Back home, Elizabeth’s parents lived in a suburb of Columbus and would watch the kids every once in a while to give me a break. I knew leaving the circle of friends and what little family we had close by would be an adjustment, but Rebecca and Daniel were surprisingly supportive of this move. As much as they love their grandkids, Rebecca is managing partner of a law firm and has no plans to retire. Daniel’s a senior vice president at a place he’s worked at since he graduated college after serving in the Air Force.
Neither one of them is the kind of grandparent to spend hands-on time with the kids. And that’s not a bad thing. To be honest, it’s made moving away easier. There was so little left back in Columbus to hold on to.
I sigh and make a note to send Grandma Rebecca some of the pics of the kids getting settled in Star Falls. Her message came in around seven when I was putting the kids to bed, so she probably knew better than to expect a text back tonight.
The next message is from my buddy Austin, the one good thing I miss from Columbus.
What’d I tell ya, bro. You see the news about Goodwin?
Austin is single and will most definitely be up at this hour. It’s Saturday night, so he’s probably not sitting at home on his phone, but I drop him a message back anyway.
Missed the news. What about Goodwin?
Austin is a sports fanatic. He’s one of the guys who was never good enough to play past high school. But he’s got a mind for stats.
Austin was the one friend who stayed close after Elizabeth died.
After I reply to Austin, I read the third text I missed. It’s the oldest one, the one that arrived sometime between when I gave the kids baths and brushed their teeth. I hardly register the name of the sender when I open the message and see a load of emojis.
Sorry about my family today. They’re a lot, but they mean well.
Gracie’s message is followed by an angry face emoji, a sweary face, and then at least five mind-blowing emojis.
My pulse quickens, and I drop back down on the couch. What are the odds she’s even home right now? A woman like that’s probably on a date or out with friends. The same things I’d probably be doing if I were single.
I debate for a bit whether I should text her back. What should I say? It means something that she texted me first, right? Could she be interested?
Rather than question myself anymore, I pull up her message and reply back.
Your family was great. Lunch was great. Now I know about the best coffee and the best lunch in Star Falls. What other best of’s am I missing out on?
I hesitate before hitting send. Does that sound too flirty? Too forward? I don’t want to sound like a dick who’s asking her to keep playing tour guide.
“Fuck.” I delete it and start over.
Your family is great. Lunch was great. You are great.
“Oh, sweet fuck, no. I can’t send that.”
Delete. Delete.
I get up off the couch and start pacing, annoyed with myself that I’m literally breaking into a cold sweat over a stupid basic text.
Loved meeting your family. Thanks for the “best of” tour of Star Falls. Any chance you can hook me up with the best sneaker store in town?
Nope, nope, nope. The sneaker thing is done and dusted. Time to put the tired joke in the bin. I delete the whole thing and nearly toss my phone on the floor. But then, I get an idea. I punch out the message, then read it over:
Your family seems great. I’m planning on eating at least five meals a week at Benito’s. But next time, I’m bringing a crayon sharpener. I don’t think I’ll have as much pull with the hostess if you’re not with me.
I think that one over a bit, then add an emoji of a crayon, which I swear I had no idea was even an option before I looked for it.
As I click send, even my hands are starting to sweat. I feel like a kid who can’t believe his crush is actually texting him.
Before I can stress myself out further, I get a reply:
ravioli, peanut butter crisps, crayon emojis. Life-changing week.
I chuckle and wish I could see her face. Maybe I should call her. Is that weird? Would she answer? Instead, I go the neutral route.
