Page 47 of From Nowhere

Ozzy: Lola has therapy after school. We usually go out to dinner on therapy nights. What if you happened to be at Build a Bowl around five-thirty?

Maren: Two chance encounters in a few days?

Ozzy: Too suspicious?

Maren: I’m good at faking it

Ozzy: Noted

Maren: Omg! No! Not that

“Maren? Maren Bernabe?” my nosy coworker asks, disrupting me.

I turn my phone face down on the table as Ira sits beside me with her white take-out bag that smells like fries.

She eyes me with a shit-eating grin while adjusting her black-and-gray-streaked ponytail. Ira’s the only female A&P mechanic at this base. She’s been here the longest; according to Taylor, she’s a genius. So everyone looks over her shoulder to see what she does that’s so extraordinary.

Can I complain that she looked over my shoulder just now?

“What’s for lunch?” I nod to her bag as she opens it.

“Oswald, are you ignoring my question? Were you texting Maren Bernabe? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Ira pulls out a chicken sandwich and fries before handing me the sack with stray fries at the bottom.

I don’t turn them down. “Hypothetically, if I was texting her, why don’t you think it’s a good idea?” I’m not conceding that she’s a genius. But she has more than ten years of life experience over me, so I’m open to her wisdom.

“Your daughter lost her mother in a car accident. And the effects were so catastrophic that you ride a bicycle everywhere. So you think it’s a smart idea to date a woman who flies a plane over wildfires?”

She’s one of only a few people here who know why I ride my bike to work. I’ve found that the women here are more curious and sense the trauma behind my behavior. In contrast, the guys, including my boss, assume I’m a pussy tree hugger obsessed with my carbon footprint.

“I think my wife had one of the least dangerous jobs in the world, yet she died,” I say.

Ira stops midchew and glances at me, eyebrows forming two perfect peaks. She has grease on her cheek. “Oh my god,” she mumbles with a mouthful, her words muffled. “You really like her.”

“It’s new. I’m not telling anyone. So, can you keep a secret?”

She swallows, shaking her head. “No. I’m the worst secret keeper. Ask anyone.” She sips her drink through the straw. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s not comforting, Ira. But I have faith in you.” I scoot my chair back and stand. “I know you can keep this between us. Taylor says you’re a genius.” I grab my water bottle and lunch bag. “But I know you’re more than that. You’re a trusted friend.” I squeeze her shoulder, and she leans into my touch.

“Aw, Oswald, you think of me as a friend?”

“If you keep my secret,” I say, heading toward the door, “you might be my best friend.”

Brynn used to say that people will exceed your expectations if you let them know what you expect. If you set failure as an expectation, they can fail miserably, or they can be smashing successes if you set the bar high.

I’m setting the bar high for Ira,my friend.

Chapter Thirteen

Ozzy: You’re a good kisser

I feel like a giddy kid as I text Maren from the waiting room while Lola has her therapy session.

Maren: I know

Ozzy: Apparently you’re confident too

Maren: What are you doing?

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