“Hi, Darcy.” I scan the menu. “Coffee for me and Diet Coke for her. Light ice, please. Can we get two waffle meals? And extra whipped cream on her plate.”
With a nod, Darcy disappears into the kitchen.
It’s only quiet for a second before Shay reappears and slaps the table. “Guess what I found?”
“The toilet?”
“Yes,” she says, unbothered by my sarcasm. “Then I found the pawnshop connected to the diner. Do you know what pawnshops sell?”
Nostalgia grips me by the throat. “Baseball cards.”
Most people don’t think of pawnshops for baseball cards, but Shay’s different. Three years ago, when shopping for Kenneth’s birthday present, Shay and I were distracted by the pieces of cardstock. I spotted the Jackie Robinson card first, but when she looked up at me, my want for the card vanished. I had always thought her eyes were like ink, dark, steady, and impossible to read, but that day, I was proven wrong. Molasses is all I could think of, rich, warm, and syrupy. The smooth colorheld a quiet gravity that pulled me in, anchored by flecks of amber that kept me from drifting away.
Kept me hers.
Then she hip-checked me into the wall when the manager asked who wanted the card.
Darcy reappears with our drinks. “Feel free to look around while your food is cookin’. I’ll give you a holler when it’s ready.”
A dusty brown curtain separates the diner and pawnshop. Large television screens are mounted on every wall, and glass cases are filled with gold watches, glittering jewelry, and every item you could possibly want for a good price.
And as I hoped, thick binders are stacked along a rickety bookshelf.
“Just don’t hip-check me today.” I laugh. “I’m getting old and can’t handle that anymore.”
Mainly because my hip isn’t getting better.
She sticks her tongue out at me and reaches up onto her tiptoes to grab a book of cards. Before I can join her, something catches my eye. I reach into the wicker basket and grab the wrist lanyard. Pink and orange beads with tiny hearts and flowers adorn the string.
Perfect for the woman always on her phone.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, then make a quick escape.
Up at the front, I put it on the counter. The man at the cash register isn’t a talker, which works because I don’t want Shay to overhear us. After paying, I tuck the tiny gift right beside the dice in my pocket.
I freeze mid-step when Darcy pulls back the curtain. In her palm is a tray with our meals.
That was too quick. I’m not ready for this moment to end.
A quick peek at Shay reveals that she’s completely absorbed by the baseball cards, slowly flipping through the pages with a smile on her face.
“Can you give us ten more minutes?” I ask.
As if sensing my desperation, Darcy winks. “Sure can! Get back over there to your girl. I’ll keep it warm for y’all, Sugar.”
Returning to Shay, I slide into the space beside her, warmed by the heater at my feet and the tiny point of contact between our arms. I’d say it feels like the old days, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that those days are gone. It’s different.We’redifferent.
Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
“I’m not sharing custody of a baseball card with you. I’m cool with being divorced parents of Mal and Ken, but for a card? No way.”
I park in front of Shay’s little red house. The storm didn’t pass until four hours after arriving at the diner, which gave us time to buy baseball cards, eat, and work.
Well, Shay worked. I watched her work.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab her heels. “Why not? Might as well continue our shared custody agreement since we’re able to be civil. I don’t know many almost-exes who can.”
She grunts but doesn’t argue with that.
