Page 72 of Betting on the Best Friend
Mrs. Lipsky says, “I want to browse the market booths.”
“I’d rather check out a drum circle,” I say.
“That’s my vote,” Charlie says.
Everyone else immediately decides they want to go to the market too. They take off so fast it’s a wonder cartoon flames don’t shoot from their heels.
“We were set up,” Charlie says, watching them go.
“They’re not sly,” I agree.
“You think they think we need to talk or something?” Charlie deadpans.
“Can’t imagine what about.”
“Me either. Want to go find random performers?” It doesn’t feel like he’s suggesting it to avoid a conversation as much as because he doesn’t seem to need one.
“Yep.” I’m fine without a conversation too. At least, not one of those big, defining ones. I’ve fought the urge to badger him every two minutes with, “Are you ?” But I don’t want to talk about what “fixed” means, or if he isn’t.
After watching some old guys perform juggling tosses, we end up at the maypole, where a woman is directing the children in weaving the ribbons around it. She does a popular quarterly one-woman show at the library in which she performs all the parts of a fairy tale, a different one each time.
She’s easy with the kids, and it’s fun to watch them giggle as they wind around the pole, everyone cheering when they finish.
“Does she make you miss the O’Connor branch?” I tease Charlie.
He meets my eyes for a second before returning to the crowd, a faint smile on his mouth. “She doesn’t, no.”
His words flip my stomach. He’s sayingImake him miss it, but not in the way I tell Madison I miss her after she comes back from visiting Oliver’s family in Oklahoma, or Sami when she comes back from doing a show out of town.
My stomach decides to process this with a growl, and Charlie laughs.
“Food?” I ask, scanning for options.
He shakes his head. “It’s time for me to go. Let’s find the rest of the Grove patrol.”
I want to protest. I’m not ready for him to leave, but I’m fairly sure this has to do with me. He wants to spend more time with me, and that’s the problem.
“I’m ready to go too,” I say. “If I leave now, I’m marked safe from naked hippies. I’ll text the girls and let them know I’m walking back.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Our path doesn’t lead to the Treehouse, but it takes us close. “Sorry I walked out on you that day.”
He nods. I like that he doesn’t say it’s okay, but he’s still accepting the apology.
We don’t talk much as we leave the park, the sound of separate drum circles audible now in the distance. He walks me as far as the intersection by my condo before he stops.
“I’m parked the other direction, so I’ll leave you here,” he says.
“All right.” I reach up to hug him goodbye. He lets me go sooner than I expect him too. Maybe sooner than I want him to.
He crooks his head behind him to indicate the direction of his car and turns to leave. I walk a bit then stop and turn.
“Charlie,” I call. He’s only about thirty or so yards away, and he turns too.
“Yeah?”
“Was today okay?”Say yes, I will him. If it was okay, we’ll have another soon. Right? Please. We need to have another soon.
