“Well, Evie, this here”—I put on the same playful, sarcastic tone she’s wearing and gesture between us—“is called friendship. It’s a concept where two people—”
This time she really does shove me in the arm, and I break off with a chuckle. “I know what friendship is! I just want to know why you are suddenly feeling buddy-buddy with me when it’s been clear up until this point that you don’t want me around.”
It’s time for me to be direct too. I purposely meet her gaze. “I’ve wanted you around.”
That statement cracks through the air like a bullet from a gun.
She wants to smile; I know it because there’s tension at the corners of her mouth, but she doesn’t. “You have a funny way of showing that.”
I sigh and face forward. “You’re right. I’ve not been the friendliest. And the truth is, it’s because ever since my wife left, I feel a little hesitant around beautiful women.”
Oh, awesome, Jake! How about you just go ahead and tell her all your deepest pain, why don’t you?! Maybe she’d like to hear about how you were pantsed in the hallway in the ninth grade and it’s scarred you ever since???
“You think I’m beautiful?”
I laugh and meet her sparkling eyes, glad to know she’s not making a run for it. “Oh, come on. I know you own a mirror. You don’t have to play coy.”
“But if I play coy, I might get more compliments from you.”
My heart flips over. She wants more compliments from me? Wants me to flirt with her? I think she realizes how that sounded, because she starts squirming in her seat. She shifts forward and then bunches her long hair up on her head and wraps a hair tie around it until it’s an oversized bun that somehow makes her look even cuter. “Okay, then, friend. Tell me something about yourself I don’t know.” She’s deflecting, but I can still tell that her face is flushed.
“I started my architecture firm five years ago.”
She scrunches her nose, and shakes her head, and then turns to fully face me on the swing. As she pulls both of her legs up under her, one of her legs brushes against mine. Her back is leaning against the armrest, and I couldn’t get away from her gaze even if I wanted to.
“I don’t want to talk work. Tell me something interesting about you. Like…what color Skittle is your favorite?”
“I don’t like Skittles.”
Her mouth falls open. I am a serial killer in her eyes now. “You don’t like Skittles?!” She shakes her head. “What’s wrong with you?”
I laugh. “Many things.”
“Wait. Do you not like all candy? Are you one of those guys who only eats lean proteins and greens? I mean, it would make sense based on the way you look, but…”
My smile is wide and cocky. “The way I look?”
“Now who’s being coy?”
I laugh fully and realize I could sit here and talk to her all night. That thought scares me as much as it excites me. “I like brownies—extra fudgy and with chocolate chips, slightly under-baked.”
Her blonde brow raises. “Really? Okay, I can respect that. I love chocolate.”
Are we really having this conversation? It's so casual and sweet and unimportant and…exactly what I’ve been missing in my life lately.
“What’s your favorite color Skittle?” I ask.
She lays her head on the back of the swing and pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her fists. “Red. Do you have any siblings?”
“Four sisters.”
“Four! Goodness gracious! Are you close with them?”
“Very. I couldn’t have gotten through this year without them.” I can feel the conversation drifting toward the therapist’s couch again, so I steer it away. “How about you?” Somehow, I can picture her fitting in with four sisters.
She shakes her head. “It’s just me and my parents. And before you ask me that question, no, we do not get along.”
“Really? Why not?”
She chuckles a little, but it doesn’t sound like the happy kind. “They want me to be someone I’m not. They have very clear expectations for me and who I should be. From the day I flung my toddler beauty pageant crown in my mama’s face, I’ve been letting them down.”
“I’m sorry. That’s gotta be hard.” I can’t imagine anyone ever being disappointed with this woman. I mean, she trains service dogs for a living, for crying out loud.
She smiles softly, and her green eyes pin me in my seat. We are locked in a stare as the porch swing continues to sway us back and forth, and I never want this game to end. Except, it does when Evie’s eyes fall to my lips. Did she look there intentionally? My stomach swoops, and I’m wondering how friendly it would be to tug her over to me and find out if her lips taste like strawberries. I’ve been dwelling on that important question since I saw her apply a pink lip balm earlier.
“Can I ask you something that’s a little out of line for the business friendship we have?” she asks, her voice breathy and nervous.
“Sure. I’m all ears.”
She smiles tentatively, and I wonder if she’s going to ask me out. Is that something women do these days? It’s pathetic how old that thought makes me feel.
“Will you consider letting Sam go to the slumber party with her friends?”
And just like that, I’m a popped balloon—air rushing out of me as I fall and land deflated on the ground.
In the tiny span of time between her potential and actual question, my mind took a hundred different turns, none of which I can voice out loud because I’m too much of a gentleman—or at least I pretend I am.
“The slumber party?” Now I’m just stalling, feeling like I need a minute to reel my thoughts back in.
“Yeah. Sam told me about the slumber party at her friend Jenna’s house. She really wants to go, and I think that it would be good for her.” She bites the bottom corner of her lip, and I realize that she’s nervous. She’s afraid I’m going to resort back to my caveman ways and beat the ground, telling her to get out of my house.
I’ve got news for her: I’m not going to be that guy again. I’m done being the jerk around her, so I smile and purposefully relax more into the swing. “She gave you her doe eyes, didn’t she?”
Evie’s face lights up. “The biggest eyes I’ve ever seen! I think she even managed to let a single tear pool in them. How does she do that?”
I laugh. “She’s an impressive human being. But honestly, Evie…I don’t know about the party. I don’t think I’m ready for her to do something like that.”
“But Sam is.” Her words feel like a hammer to my chest. “She and Daisy are doing great together. Trust Daisy to do her job. She’s going to take care of Sam if she has a seizure, and she’ll alert Jenna’s parents, and they can call you.” I don’t respond right away, so Evie reaches out and lays her hand across my forearm that has been draped over the back of the swing. “You can’t keep her in your pocket forever, Jake. Just because your daughter has epilepsy, it doesn’t mean that she has to be treated like a toddler for the rest of her life. She’s going to need to grow up and learn to live with her disability. Trust me.”