Page 111 of I Could Be Yours

I frown.

He shakes his head. “You should have seen your face at the prospect of seeing Essie’s grandma. If you miss her that much, why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

I cross my arms and keep my mouth shut. I don’t know what to think or feel. My chest aches these days in a way that’s become familiar and really unpleasant.

Flip parks in the visitors’ area and pops the trunk. Inside are two baskets of roses.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

My eyebrows try to meet each other.

He shakes his head. “For a smart guy, you can be exceptionally clueless. They’re for all the single old ladies. And the nursing staff. And some of the old men, too. Anyone who looks like they might need a rose gets a rose.” He thrusts a basket at me.

I follow him up the walkway and into the home. It smells like old people, mints, cleaning supplies, and meatloaf.

“Flip!” someone exclaims.

“He’s here!”

“Oh! He brought a friend!”

We’re immediately bombarded by a gaggle of elderly ladies, all of whom are dressed like they’re ready for Sunday night Mass. Flip accepts hugs and doesn’t even flinch when a couple of the ladies pat his ass. They have stars in their eyes.

“Henny, Freida, Gretchen, Honey, and Jillian, this is my roommate, Nate. He’s joining us for bingo.”

“Is he a hockey player?”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“He wishes he was my boyfriend, isn’t that right, honey bear?” Flip winks at me.

I would flip him off if we weren’t surrounded by octogenarians. I shake my head. “He’s too high maintenance, and I like women.”

“You’re the high-maintenance one.”

“You can sit with me, Nate. I’ll take good care of you.” A tiny lady who barely reaches my elbow takes my arm, the creases in her face deepening as she smiles up at me.

We’re herded down the hall, our group growing as we get closer to the dining room. Flip and I hand a rose to pretty much anyone we talk to.

“How often do you do this?” I ask.

“Off season? Every week. During the season, whenever I don’t have a game and we’re not on the road.”

“Does Hemi ever come and do photos?”

“Nah. I do this for me.” The ladies usher us to one of the longtables and make sure no one takes our seats while we help them into theirs.

We spend the next hour playing bingo. It’s definitely preferable to sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself. And the stories these ladies tell are something else. At the end, Flip and I help the staff put everything away—and he flirts with all the nurses.

A husband and wife are some of the last to leave. She’s in a wheelchair, and he has a cane, so the nurses help pull her away from the table and get her turned around. He tucks his cane into the corner and fusses over her, making sure she’s comfortable before he hobbles around behind her and pushes her toward the doors.

“They’ve been married for sixty-five years,” Flip says.

“That’s a long time.”

“It could be you if you get your head out of your ass,” he says pointedly.

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