“That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well, life isn’t.” I drain the last of my wine.
“Are you tired?”
I frown at the odd question. “Not really. It’s only eight.”
“Good. I’m coming over.”
I groan at that. Not because I don’t want to see Greg, but more that I don’t want to see anyone.
“It’s fine. I’m just going to watch TV and drink my sorrows away.”
“I’m already getting dressed.”
“Greg.”
“I haven’t seen you all week.”
I frown at that. He’s been busy with work, a full schedule of surgeries before the holiday, and I’ve been wrapped up in studying and finishing papers.
Not to mention, the last time we were together, he all but kissed me.
Maybe deep down, we both knew we needed to put space between us.
“Hey, we agreed to go along with spontaneous, didn’t we?” Greg asks, shaking me from my thoughts.
I sigh. “So, we’re checking something off the list tonight?”
“Something not on the list, but yes. You’ll need to sober up a bit. And I need an hour. So, drink water and get ready.”
“For what, exactly?”
I hear him shut and lock his door behind him. “You’ll see.”
GREG
“Bikes?!”
I just grin at Amanda as she stares open-mouthed at the presentation on her front porch — me next to my bike, and a brand new one I picked up for her on the way over propped up next to it. I even added a bell and a little red bow for the ultimate effect.
“We probably need to adjust your seat a little, but I put air in the tires and lights on the wheels. I also got us reflective vests to wear.”
“And a helmet, I hope, because I haven’t been on a bike since I was twelve.”
I reach into the basket on the front of her bike and hold up a helmet. “One step ahead of you.”
Amanda laughs, but her brows fold together, and she steps out of her house with her eyes sweeping the length of the bike. She cautiously runs a hand over the handlebars and then the seat.
“I’m going to be terrible. I don’t even know if I remember how to ride one.”
“There’s a reason that’s a saying, you know. Like riding a bike. It’ll come back to you quicker than you think.”
“It’s dark.”
“And we have lights.”
Amanda squints up at the cloudy night sky. “It looks like it might rain.”
“Then we better get going.”
She sighs. “I’m not winning this argument, am I?”
Another grin is her only answer.
With a huff, she waves me off and heads back inside. “Fine, fine. Let me change.”
Though she pretends like she’s annoyed, I don’t miss her bright smile when she returns in athletic leggings and a tank top, her hair braided over one shoulder. I take note of how she giggles a little bit when she first climbs on, of the laugh that erupts out of her when she tries to take off and ends up almost crashing. A few wobbly attempts later, and we’re slowly cruising down her street, the surprisingly warm evening air washing over us.
Before we go too far, I have her practice slamming on her brakes, turning both directions, and instruct her what to do if a car is coming up behind us. Once she feels comfortable and we have our reflective vests on, we take off riding and just let the night take us where it wants to.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, Tampa putting on a good lightning show as it so frequently does. But the storm is hovering over downtown, it seems, and we’re out of the danger zone — at least for now.
The longer we ride, the more Amanda smiles and laughs and lets out little squeals of delight. We ride around her neighborhood, venture to a lighted bike path not too far from her place, and eventually just cruise side by side, continuing in one direction until one of us decides it feels like a good time to turn.
“This is amazing,” she says as we take a left onto a street with a retention pond. There’s a lighted fountain spraying water into the night sky.
“You feel any better than before?”
She begrudgingly smiles. “Yes. I do.”
“Go ahead. Say it.”
She sighs again. “You were right.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, cupping my ear. “I couldn’t hear you.”
Amanda tries to flip me off and nearly loses her balance, hands flying back to hold the handlebars steady as she laughs.
“I used to ride all the time when I was younger,” she says after a moment, her eyes gazing out over the cloudy sky. “I remember getting in trouble more times than not for staying out riding until well past the streetlights came on. We had this huge hill by our house, and I would spend all evening flying down it, walking my bike back up, and doing it again.”
She frowns then, swallowing, a severe sadness washing over her features.
“It feels like another lifetime, that childlike wonder I had when I’d ride my bike,” she says softly. “I had to grow up so fast once…”
Her voice fades, but she doesn’t have to finish the sentence for me to understand.
She was pregnant at fifteen.
She was still a kid herself, but she had to make adult decisions.
I tilt my chin toward a bench facing the pond. “Want to take a break?”
Amanda nods, and we pull over, propping our bikes up before she takes her helmet off and fusses with her braid a bit. She hangs the helmet on her handlebars and stretches, hands reaching up for the sky.
“Ugh, I forgot how much these things hurt your butt,” she says, rubbing her cheeks to emphasize.
I try not to stare at how round and tempting those cheeks are.
“Try having a pair of balls between your legs,” I complain.
She snickers.
We stand for a while, stretching and letting our bodies adjust to being off the bike. Then, Amanda takes a seat on the bench, and I sit next to her, letting the comfortable silence surround us.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
She swallows, her eyes a bit glossy when she turns to face me. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Amanda smiles, and then with a sigh, she leans her head on my shoulder and threads her arms around mine.
I close my eyes, savoring the touch, wishing I could comfort her in the way I really want to.
“It’s scary,” she admits softly. “Starting over. Trying to figure it all out. Living on my own, school, a career, dating…”
I swallow at that. “You’ll figure it out.”
“How are you so sure?” she asks, lifting her head to peek up at me.
I frown, trying to think of how to explain it. “Because that’s what we do. We’re humans. We think we know what we want, go for it, realize that wasn’t right, try again. We get hurt, betrayed, let down — by others and by ourselves. And through it all, we… learn. We adapt.” I look at her then. “We go on, and usually, we find an even better chapter waiting for us.”
She smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
Her head rests on my shoulder again, her arms around mine, and for a while we just stare at the fountain, feeling the breeze growing cooler and cooler.