The Love Square

by Jessica Calla

  Clare gave Dylan the rundown on all of the pictures. Her farm, the lake by her home, the meadow, her horse Mallory, a carnival, kids playing, a baseball game. They were all done in color, with perfect lighting and clarity. Dylan knew nothing about photography, but he knew they were good.

  “You took these when you were away last weekend? You must have been working on developing them all week.”

  “Pretty much,” she said, standing and stretching.

  “There’s none of Lucas?” Dylan asked.

  Clare shifted and twisted her hands more. “I didn’t get one of him. I thought about hanging them.”

  “I’ll help you—”

  “—but then…as it turns out…you know Crazy Yoga Man?” She didn’t wait for a response and started the hand-twisting again. “His name is David. He works at an art gallery near the store. You know the one by the Thai restaurant?”

  Dylan nodded, and Clare continued nervously. “Well, I showed him some of them…and…he offered to set me up with his boss, and now they want to show them at the gallery. Next weekend.”

  Dylan’s jaw dropped. “Clare! You’re kidding! That’s so great. Next weekend? Are you excited?”

  Clare bit her lip and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. They needed something to show…I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Dylan didn’t understand her hesitation.

  “Well, he said they were booked all year except next weekend, so I rushed around like an idiot developing and framing and all that, and now I am not sure I’m going to do it.”

  Clare walked into her kitchen. Dylan followed. “But why not?”

  “Because they stink. They’re just pictures. I’m not a photographer, Dylan, I’m in retail. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never had any formal training. The most I’ve done is read books—”

  “Clare, stop.” When she stopped and leaned against her counter, Dylan bent to her eye level. “Don’t doubt yourself. These are great. They’ll make an awesome show. You have a natural eye for seeing things, and school or formal training isn’t going to help that. Sure, you’d have more knowledge about technical stuff, I’d guess, but as far as raw talent, you got it, Nebraska.”

  Clare blushed.

  “Time to take the bull by the horns, right? You got the chance. Take it.”

  “But I’m nervous,” she admitted as she hoisted herself onto the counter in front of him.

  He put a hand on either side of her. “Nerves are good. Listen, I know I don’t have the raw talent at acting that you do at photography, but the first time I got a job, I felt like, ‘Why me? I suck. This is crazy,’ and I almost backed out, but I didn’t. I told myself this was a new experience I should try, and I am worthy and able and all that. Next thing you know, I’m on Sunrise, Sunset.”

  “Yeah, but you’re…you know…you. You have a quiet confidence in yourself. I don’t have that.”

  “Well, I’m confident in you,” he said. “You already did the hard work. Now you just have to stand around the gallery for a weekend and look pretty, which is easy for you—” he saw her blush again, “—and show off. I’ll be there too.”

  “You can’t. Jenna…”

  “She’ll be thrilled to go to the gallery and see your work,” he said. “I told her all about you and your photography. She can’t wait to meet you.”

  “You haven’t told me much about her,” she said.

  “I never felt like it was the right time. We kept missing each other. I thought you were avoiding me.” He lied, but only partly. They hadn’t seen each other that much was true, but also the thought of talking to her about Jenna seemed improper. Like mixing two worlds.

  “I’ve been busy with all this, and I wanted to surprise you. I guess I was nervous about telling you.”

  “You never have to be nervous about telling me anything,” he said, leaning toward her. He resisted the urge to rub his nose against hers.

  Clare’s blush returned and she smiled. “I feel a lot better about next Saturday. You’re right. I can do this. Gosh, I’ll need something to wear. Maybe I’ll ask your Gretchen to help me.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to. I’ll call her for you.” He backed away and shot Gretchen a text, while Clare hopped off the counter and picked up her keys.

  They walked to the monster truck. “So,” he said as they climbed in. “Church. Horses. Yoga. What about a car dealership?”

  She gasped. “Lusty! What are you saying? This truck brought us together. We have a history with this truck.” Her big green eyes gleamed like the sun.

  “This truck may be perfect for Nebraska, Nebraska, but it’s the most ridiculous-looking thing in LA. You are too darned cute to be driving around in this big man-truck.”

  They argued about the truck the whole way to the church. Clare claimed she had no money and she loved the truck because it reminded her of home. Dylan offered to buy her a car as long as he didn’t have to climb up into the truck anymore. She refused to take his money, but she finally agreed to check out a used car lot and shop around when she got her Christmas bonus.

  They parked in front of the first church and climbed the steps together. Dylan opened the door for Clare, and they walked into the small, dark chapel. The smell of incense wafted through the empty sanctuary, and the floor creaked as they walked. Both he and Clare examined the huge stained-glass windows on either side.

  “Gosh, those are beautiful,” Clare said as the colors of the windows reflected on her skin. They sat in a pew, and Clare pulled down the kneeler and did the sign of the cross.

  “What are you doing?” Dylan whispered. “You said no churchy stuff.”

  “I’m just saying a prayer. Relax,” she whispered back.

  “A prayer for what?”

  “Just thanking God for stuff.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a beautiful world, Dylan. Now hush.”

  Being in church reminded Dylan of his mother. She’d force him and his sisters to go, and he would annoy her so much that she would drag him to the pastor afterward and ask for a special blessing to make him behave. His ploy worked and eventually she stopped taking him. He stayed home with his father cooking a big breakfast and having “guy time.” When his mom and sisters returned, they’d sit around their table and eat, Norman Rockwell-style.

  He looked to Clare, who studied the altar. “Are you praying?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m asking God to make you stop fidgeting.”

  “For real? It’s not working. Churches make me nervous.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You aren’t very nice. Why isn’t anyone in here? Shouldn’t there be a guard or something?”

  “Geez, Dylan. It’s not the Vatican. And be quiet.”

  “You said, ‘geez’ in church. I think that’s a sin. What are you asking for now?”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  She directed him to kneel. He did, and their hips touched. Even though the church was empty, he didn’t move.

  “Dear God,” she started.

  “You have to say ‘Dear God’?” He smiled at her cuteness, holding back a laugh.

  She chuckled too. “I don’t know. I always say it to get his attention. Problem?”

  “It just sounds goofy, that’s all.”

  She grinned again and sighed. “Lusty, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to strangle you.”

  “Clare Davis. You cannot call me ‘Lusty’ in church and threaten to kill me. It breaks at least two commandments, doesn’t it?” He loved annoying her.

  “No. Now be quiet. It’s like being in church with a toddler. Stay still and stop bumping me. My Lord.” Clare hip-checked Dylan, and he straightened up.

  Clare continued. “Dear God. Thank you for this day and all the wonderful things in my life. Thank you for the beauty of nature, the beach, and the mountains. Thank you for making this perfect specimen next to me. Even though he
’s annoying, he’s real nice to look at, so gracias on that.”

  Dylan smirked.

  “Seriously, though,” Clare continued. “Thank you, God, for bringing Dylan into my life. He’s been a great friend, and he’s affected me in more ways than he will ever realize. I love him. So thanks.” She ended with an “amen” and another sign of the cross.

  When Clare caught him watching her, she looked back at the altar. “I think I like this place,” she said. “This is it. My new church.” She smiled at Dylan. “Wanna go find something to do in this boring town of yours?”

  Dylan drove the truck to the planetarium at the Griffith Observatory. “It fits with the church theme, no? Stare at the heavens for a while?” he asked Clare. She smiled and they reclined on the chairs and listened to the presentation about the stars.

  When Clare needed to get to work, Dylan dropped her at the bookstore but didn’t hang around. The day had been perfect, and he didn’t want to do anything to spoil it. Instead, he asked his trainer to meet him, and he spent the rest of the afternoon working out.

  That night, he called Jenna, and they talked about how much they missed each other. “One week,” she reminded him.

  “One week,” Dylan said.

  Chapter 18

  Alex

  Thursday night, Alex got the news. Not “the call” yet, but the news. While he hung around the locker room with his teammates, one of the coaches ran in looking for him.

  “Popovich? Popovich?” Coach Bob yelled.

  “Over here,” Alex said. The game had ended, and Alex was undressing to hop in the shower.

  The coach hurried over. “You hear about Santiago?”

  Juan Santiago played second base in the majors, Alex’s position, for the affiliate team for Alex’s minor league team. Son of a bitch was the healthiest player in the major leagues and actually held the record for most consecutive games played. Alex hated him, because unless he changed positions or got traded, being under Santiago meant Alex would never get up to the majors.

  “He’s out for the weekend. His mama’s dying in Chile, and he’s breaking the streak to go down there. And Pressler’s on the DL. Strained calf.” Pressler was the team’s “utility man,” who usually filled in for the infielders when things like this happened.

  “Oh yeah? They calling up Rosto?” Alex asked. Rosterman played Triple-A. Alex was Double-A.

  “Nope. Rosto pissed someone off. Word is you’re getting the call,” Coach Bob said, smiling.

  Alex sat and stared. “What? Me?”

  “Looks like you’ll be playing at the stadium this weekend.” He patted Alex on the shoulder and grinned. “Congratulations,” he said as he walked out of the locker room.

  Holy shit. Silently, he stood and walked to the showers. He didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

  ***

  Jenna

  Jenna couldn’t imagine a slower-moving existence. She ran around like a nut all week, but still, the days dragged. She talked to Dylan every night and couldn’t wait to get her hands on him again.

  She woke on Friday and bolted upright. Finally! Friday!

  She got ready for work and repacked her bag for the umpteenth time. Penny had offered to pick her up from the office at five and drive her to LaGuardia. She stuffed a magazine and her iPod into her carry-on, made sure her ticket had uploaded to her phone, and dragged everything to work.

  Because she had lied about where she was going that weekend—she’d claimed she had a sick aunt in Ohio—she tried to contain her excitement while she mulled through phone calls and files. She spent most of the morning fantasizing about her upcoming nights with Dylan.

  Around noon, Jenna went to the office break room to grab her lunch. Two mailroom clerks sat at the table, chatting about the office. Sports news blared from the television in the background, and as Jenna hit Brew on the coffeemaker, she listened to the television instead of the gossiping clerks.

  “Our prayers are with Juan Santiago today as he flies to Chile to visit his sick mother,” the newscaster said.

  Jenna grabbed her salad, wondering where she knew that name. She opened her salad and poured on the dressing, waiting for her coffee.

  The newscaster continued, “And getting the call for the weekend will be twenty-seven-year-old Alex Popovich of the Double-A affiliate Brooklyn Beasts.”

  “Wait, what?” she said.

  The mailroom clerks looked at her.

  “Did you hear that?” Jenna asked, pointing at the television.

  “No. Something about the Brooklyn Beasts,” Mailroom Clerk Number One said. “Hey, watch your dressing.”

  Jenna had poured the whole bottle of dressing on her salad. “Crap,” she said as she threw the salad in the garbage. “The name. Did you hear the name they said?”

  “Juan Santiago,” Mailroom Clerk Number Two replied.

  “No. The person replacing him?” The coffee machine beeped that her cup was ready.

  “Alex something.”

  “Oh my God!” Jenna said over and over as she walked in circles in the kitchen. “Oh my God!”

  Ignoring her coworkers’ confused looks, Jenna dumped her coffee into the sink and ran back to her office. She grabbed her cell and called Alex but got no answer. She texted him and waited. No response. Desperate, she called Pete.

  “Pete. It’s Jenna. What’s going on? I was watching the sports report, and I thought I heard Alex’s name.”

  “He didn’t tell you? He got the call. Last night,” Pete said. “I can’t go. I’m on my way to Philly for our series there.”

  “He didn’t tell me, that son of a bitch. I’m going to kill him! Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, but he’ll probably be leaving for the stadium soon. I’ll call and get you a ticket.”

  Jenna thanked him and called Alex again. No answer. Maybe he’s in the shower? She grabbed her phone and her bag and ran out of her office, stopping at her coworker’s desk to scribble a note.

  Had to leave early. Will call.

  She darted out the building to the train and caught the express just as it was about to leave. She tapped her foot all the way to Brooklyn, leaving nasty voice mails and texts for Alex the whole way.

  Even though she wanted to kill him at that moment, just days ago Jenna had almost kissed him. She had been so tempted, but kissing Alex would have opened a can of worms. Two cans, actually—a can of worms with Alex and a can of worms with Dylan. She didn’t want to sabotage this thing with Dylan when they were just starting out.

  Shit! Dylan! Her flight was scheduled to leave just about the same time Alex’s game would start. For a split second, she thought about getting on the plane. Alex didn’t care to tell her he was playing in the majors, so why should she care? She knew she couldn’t, though. She picked up her phone as the train made its way to Brooklyn.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Dylan said, and she melted. “You on the way to the airport?”

  She bit her lower lip. “You aren’t going to believe this.” She told him about Alex getting called up for the weekend.

  “You’re kidding! He didn’t tell me.”

  “You understand I have to go, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course. Of all the weekends…”

  Jenna thought she’d cry from the deafening silence.

  “Hey,” Dylan finally said. “I will come there.”

  “Really?” she asked. “That would be so nice.”

  “I need to see you, and Pops playing in the majors? This is amazing. Let me go pack and find a flight. I wonder if Steve knows. I better call him.”

  “Yay!” Jenna said, tingling in anticipation. My prince! “Go find your flight. I have to clean my apartment.”

  “Wait. Oh no,” Dylan said.

  Jenna’s heart sank at the tone of his voice. “No ‘oh no’! What?”

  “I can’t leave until Sunday. Clare has her gallery show Saturday night. I promised we would go. I have to go.”

  “Fuck,” Jenna murmu
red. She wished he’d ditch Clare. She could never say that, though, especially when she had just ditched him for Alex. But still…Alex was playing in the major leagues for one weekend only. Dylan was his best friend. Couldn’t Clare survive hanging around an art gallery for a weekend without Dylan?

  “No, it’s okay. I can fly out Sunday and stay until…” She heard him flip through papers. “Tuesday. I have to be back Tuesday night. How does that sound?”

  Like not enough time with you. But she said, “Perfect. You’ll make the Sunday night game, then we’ll have the rest of the time to ourselves.”

  “I can’t wait,” Dylan said.

  Jenna smiled into the phone. “I can’t wait, either. God, two more days. I can’t stand it. I barely got through these two weeks.”

  “I know the feeling. Pops going major league, though…that’s big,” Dylan said.

  “I hate him for not telling me. I’m trying to track him down.”

  “I’ll try too,” Dylan said. “And Jenna?”

  “Yep.”

  “I won’t stop thinking about you until I see you on Sunday.”

  Jenna pouted into the phone. “Me too.”

  The train finally made it to her stop, and she jumped off, pushing people out of her way. She ran to her apartment building and caught Alex as he exited. He wore a suit and carried a giant duffel bag and looked neat, clean-shaven, and incredibly handsome.

  “You son of a bitch,” she said, poking him in the chest and trying not to get distracted by the smell of his aftershave.

  “Jen! What are you doing here?” he asked, obviously surprised to see her.

  “This whole season, I sat with you and watched the games, and we talked about whether you would ever get the chance—”

  “I’m—”

  “—talks about your future, your career.” Jenna threw her bags onto the ground and shoved him with both hands. “You get the call and don’t bother to tell me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you ‘I’m sorry’ me. I hear the news on the television and have to get a ticket from Pete?”

  “I…I didn’t know what to do. You’re going away for the weekend. I didn’t want to bother you.”