Page 148 of The Goat in the Bedroom
And Dad says to stop overthinking and just do the damn thing already.
The drive to Santa Monica was torture. Artie had connected her phone to the car's sound system and was singing along to the latest Kelsey Best album, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my thigh. Every time she touched me, I thought about the ring, about what I was going to say, about the very real possibility that she might say it was too soon.
“Okay, seriously, what's wrong?” she asked as we sat in standstill traffic on the 10. “You're gripping the steering wheel like it's going to escape.”
“Just thinking about training camp. We aren't rookies this year.” It was a convenient lie.
“Liar.” She studied me. “Is this about your dad? Is he being weird about trying to date again?”
“No, Dad's been great.” More than great, actually. He'd even helped me pick out the ring, though he'd suggested something approximately the size of a golf ball before Jules had intervened with a firm “absolutely not.”
“Then what?—“
My phone rang through the car speakers. Flynn.
“Don't answer that,” I said quickly, but Artie was already hitting accept.
“Hey, Flynn,” she called out. “Your brother's being super weird. Want to explain?”
“Artie. Hey. Weird? Gryff? Never. He's the most normal person I know.”
“Flynn, you're literally his identical twin.”
“Right, and I'm weird as fuck, so by comparison?—“
I hit end call on the console.
“Okay, that was suspicious too,” Artie said. “What are you two planning? Is this about Isak's first preseason game? Because I already know we're all flying to Miami for it.”
“It's nothing like that.”
We spent three hours at the farmers market, then another two at lunch. Artie bought enough honey sticks to last through an apocalypse and found a vendor selling goat milk soap that she insisted Vincent and Holly would love the smell of. I bought whatever she pointed at, agreed with everything she said, and checked my phone every thirty seconds until she threatened to throw it in the ocean.
Flynn
Status update: Backyard transformation complete. I have dirt in places dirt should never be.
Coach Maher and half the rugby team are currently hiding behind your garage. One of them brought sandwiches.
Sean's made what he calls “celebration mocktails” but won't let anyone drink them yet.
JULES SAYS HURRY UP.
“Okay, we should head back,” I said, probably too abruptly.
“But we just ordered dessert.”
“We have ice cream at home.”
She laughed but let me pay the check and guide her back to the car. The drive home was quieter, Artie dozed off against the window while I navigated Saturday afternoon traffic and tried not to have a complete nervous breakdown.
Flynn
ETA?
20 minutes
Vincent keeps trying to eat the ring box. Holly's standing guard but she's getting tired.
