Superfan

by Bowen, Sarina

  And a tiny little boy in a miniature tuxedo toddles into view. He’s carrying a small sign that reads: Here Comes the Bride.

  “Awwwww,” says the crowd.

  Rebecca’s sister waves to him. He looks up, locking onto the sight of his mom, and then starts to toddle, hustling down the aisle until he is scooped up into her arms. She carries him to the front of the room, then hands him off to his grandma before taking her place at the front of the bridesmaids’ line.

  “Well, that’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Silas whispers.

  I give him a quick glance, taking in the curve of his freshly shaved cheek. The wedding must be making me a little crazy, because suddenly I have a crystalline image of Silas holding a baby boy in his arms, speaking to his child in a calm, even voice…

  Okay, danger. Weddings are clearly like strong drugs, sending my emotions into overdrive. I don’t even know these people, I remind myself.

  Then the crowd makes a happy noise, and I turn reflexively to see Rebecca in the doorway. And, wow. She’s resplendent in a white dress that reminds me of 1950s styles—with a wide V neckline falling in soft folds to a tea-length, asymmetrical hem. It’s fancy and simple at the same time.

  And even though it’s a lovely image, what I notice most about Rebecca is the look on her face. She’s absolutely beaming. Her clear, happy smile tells me everything I need to know about her, and about how much this all means to her.

  It’s not just pageantry that I’m witnessing. It’s more like hearing a great song for the first time. The melody is both new and familiar. And you’re tapping your foot along to the beat without even realizing you started.

  When I glance in the other direction—at the groom—his face is flushed. He smiles, too. But then his lip trembles, and he raises a hand to flick away a tear that’s threatening to fall.

  I bite my lip. Here we have this famous man—one of the wealthiest in the world—reduced to tears over the sight of Rebecca walking toward him in a white dress.

  Suddenly I have the sniffles. Dear lord. I don’t know if I can survive this.

  Rebecca makes her way toward her fiancé. She’s escorted down the aisle by Hugh somebody-or-other—the middle-aged manager of the team, and her coworker. Because the Bruisers give new meaning to the phrase “one big happy family,” apparently. After she takes her place across from her dazed groom, the officiant begins.

  “Greetings to friends, old and new! It’s an honor to stand here today to celebrate the marriage vows of Nathan and Rebecca. This is my favorite part of the job. Christening babies is nice, too, but sometimes they cry.”

  The crowd gives him a laugh.

  “Now, in olden days—or maybe this only happens on television—” The crowd chuckles again. “—the minister would begin by asking whether anyone has an objection to this union. But I won’t be asking that question today. The two people standing before me are ready to make this commitment before God and their families.”

  I swear the room lets out a happy sigh.

  “I only mention this old tradition because in their case, I’ve learned that Nathan and Rebecca were their own worst obstacles to finding their place together. Some of us have to search the Earth for our soul mates. Sometimes we find that person right in front of us. And a few of us are too busy writing code and taking over the world to see her clearly.”

  The crowd roars.

  “Or…” The pastor waits a moment for the audience to quiet again. “Or maybe this is you. Maybe you do see that special woman, or that special man. Perhaps you know with whom you’d like to share your life. But you’re wasting precious time wondering whether you deserve this person. Maybe you’ve put aside your own heart, thinking that if you could just get that next promotion, or quit smoking, or lose another ten pounds…” He pats his belly. “Maybe then you’ll deserve the love your heart is ready to give.”

  Why am I holding my breath? I let it out as quietly as I can.

  Beside me, Silas squeezes my hand. But I don’t turn my head. I can’t. Because I don’t trust my expression right now. I don’t know what to think about this time on the island or Silas’s excellent company.

  I don’t know if fate is trying to tell me something like: Hey girl. There’s more in store for you than that asshole you dated. Or if this trip is just a diversion so lovely that only a fool would try to make it last.

  The pastor has asked Georgia to read a bible passage, and her lilting voice is the backdrop to my wandering thoughts. Tomorrow I’ll be on a plane back to L.A., where my manager is busy lining up collaborators for me to write and record with. “Business as usual,” she’d told me. “We will not be cowed.”

  In a few weeks, Silas will be back to work, too. Ours is not like the story the pastor tells—where your true love is waiting right outside your office door. Even if my favorite bartender and I have that special something that makes sparks fly, we don’t have it on the same ends of the continent.

  “Let us pray,” says the pastor up front.

  Silas

  The night is almost over, and I can’t stand it.

  Under a tent on the lawn, we were fed another perfect meal—locally caught fish with a mango slaw. There was a seven-tiered wedding cake and passionfruit sorbet. There were champagne toasts and music and now dancing.

  But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough, because I’m supposed to put Delilah on a plane back to California tomorrow.

  “Hey,” she whispers as I turn her slowly on the dance floor. “What are you thinking about in that big brain of yours?”

  I hold back a sigh. “Nothing useful. Want to go look at the stars?”

  “You know I do.”

  That’s just it, though. I don’t know what she’s thinking at all. I know she had fun this weekend. A lot of it. But I don’t know what it all means.

  I lead her off the dance floor, trying to choose my direction. My coach is to my left, so I head right instead, weaving carefully between clusters of teammates and acquaintances, so nobody will talk to us. I’m in no mood.

  “Beach?” I ask, because that’s the way we’re headed.

  “Always.” She pauses to remove her shoes. So I do the same.

  Then we’re tiptoeing through the cool sand, the half-moon our only guide. It’s a clear night, so it’s enough. Another couple ahead of us has had the same idea. Nobody is ready for this trip to end. Me, least of all.

  “When am I going to see you again?” I ask, because beating around the bush isn’t my style.

  “Good question.” Delilah hesitates. “It’s been nice to be out of touch with reality for so long. But I expect Charla Harris will have put a bunch of meetings with songwriters on my calendar. She said she would.”

  “Okay.” I stop and push a strand of hair off her face. “Talk to me about the music festival. August is almost here already.” Shit. Training camp starts in…four weeks? Could that even be right?

  “I’m playing the first Friday night. Main stage.”

  “Well, duh.” She gives me a smile. “I meant—do you want me to come?”

  “Of course,” she says quickly. But then she looks away, and the breeze pushes her hair everywhere again. “Anytime, Ralph.”

  “I’m back to Ralph now?” She hasn’t called me that in days.

  “No, not really.” She sighs. “This is just going to get trickier. We both know that we can’t be like all those other couples.” She points back toward the tent. “We live on different coasts. We travel a lot. I honestly just want to stay on this island for the rest of my life. But that isn’t an option, so…” She shrugs.

  She’s right, of course.

  I take her hand again and walk farther down the beach. We only have a few hours left. We should be getting drunk and making out like happy fools. But I’m all torn up inside. “Look, I don’t mean to go heavy on you. But this isn’t over for me. I won’t just walk away after this. Unless you need me to.”

  She shakes her head. “I would never ask
you to lose my number. But I warned you that I had things that needed sorting out. This is the first week in forever that I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about how to get my second album back. But the minute I step off this island, that problem comes right back.”

  “I know.” The wind rises up again, and I can see Delilah rubbing her arms. “Are you cold?” I wrap an arm around her. “You know I want you to get what you need. I’m not asking you to prioritize me. But I want you to leave the door open.”

  “Okay.” She leans against me. “Take me surfing, Ralph. In California. Maybe everything will work out.”

  “All right,” I agree. It’s the least I can do.

  * * *

  In the morning, Delilah has to take the earliest launch back to the mainland, but I have to wait for my teammates. So our goodbye happens on the dock in the morning.

  I put a brave face on it, but I’m not a happy guy.

  As the boat comes into view, Delilah turns to me. “Thank you. Seriously. I had a great time. I can’t remember ever having as nice a time as I did this weekend.”

  I’m certain she means it. I can hear it in her voice. I’m about to give her a kiss that will last her all the way to L.A., when a girl makes a high squeal.

  “You guys are so cute it’s insane!”

  “Elsa,” growls Beacon, the other goalie on our team. “Leave them alone. Put away your phone.”

  Holding back a curse, I turn to greet the Beacons. Elsa is fourteen. Her baby brother—in a baby carrier perched on my teammate’s chest—is not quite six months old. “Hey, guys,” I say.

  Beacon smirks. “Sorry.”

  “The photo ban is over,” Elsa says with a big, cheeky smile. She’s a handful, and some days I don’t know how Beacon hangs onto his sanity. “Could I please have a picture with Delilah?”

  “Sure, sweetie,” Delilah says.

  We step apart. The launch is coming. The weekend is over. And I’m just not ready.

  Elsa shoves her phone into my hand. “Silas—you take it.” The teen steps between me and my girl.

  “Please,” Beacon growls.

  “Please!” Elsa adds with zero remorse. She poses beside Delilah, who’s smiling patiently. I hold up the phone and snap the photo.

  The boat docks a minute later. All I can do is pull Delilah aside for one last kiss. I take her beautiful face in my two hands and touch my lips to hers. “Take care of yourself. I need to hear from you that you got home okay.”

  “Okay.” She gives me a shy smile. “Thanks for everything. This was amazing.”

  It’s true. And I’m still so sad. “Call me anytime at all.”

  “I will.” She stands up on her toes and kisses me one more time.

  After that, she’s gone.

  Silas

  “No.” Heidi shakes her blond curls. “It looked better under the windows. Let’s move it back.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I grumble. “Give me a second, here.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your texting session,” Heidi says. “That phone is like permanently attached to your hand now.”

  Ignoring her, I sit down in the middle of the mostly empty apartment where my teammate Dave lived until just last week. And I continue my conversation with Delilah.

  Silas: Do you get to see your manager today?

  Delilah: Yup. But she’s making me drive to Malibu to meet with her. I can’t tell if her schedule is really that booked up, or if she’s punishing me for missing my appointment Tuesday.

  Silas: The word Malibu makes me think of rum drinks behind the high school gym. **Shudder**

  Delilah: Let me guess. You drank Malibu and Coke and then ralphed.

  Silas: Well I wasn’t always this cool.

  Delilah: <3

  Silas: Are you getting a nice lunch out of your manager at least?

  Delilah: I wish. She’s so booked up she could only fit me in if I met her at the spa.

  Silas: Get a massage. I need a massage.

  Delilah: I thought you told me there was an on staff massage therapist?

  Silas: Not in the summer, sadly. If I wanted an appointment with her I’d have to leave the building. And I’d have to actually pay for it, too.

  Delilah: Oh the horrors.

  Silas: I know right? So enjoy yourself.

  Delilah: Don’t bet on it. She said I was meeting her between treatments.

  Silas: I heard that LA has some weird spa treatments. Isn’t that where they invented colonic cleansing?

  Delilah: Well now I’m terrified. Thanks for that.

  I laugh.

  “Listen, lover boy,” Heidi says, clapping her hands. “If we don’t get this done, then I can’t order you a pizza from Grimaldi’s.”

  My stomach rumbles, because she’s right. And I’m hungry. “Okay, when can we eat?”

  “We should be done here in about three hours.”

  “What?” I let out a howl of anguish. We’ve been moving furniture around my retired teammate’s empty condo all morning. I don’t know how I got suckered into this.

  “Kidding!” Heidi giggles. “Jeez. Just move the couch one more time. Then I’ll fluff the pillows and we can go.”

  Still grumpy, I sign off with Delilah. Then I pick up my end of the sofa and relocate it to the spot where Heidi indicates. “Happy? How much are you making on this gig, anyway?”

  “My standard rate per hour.”

  “And why are you furnishing an apartment for a guy who’s already moved out?” Dave lived here in this amazing two bedroom with a den and a view of the Manhattan Bridge. But now he’s moved to Vermont with Zara and their toddler.

  “The place was under contract to be sold. But Dave lost his buyer at the last minute.” She fluffs the pillows, as promised. “The realtor said it’s harder to sell an empty house. So I rented this furniture for three hundred bucks a month.”

  “And you rented me for the price of a pizza.”

  “I’ll throw in a six-pack of beer because I love you.”

  “I’m a cheap date.”

  “The cheapest,” she agrees. “But you’re also a good friend, so that’s understandable.”

  “Thanks?”

  “What I don’t understand is why you aren’t buying this place.”

  “Wait, what?” I turn to Heidi, who’s studying me. “Now you’re trying to evict me?” I mean, living with a couple is a little weird. But Castro and I just had a conversation about how much money we’re all saving.

  “No, buddy. I’m trying to get you to think big.”

  “If you want me to think big, then let’s order the large pizza.”

  Heidi gives me half a head shake, like I’m the dumbest man in the world. “If you want to convince Delilah Spark to move to New York, you’re going to have to figure out where she can do her thing. And you know there are recording studios in the Navy Yard complex, right?”

  “There are?” I look out the window, befuddled. “Wait. How do you know that? And why do you think Delilah would move to New York?”

  Heidi blinks. “Well you can’t move to L.A., dummy. So she’s going to have to move here. It’s not that complicated.”

  “You say that like it’s so obvious. We barely—”

  “—know each other. So you’ve said. But I think your relationship is happening in dog years. The time you’ve spent on texts alone this week is more togetherness than some married people have in a year.”

  It’s true that Delilah and I are talking. A lot. And I can’t wait to go to California to see her concert. Unfortunately, I’ll have to leave the day after the concert. Even so, I’m missing the first two practices of the season. Nobody does that. Ever.

  And Delilah seems to have even more on her plate than I do.

  There are a few things that Heidi’s chirpy, upbeat attitude just can’t fix. I’m afraid this is one of them.

  “You could give Delilah one of the bedrooms as a studio,” Heidi says. “The master bedroom would be that one—” She points. �
��That leaves you a nice living room, and the den could have a foldout couch for when your mother visits.”

  “That is a lot of life planning,” I say tightly. “Didn’t you say it was time for lunch?” But now I’m glancing around the space again. It’s gorgeous. Beringer’s pad was the sweetest one. “How much is Dave trying to get, anyway?”

  “The buyers he lost were paying two point nine.”

  “Million?” I gasp.

  “It’s the biggest unit in the building.”

  “Why didn’t the sale go through?” I hate that she’s making me think about this. But I want this little picture she’s painting. I want to walk through that door after practice and see Delilah on the sofa with her guitar.

  I want that so bad.

  “The buyer was getting transferred here from San Francisco,” Heidi says, backing up to take a photo of the couch and its well-fluffed pillows. “Then his company went belly-up and he no longer has a job. Dave let him out of the contract.” She spins around. “I think he’d take less now. He just wants to sell and be in Vermont with his cute family and have another baby.”

  “Are you getting a commission or something?”

  “No.” She walks over and pats my arm. “You should take a few photos, too, in case you want to discuss it with your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl,” I say reflexively.

  “But she could be. I’m going to go order that pizza. Meatball and roma tomatoes. With olives?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say, trying not to buy into Heidi’s fantasy.

  It’s already too late. I’m busy wondering if I could afford this apartment. It’s not an easy question. I make nine hundred thousand a year, and when my contract is renegotiated this year, I’ll make more.

  But I’m so superstitious. If I make an offer on this apartment, Delilah will probably freak out that I’m moving too fast. Which I probably am.

  Or I’ll get traded to another team nowhere near Brooklyn, and I’ll still be on the hook for nearly three million bucks. This shit happens. Since luck isn’t always on my side, it would probably happen to me.