Page 66 of Fortunate Misfortune
I grunt to stifle my laugh as she takes my wrist, leading me through the crosswalk toward a man in a kilt.
Maybe it is my lucky night.
It’s been forty-two minutes, and we only have one left.
Mallory convinced a mother to hand over her child in an Irish flag onesie. A girl from her recipe development class with red hair walked out of a bar, and they took a selfie. Her earrings counted too since they’re the marshmallows in Lucky Charms, an Irishman’s favorite cereal.
I’m not sure how Mallory could ever believe she isn’t fun. The woman is so full of life that I feel like every second with her etches itself onto my brain. I’m sure I’ll never be able to go back to a life that isn’t full of hearing her laugh, watching her multitask, seeing her succeed, or being by her side. This is my new normal, and I’ll never be the same.
“What did you do for the pot of gold last year?” she asks.
“The vinyl store had a gold record hanging in the window, so I put a black flowerpot beneath it. Whatabout you?”
“A black bowl filled with goldfish. I was sadly one of the drunks eating from the communal bowl of cheesy goodness. It was the last task I did before the beer incident.”
She shoots me a glare when I laugh, and I’m thankful we’re alone. I can actually hear myself think now that we’re on the quieter side of Eastgate. We’ve been stuck for over ten minutes with no luck, and people are finally starting to take the scavenger hunt seriously.
Mallory tilts her head back, and a sudden bolt of inspiration rocks me as a streetlight ignites her eyes. I rush forward, grab her shoulders, and move her around until I find the perfect position.
“What are you doing, Gray?”
I reach for my phone. “Stay still.”
My camera focuses on her dark irises, swimming in a pool of the most gorgeous shade of gold. Curiosity deepens the color as she stares at me through the lens.
When the shutter goes off, I step back and hand over my phone. “I think we should use that for number ten. A pot of gold.”
She studies the photo, shaking her head. “I’m not sure if I’d call this gold. Maybe gold that’s been heated for too long and slightly burned.” Zooming in, a soft laugh leaves her lips. “I’ve always thought my eyes look like mud. Chocolate if I want to give it a prettier comparison. Green eyes are unique. Blue eyes are beautiful. Brown eyes are so… normal. Boring sometimes.”
The urge is strong to tell her exactly how beautiful they are. To tell her how many times I’ve found myself lost in her eyes before she catches me.
Brown doesn’t do them justice. They’re the color of the Earth after a good rain. Sunlight through a bottle of whiskey. A honeyed glow that adds sweetness to her gaze, even when sharp and focused. They’re gingerbread men that remind me of Christmas with Nan, and more comforting than a mug of Claude’s hot chocolate.
“Out of all the words someone could use to describe you, Eddie, not a single one would ever be normal or boring.”
I wince when Mallory takes a step back. I’ve gone too far.
“This is weird.”
“What is?” I ask.
“You. This.” She waves her arms between us. “Everything about this semester is so different. I mean, am I just supposed to gloss over the fact that we went from hating each other to whatever the hell this is?”
I blink hard. “Hate? I’ve never hated you, Ed. Not for a second.”
Pretty brown lips part and let out an exasperated gargle of sound, but no words come out. Just a blank, confused stare, and I’m suddenly desperate to explain.
“I know we’ve had some not-so-great moments over the last few years, but I’m positive that it’s impossible to hate you. It’s just weird because up until this semester our interactions were strictly limited to the game.”
“I thought that was a mutual agreement!” she says, finally finding her words. “That we were going to play the Brain Bowl and leave it at that. A competition.”
The Brain Bowl. I think back on my time with Mallory. The fun moments spent playing for point opportunities, only to spend the next week watching her from a distance because that was the silent agreement we made when we started our game.
To compete and play. Nothing more.
It wasn’t enough then, and it will never be enough now.
“You already said that this semester has been different, and I agree. But not only is it different, it’s also been nice.” I pause and wait for her to look at me. “A lot has changed in a couple of months, but I’m not opposed to it. Haven’t you enjoyed how it’s been between us?”
