Page 38 of The Fadeaway
“I…” I consider my words. “I don’t. I’m not. I made a deal with a girl, she owed me a date, but couldn’t leave her house. I improvised.”
“That sounds like the opposite of uncomplicated. Tell me, what does one do on a ‘virtual date’?” He air quotes.
“Fuck off.” I shove his shoulder. “What’s going on tonight?”
We make plans to have people over and as we get back to the house, Nathan and I split to shower and make calls.
I haven’t heard from Katrina today, not that I expected to, but I’m wondering what she’s up to and if she’s thought of me. I can’t seem to get enough of her and I’m about to drop all pretenses of even trying.
As I towel off, I grab my phone. Instead of sending out the group message that we’re having people over, I pull up her number. My finger hovers over her name and I decide to call instead of text. Hearing her voice last night, soft and unassuming, was nice.
“Hello?” she answers sounding rushed and agitated and I immediately feel like an ass for calling. Who calls unannounced these days?
“Uh, hi. Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”
There’s a pause. “Joel?”
“Yeah. Did I not come up on caller ID?”
“Sh–crap,” she exclaims quietly away from the phone. “I didn’t check before I answered. I assumed it was one of the other moms calling to get an ETA.”
I’m completely thrown off my game. She sounds busy and uninterested and now I feel like a chump. I decide to go with short and concise. “We’re having people over tonight and I wanted to invite you.”
“Oh. That’s nice, but I can’t. I’ve got twenty hungry kids and their moms pissed that I forgot it was my turn to get snacks for soccer practice and if I don’t find something gluten, nut, and dairy free and get it back to Russell Field in the next hour I’m going to get blacklisted.”
I feel her exasperation through the phone and can perfectly picture her standing in the grocery store pacing the aisles. “I gotta go. Thanks for the invite though.”
She hangs up leaving me holding my phone up to my ear and feeling like an idiot. She’s done nothing but tell me how unavailable she is, and I just keep pushing. I don’t know what it is about this girl that I can’t just accept we’re not at similar points in our life to have anything beyond flirting over coffee. It’s been a long time since I cared enough to pursue someone like this and the knowledge of how that ended alone should have me running the other way.
I dress quickly and then shoot off a few texts to invite more people over. The guys are already downstairs when I head to the kitchen. Grabbing my keys and an apple from the counter, I do a quick survey of the liquor laid out. “I’m gonna go get supplies. Any preferences?”
Z and Wes shake their heads. Nathan speaks up. “I think we’re good, man. We can probably get by on what we have.”
“Never hurts to have too much,” I throw back as I head out the door.
It isn’t until I’m pulling up to Russell Field that I start to re-think my decision to interfere. I stare out to the kids running around, moms huddled together watching the kids intently. I sit in my car and wonder if this is possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had. I’ve all but convinced myself to turn the car around when I spot her. Standing off on her own looking out of place and even from my car I can tell anxiety rolls off her in waves.
I move to action, grabbing the bags from the backseat and crossing the field like a man on a mission.
The other moms spot me first. Kids suddenly forgotten, their stares rake over me like I’m Superman. I think it must be the groceries or maybe the fact I’m even here. The only other guy on the field is the coach. Don’t dads show up for this kind of shit?
I ignore their curious glances – focused only on getting to Katrina. I can tell the moment she notices me. Before her gaze even meets mine, she stills, and her eyes widen while she scans the field. Like she can feel my presence before she sees me. A myriad of emotions crosses her face as she takes me in. Confusion, happiness, surprise. She steps forward slowly. All eyes are on us.
“Wha—”
“Sorry I’m late,” I say loud enough that the nosey moms hanging on my every word can hear me crystal clear. I lift the groceries at my side. “Where you want them?”
She opens her mouth and closes it, glances over to our captive audience and back before she answers, “Right over there.”
I follow her to a folding table with a bag of individually boxed raisins and a gallon of orange juice with paper cups sitting next to it. I can’t help the smirk at her last-minute snack selection. “I had to improvise,” she grits out quietly.
I shoot her a wink as I set the bags down. We unpack the items in silence, but I feel her watching my every movement.
Her eyes aren’t the only ones I feel on me. The group of women that’d been ignoring her when I pulled up, now walks toward us. Their leader is wearing yoga pants and a tank top with a zip up hoodie left open at the top so her cleavage is on display. When she speaks, her tone is Splenda- sweet, which is to say, fake as fuck. “Katrina, I don’t think I’ve met Christian’s father.”
“Oh, no, he’s…” Katrina’s face reddens and it’s clear she’s uncomfortable, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m here or because Christian’s father isn’t. Either way, I want to erase that look.
Stepping forward, I extend a hand. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”
