Page 5 of Fall With Me
“And I broke up with her right before she went to a conference in San Francisco,” Carter says.
Am I good, or am I good? I mentally pat myself on the back for that. “I’m sorry, C. You’ll find your queen one day.”
I’ve lost hope for myself. Being single is better than coming up empty-handed every time I risk searching for a soul mate.
We park on the side street by the chain pizza restaurant where we always have. It’s a bit of a walk to the stadium, but it’s not too bad, even with my bruised toe. We walk in silence with the masses to the gates. Our seats are on the west side of the stadium. It’s great in September because we usually get shade. But once it cools down, I get jealous of all the fans sitting in the sun across from us.
We stop at the southwest entrance. “If you want to go in and get in line for nachos, I’ll wait for my employee and his son to get here.”
Alarm bells ring in my head. How old is this new employee—and a son? Carter thinks it’s funny to introduce me to men at the most random times. This better not be the reason Carter invited his new employee. There will be no, I repeatnodating anyone Carter picks for me.
“I’m starving, so yes, I’ll gladly go in ahead.”
“Will you get extra guac on mine? I’m sending your ticket now.” He taps his phone screen a few times until an alert pops up on mine.
“Yep. Anything else?”
“Nah.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in there.”
I go through security. Once in the stadium, I weave my way through the crowd, heading to the Mexican food concession line. I barely hold in my drool, my mouth watering from the aroma of smoked meat and melted cheese.
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I hop onto social media to see if anyone liked the fitness video I posted to my YouTube channel yesterday. Seventy-five likes. Not bad, but not enough to grow my clientele either. Scrolling through my feed, I watch other reels on silent mode. Lately, I’ve been into videos where fit couples do crazy coordinated moves together. Like alternating jump lunges, where they give each other high fives in between lunges, or one person does a plank while their partner jumps over them.
There’s an emptiness gnawing at my chest every time I see these reels. Why do I keep doing it? Why do I keep wounding myself with dreams that will never come true?
After ordering our dinner, I shove my phone back into my purse, settling on people-watching. I’m not that much older than the college kids attending the game, but when I see their behavior compared to mine? Those few years make an enormous difference.
“Order thirty-nine!” a worker calls out the pickup window.
I grab napkins and forks from the dispensers, stack our dinner boxes, then head to our seats in section twelve. The stairs are short, forcing me to keep my eyes on each concrete step so I don’t trip and fall. Besides biffing it on the concrete, I’d be extremely upset to lose my cheat meal for the week.
At row ten, I turn sideways, shuffling past the fans already seated. I hold my precious cargo to the side, giving myself a clear view of where people’s feet are. “Excuse me, pardon me,” I say, guiding myself to my seat.
Finally sitting, I realize Carter isn’t here yet. Three chairs sit empty beside me. What’s taking them so long? Well, I’m not waiting to dive into my dinner. Carter’s nachos can get cold while I enjoy mine fresh and hot.
The cheerleaders and Swoop—the eagle mascot—are on the field, engaging the crowd, getting everyone worked into a frenzy waiting for the Utes to storm the field. I clap between bites of my nachos.
“It’s been too long,” the long-time season ticket holder next to me says as he takes his seat.
“Hi, Darrell! How are you?” I lean around him to his wife, Elaine. “Hi, Elaine. It’s good to see you too.”
“I’m ready for some Utah football,” Darrell says. He’s wearing a Utah shirt and a black hat. “Where’re Dan and Sylvie?”
Darrell and Elaine have been friends with my grandparents for years. They bought their season tickets together back in the eighties. “They’re not coming this year. With Grammy’s injury in the spring, she doesn’t get around as easy as she used to. They gave their tickets to Carter.”
His wrinkled hand pats my shoulder. “That’s a downright shame. I’ll have to stop by next Sunday and visit.”
“They’d love to see you two.”
Swoop revs the engine on his four-wheeler, the signal that the football team is about to run out of the tunnel onto the field.
“Life doesn’t get better than this,” Darrell says.
I wholeheartedly agree. My skin hums from the voices surrounding me, screaming. I lean over to respond to Darrell when a bony object crashes into my side. I yelp, grabbing onto the back of my seat, trying to prevent myself from stumbling into Darrell.
Something cold and wet drips down my side and my thigh throbs from slamming into the metal armrest.
