrist, she shoos Lance, Matt and Little Rocket out of the kitchen. They reluctantly leave, because like most kids, they can probably sense when the adults are about to have a really interesting conversation.

  My chest is heaving a little, and it is only then that I realize how angry I’ve been getting. And I honestly can’t even say that I am angry just at the position that Alexa is taking—and suggesting Rand take—on the ‘take a knee’ protests. Part of me that is just angry she is here at all, looking how she looks and sucking all of the air out of the room. I feel small, and petty for disliking her, on very little information. But I do.

  And more than that, I feel foolish, because here I am, Rand’s undefined companion, lugging bags, shopping for his new home, driving hours across three states to help him move, and yet … here is Alexa.

  Alexa is the woman, lest I forget, that he went to lunch with. Seeing her here now, in the flesh, the idea that a lunch between them could have been completely about business feels ludicrous. It isn’t that I distrust Rand, but look at her … She is flirtation personified.

  She gives a little laugh. “Well … I don’t know how we got into all this,” she says. “All I wanted to talk about was a little football.”

  “And God forbid we let the desire for basic human rights get in the way of anyone’s Sunday afternoon entertainment,” I say, caustically.

  At that, Alexa jumps off the kitchen counter.

  “Anyway,” she says, looking around at everyone but me. “I have a party to get ready for. So, anyone who’s up for a good time, please stop by. It starts at seven.”

  Reaching into the designer purse that was sitting on the counter next to her, she pulls out what looks like a business card and scribbles something on it, extending it to Rand.

  “My address,” she says. “In case you need … anything.”

  She has to brush by me to get out of the kitchen, and she does, without acknowledging me at all.

  “Rocket,” she pauses once she is almost at the front door. “Want to walk me to my car?”

  That, I know, is a parting shot at me. Because by now, she would have to be an idiot not to have figured out the source of at least some of my animosity. And she would have to be certifiable not to realize that if I am not family, I am a friend, and perhaps much more than that. I feel Rand’s hesitation, and then he exits the kitchen, following Alexa out of the townhouse.

  “I guess you’re not unattached after all,” Alexa says when she gets into her car.

  She has opened the window and is leaning out, her head hanging to one side, her curtain of hair fanned across her shoulder. I smile at her, but don’t respond to her non-question.

  “It’s cute, the way she staked her claim to you up there,” she continues. “So … is it serious?”

  “Well, she’s a serious woman.” I evade her question. “Can’t you tell?”

  Actually, Dani isn’t serious at all. She is fun, and funny, cute and irreverent. She makes me laugh even when I don’t want to; and there is never a time when seeing her doesn’t make my day better.

  “That’s not an answer,” Alexa says in a singsong voice. She reaches out a hand to touch my forearm, running a dark, polished nail along it. “But no matter. I’m not looking for serious. I’m just looking to get to know you better, Rocket.” She shrugs. “That’s all. So, if you’re looking for something like that, too, stop by tonight.”

  Images flash through my mind, of Rayna, my L.A. side-chick from back in the day. Alexa has all but confirmed that she is just like her, or close to it. She’s basically told me that even if there is something between me and Dani, it doesn’t faze her. She would still be down.

  “Have fun with the … moving,” she adds, as she starts her engine. I watch until she’s backed out of the driveway, turned around and driven away.

  When I turn to head back inside, Garrett is coming out. He is carrying two armloads of broken-down cardboard boxes, ostensibly on the way to the dumpster, but I sense he’s out here checking up on me. Our eyes meet and he shakes his head.

  “Already, man?” he says, handing me one load of the boxes.

  “Already what?”

  He nods in the direction that Alexa has just gone.

  “Nah. That ain’t …”

  “You ain’ tappin’ that?”

  “No,” I say, looking him right in the eye. “I been workin’ there for a hot minute. What you think?”

  “That never used to stop you. Bein’ someplace for a hot minute.”

  “That was then,” I say.

  Back inside, Freya and Dani are busying themselves getting things unpacked from their shopping trip and even though I hover just inside the kitchen doorway, neither of them turns to acknowledge me. The silence is uncomfortable, because Freya most especially, is never silent. But the stiffness of her posture tells me she’s pissed about something. Dani, on the other hand, merely looks occupied.

  “I think I might take a run,” Dani straightens up suddenly.

  Freya and I both look at her.

  “Now?” I say.

  “This would be the second day in a row that I haven’t run, and I don’t want to lose my rhythm.”

  She brushes past me and heads toward the stairs to the upper level, leaving me with my obviously disapproving sister.

  I expect a lecture of some kind and am completely prepared for it, but still, she says nothing. In Freya World, this is the equivalent to an Extinction Level Event. When she is too angry to speak, sooner or later, there will be all kinds of hell to pay.

  “Is this stuff for Little Rocket’s new room?” I indicate the bags still on the floor, near my feet.

  “Y’know what Rand?” she begins.

  I hold my breath and wait.

  She takes a breath and then exhales. “Yes. Yeah. That’s for his room. You may as well take it up there and help him get it all set up.”

  I don’t know what happened, but there was an obvious last-minute change of direction and somehow, that’s more unsettling than if she had just let me have it.

  I grab the bags and head upstairs, beckoning Little Rocket, Lance and Matt to join me. While I’m in the room with them, I hear sounds of movement in the master suite next door, where Dani is preparing to
run. I’m keenly aware of her, on the other side of the wall, and almost every cell in my body is screaming out for me to go to her, and talk through whatever the hell this weirdness is.

  Just around the time I decide to give in and check on her, I hear her leave the room, then there’s the sound of her feet on the stairs and shortly after that, the front door opening and closing as she leaves.

  I run hard. Until my sides ache and I have to stop for a while, hands on my knees, my chest and back heaving. It feels like my heart will burst out of my chest, and I wish I’d had the foresight to bring water. It is cool out, bordering on cold, but my skin is almost burning hot.

  I know I have to go back because I’ve been gone more than an hour. I don’t want to still be out here when it gets dark because I don’t know the neighborhood. I was careful to confine myself to running around the perimeter of the townhouse complex, not breaching any fences or gates, so that even if I am lost, I will know that I am still inside the gated community.

  As I ran, I passed lots of homes with families. There was even a small park, where couples had smaller children with them, riding tricycles, playing on swings, and in a sandlot. I think about Little Rocket, and how he will have playmates, if Rand manages to venture out a little. Venturing out is not something Rand does much of.

  I think about that as well, as I run. The way I let myself hold it against him that he hasn’t taken me on dates, how I let that become the rationalization for accepting the invitation to lunch from Eric. But the truth is, Rand doesn’t go out himself.

  He is still figuring out what his life will be like, now that he is finally emerging from his grief and his guilt. And I am figuring out what my life will be like as well. The pace we were moving at was fine for us, and I let Trudie’s voice, and my own lingering self-esteem issues get in the way of that.

  At least, now I know that my ‘figuring out’ doesn’t need to involve dating a bunch of men. With less than a forty-eight hour period since I’ve seen him last, my interest in Eric has died on the vine. And I know it isn’t because of anything lacking in Eric, it’s because Rand is who, and what I want. If there was any doubt, that got thoroughly dispensed with when I looked at Alexa and felt like ripping her throat out.

  As I stand upright, I laugh out loud at myself.

  I think about Rand’s reaction to my date with Eric, and what he said later about not letting anyone else touch me. And suddenly it seems foolish that we’re both playing this game. It’s good that he doesn’t want anyone else to touch me, because I don’t want anyone else to touch me, and I’m going to tell him so.

  But before I do that, I’m going to run some more.

  By the time I get back to the townhouse, it is almost dusk, and Freya has begun cooking. I take a quick shower and then head downstairs to join her as she prepares flank steak, asparagus, wild rice and candied sweet potatoes. She sends Garrett, Rand and the boys out to get dessert just before the food is ready, telling them to get apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream, so there isn’t time or space for me and Rand to talk. And when they return, we all sit down to eat.

  I am practically jumping out of my skin with eagerness to be alone with him, so I can tell him about the epiphany I had while I was running—that we should just go at our own pace, like we have been. And that I’m fine if he wants to take things slow, until he’s ready to have a more public relationship. But what does ‘public’ mean anyway when I’m here with the people who mean the most to him in all the world?

  While we eat, I notice that having Freya and family here is having the desired effect. Little Rocket is more comfortable in the townhouse, and treating it like his own. He gets up to go to the bathroom during the meal, and doesn’t ask anyone to come with him. And when he gets done eating, he asks if he can go up to his room.

  His room.

  I catch Freya’s gaze and we exchange a smile.

  “You tired, little man?” Rand asks him.

  “No,” Little Rocket says, although he so obviously is.

  “How about a bath?” Freya asks. “How about we do that now?”

  He thinks for a few moments. “Okay,” he relents. “I want you and Dani to give me it.”

  I look down at my plate, hoping no one notices just how ridiculously happy that makes me.

  “Alright baby. But let us eat first and we’ll meet you up there,” Freya says.

  When Little Rocket leaves the room, she winks at me, and I purse my lips to hide my smile.

  After dinner, Freya and I head upstairs to help Little Rocket with his bath. I mostly watch while Freya does all the work, but I pay attention to what she does and how she does it, allowing myself to fantasize about a time when I will be doing this routinely.

  Little Rocket doesn’t seem to mind that I do nothing, but when he steps out of the tub, and I wrap the towel around him he lifts his arms to allow me to pick him up and carry him into his new room. Once he’s dressed for bed, he asks for a story, but the minute he is under the sheets, his eyes flutter shut, and he is fast asleep.

  Still basking in the glow of the attention of the younger Mr. Reese, I head to the master bedroom to share all of that with Rand. He is standing at the foot of the newly-constructed bed, and only has a towel around his waist. Obviously, he’s just showered himself.

  “Hey,” he says, looking at me. “About to head over to this thing that Alexa’s having. You want to come?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling all the air disappear from my sails.

  “Do you want me to come?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

  “I don’t,” I say, my voice flat.

  “I won’t take too long then,” he says. “I’ll just show my face, and …”

  I nod.

  He can’t possibly be this clueless. I was just practically in a brawl with that woman, and it was obviously not just about the NFL protests … And now he’s going to her party. Without me.

  “You good?” he asks.

  He doesn’t look at me directly because he is rifling through his stuff, probably trying to find something snazzy to wear.

  “Dani. You good?”

  This is where I’m supposed to say, ‘yeah, sure. I’m good’ but I can’t even force the lie from between my lips.

  I tell myself I’m overreacting and that he has to keep a positive relationship with Alexa for the sake of work.

  I tell myself that just because I helped him move, helped set up his new home, helped him with his son, it doesn’t necessarily bestow on me any special privileges, nor do those things give me the right to expect that he will stay in just because I want him to.

  “What time are you getting to the studio tomorrow morning?” I ask him.

  “Seven-ish. Why?” He glances at me.

  “No reason.”

  “I won’t be gone long,” he says again. He pulls a light-grey shirt over his head, and then steps into a fresh pair of jeans. He feels me watching him, and glances my way again. “Dani … you can come. I’ll wait for you to get dressed, if …”

  “No,” I say, woodenly. “You go.”

  He sits next to me on the bed and reaches for his sneakers. I smell him. He is wearing that cologne that I like to think of as the un-cologne, because it is so light it’s almost non-existent. It makes me want to bury my face in his neck and sniff him, even now. Even with the stone of disappointment sitting at the bottom of my gut.

  This is not a big deal, Danielle, I tell myself. He’ll be right back.

  Standing, he kisses me on the forehead, like I’m his sister, or something. He seems distracted.

  “See you in a bit,” he says, as he walks out the door.

  I don’t bother to respond.

  ~12~

  The weather has begun to turn for real now. It’s not just cool anymore, and I have to shove my hands deep into my pockets to keep them warm. And it doesn’t help that I’ve been sitting on this wall for the past forty-five minutes, either. I keep telling myself tha
t I’m only going to give it another ten minutes before I leave.

  This is Day Three of my stakeout, and while I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m panicking, I am starting to think that I might have blown it completely with Dani.

  I mean, how the hell was I supposed to know that she would react the way she had to me stopping in on Alexa’s party? I was there for less than three hours, and when I got back she was asleep. Or … now, given what happened later, maybe she was pretending to sleep. But I changed got in bed, and fell asleep next to her, though I did want to tell her a little bit about some of the folks I’d met. The next day would be just as good, I figured. When I got back from my show.

  But when I got back, she was gone. Freya told me, with tight lips and angry eyes that Dani had left, taking the train back home.

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Why? We’re all leaving together tonight.’

  Freya just gave me one of her looks, but said nothing. I had to literally hound her until she told me.

  ‘Tell me you’re not that stupid,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  Then she launched into a tirade about how ungrategful I was that Dani had ‘put her life on hold’ to drive up here with me, get my stuff set up, help me with my kid. Only to have me skip out in the evening without her to go play with ‘that woman.’

  ‘Same shit you used to do to Faith,’ Freya added for good measure.

  That was what hurt the most.

  ‘I’m not that guy,’ I said. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Really?’ Freya said. ‘Well, right now? You look just like him.’

  I called Dani, of course. But she didn’t pick up until much later that evening, when the rest of us were about to get on the road. She sounded tired.

  ‘I’m just getting in, Rand,’ she said. ‘Can I call you back tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘But why’d you leave like that? What’s …’

  ‘Tomorrow, okay?’

  And then she hung up.

  She didn’t call me back, and when I called her, she was busy with a client. And on Tuesday, she was out with Trudie. I go to her place on Wednesday, and she doesn’t show. Same thing on Thursday, and now, Friday, I’ve come to the only place I know almost for certain she is likely to be—the track at our former high school.