"Yeah." Her eyebrows lift. "Because if you were American, you wouldn't be desperate enough to ask someone like me to marry you." Her head drops, her plaits falling forward over her shoulders.
Her words stab me through the heart. What must she think of herself? And to think that I'm making her feel worse. "Don't say that." I put a finger under her chin and gently lift it up. "And remember, you asked me."
"Actually, I don't remember it at all because I was hammered. Because I'd gone on a date and was flashed within minutes of walking into the restaurant. Because I'm undatable. Unlovable." She turns away, jerking away from my touch.
Message received.
She storms down a narrow alley that may have at one time served as a drive to the carriage house. Her apartment could have been a summer kitchen that was attached to the main building. It is indeed half below ground though. There are a few square windows that dot the perimeter. They're probably not large enough to let in ample light, but plenty big enough for a burglar to crawl through. I'd ask her if she's ever thought of that, but she's already mad at me.
I don't need to evoke every single negative emotion in the span of three minutes flat.
Plus, I'm done playing the role of superhero. The last time I tried, well, we all know how that ended. In fact, it's why I'm here right now.
As Ophelia turns the key and pushes the door open, the first thing I see is a large yellow tabby cat sitting there, watching his owner come in. I'd seen the beast walking around, over, and on Ophelia during our FaceTime, so it's not a surprise.
"So this is the infamous Sundance. Should I bow to him? Offer him a can of tuna? Practice mutual ignoring? I'm not that versed in cats."
Cats and birds of prey are not compatible species. Well, not if you don't want one to end up being dinner for the other. While most of our neighbors in the country did keep a cat or six around to keep the mouse population down, we had a feathered management system.
She drops her keys in a bowl next to the door and stoops to pick up the cat. With her face nestled into his fur, she says, "He'll let you know what he wants from you." And with that, Sundance squirms in her arms, clearly indicating he's done being held.
"Wouldn't it be swell if people were that easy to read?"
I see her ugly striped couch. I didn't think it was possible but it looks even more hideous in person. I hope she's not supremely attracted to it because it's not coming into my house.
Not that I have a house. Or a home. I'm utterly displaced.
Ophelia catches me staring at the couch. "It's fantastic, isn't it? It was left here, and I simply couldn't part with it. I'm pretty sure it's vintage ’60s. Think of all the memories it has. It was left to me to create even more."
It looks like something my mum would have. Another thing the two of them could bond over. "You rolled off of it while you were pissed last night. Is that the type of memory you were thinking of?" I smile as I say it. I do wonder what this upholstery has seen.
"Let's hope it's something more exciting than that." Ophelia hangs her jacket on a coat stand by the door. It looks just as vintage as the rest of the furniture around here, with the exception of the high-tech computer station, complete with dual monitors, webcam, and ring light. Though it's the most modern item in here, it's what looks most out of place.
I follow suit and hang up my coat as well.
"Right then, so should we get down to business? That way I won't keep you too much later tonight."
Ophelia sits on the ugly couch while I opt for a blue wing chair, which also looks thrifted or donated. It's not in bad shape, considering it's probably old enough to collect a pension.
"Okay, I mean, I've been trying to plan, though it's not a strength of mine. You said this has to be done quickly so you can switch teams."
I nod. "The quicker the better." My mind starts to wander, thinking about how soon I can join the Buzzards. I've got a sinking feeling in my gut though, that maybe Coach Janssen and the Buzzards are going to change their minds about me. Maybe Jones will get to them, too. Or that Camacho will be a wanker and not let me out of my contract.
He'd be an idiot to keep me, especially considering he doesn't want to play me, but no one'd ever accuse him of being Oxford material.
And then I realize Ophelia's been talking this whole time, and I've missed every blasted word.
"Small, obviously. I'll need at least a month. Will your family be coming over?"
"Come again? Coming for what?" I mean, I'd love it if my parents came to see me play here in the US, but it's too hard to get someone to take care of the birds. It's a lot for one person to handle, and heaven knows Philip would be terribly grumpy about it.
Ophelia's lips pull into a tight line. "The wedding. What else would be so important for them to fly all the way across the ocean?"
"The wedding? What wedding?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in.
Of course, she's focused on the wedding.
A wedding I'd not even considered. Weddings take time and planning and money. While I can probably afford a decent shebang, I'd rather not piss my hard-earned dollars away on something like that.
