Page 124 of Riding the Pine

“Feel better?” he asks, leaning over the bar to look down at me.

“I’m starving.” I don’t want to tell him he’s right, that I do feel better, even if I feel weak.

“Everyone has?—”

I bolt upright on the bench and spin to face him, putting my hand over his mouth. “If you tell me everyone has to start somewhere, I’ll definitely be inserting this bar where the sun doesn’t shine.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Promise?”

With an eye roll, I hit the showers, relaxed, satisfied at having done some semblance of a workout, and fucking famished.

What’s that I feel? Perhaps the start of my old self coming back, but I’m not ready to declare her back off the bench and in the game, you know?

If I did, I’d have to address the business plan I’ve been working over in my brain for the last few weeks. I haven’t decided on a name, yet, but I’ve got the bare bones in my head, and I think I’m ready to move it to the next level.

But I’m scared. It’s not even a for-profit business, but the idea of putting something of my own out in the world… it’s… wild. It’s scary, and exciting, and kind of overwhelming.

By the time we enter Parlor City, Ophelia’s already at a table. She waves over to us, a warm smile on her face. Scott was right, she’s stunning. She stands up, opens her arms like she’s ready to hug me, but changes course and hugs Scott instead.

“Hey, good to see you again.” She smiles at me. “Hi, I’m Ophelia. My friends call me Ophelia, or Ophie, or Effie, or FiFi or…” She shrugs, her cheeks blossoming with an adorable blush. “You get the picture.”

She holds her hand out for a shake, but I open my arms. “We can hug if you’re a hugger.”

Her face lights up, and I swear the sunlight in the building grows a little brighter as she launches herself at me for a hug. It doesn’t feel like a pity hug; it’s like she’s sharing whatever strength she has with me through her arms.

It’s an embrace I want to hold onto until someone tells us it’s time to stop.

Scott raises his eyebrows behind Ophelia. He knows I’m not generally a hugger. I roll my eyes at him. So what if I like this chick’s hug?

We peel ourselves apart, and Ophelia ushers us to sit. “I already ordered some corn nuggets, fried green beans, and pickle chips. I fucking love pickles.”

Scott scrunches up his nose. “Aw shit.” He shakes his head. “So does she.” He thumbs my direction. “They’re just so… slimy.”

“They’re fried.” She’s fighting a losing battle trying to convince Scott to eat pickles.

“More for us,” I tell her.

Scott flags the server down and asks for bacon cheese fries and onion rings, I guess we’re doing apps and sides for lunch today. I’m not mad about it.

For the next ninety minutes, we chat like old friends over baskets of steaming hot, fried food. Well, Scott and Ophelia chat like old friends, I don’t take to strangers as easily as he does, but she seems like good people.

Scott suggested we hang out with her together, he said that even if we didn’t take her into our bedroom, there was every chance I’d enjoy just being in her company. As usual, he wasn’t wrong.

There was also a pointed comment from my shrink in our last therapy session about how I’ve spent my life building up walls, isolating myself and missing out on potential, loving relationships. So I’m doing my best to be open to new people in my life.

“Have you been to the Pickle Palace?” Ophelia waves a fried pickle in my direction. “They do the best fried pickles, and that rooftop view?” She whistles, then pops the pickle in her mouth. “Such good vibes.”

We don’t have plans for the rest of the day, and it seems Ophelia doesn’t either, so we kick back over dessert and spend the afternoon just… hanging out.

Other than Savannah, my brothers, and Mamá and Abuelita, I don’t remember the last time I simply sat and spent time getting to know someone.

“I think you should do it.” Ophelia slurps on her milkshake.

“Do what?” I get pulled back from my thoughts to the conversation.

“Your non-profit idea. Period poverty’s a real problem in our country, and beyond. I think you should totally start an organization to help people who need it.” She smiles at me. “You’d be great at it. I could totally help. I work in marketing and social media management. Well, that’s my side hustle at least.”

She doesn’t say what her not-side-hustle is, and it’s day one of our new friendship, so I’m not going to pry but I’m also not sure what to say right now, either.

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