“Don’t feel influenced to say that.”
She stares at me, and whether she means to or not, leans closer.
There’s something hanging here between us. I’ve felt pulled towards Liliana since the day I saw her. Every time we spoke, it got stronger. Inevitable.
Right now, there’s a pull, but it doesn’t feel one-sided. It’s like we’re magnetized.
Her eyes hold a playful glint when she asks, “What makes you think you have any influence over me?”
Guilt continues to gnaw at the back of my mind, but being comfortable with her like this makes it less intimidating.
“I think I might have a little bit of an influence on you.”
I could argue I’ve had an influence on her story, or thankfully, how often she speaks down on herself.
Liliana seems to realize this too. She shrugs. “If you think so.” I know so. “I really do forgive you, though.”
“Thank you.” Are people supposed to give thanks for forgiveness? I’m not sure. I don’t remember the last timea “sorry” held so much importance. “I don’t forgive myself, though.”
The air surrounding us is heavy again. Way too dramatic for a night at mini golf, and completely off-track from what we came here for.
It’s like Clementine knows what I’m thinking when she yells, “I got it! Look, look! Hole-in-one, Uncle Grant!”
I break whatever was building between us to glance at my niece and clap my hands. “Good job! I’m so proud of you!”
She’s so happy and adorably ignorant to what a hole-in-one is. The moment of childhood innocence ignites ideas in me, drawings and paintings of kids cheering over participation trophies and excitedly waiting in line for Santa at the mall. I lock the inspiration in a mental vault for later.
Liliana lets go of the moment as easily as I do, in favor of walking through the course and cheering on Clem.
Between serious putts—that Clementine doesn’t count towards any sort of score, because what four-year-old keeps score?—Liliana and I talk. The topics range from what we ate for lunch and the television shows we’ve been watching. Compared to the deep-rooted feelings I have for her, the discussions are downright ordinary. I love it.
“Rosie isn’t working while she’s in school?”
Our conversation has shifted to friends. Not that I have many to talk about, but it’s where we naturally ended up, and I’ve known for a long time that Rosie is Liliana’s best friend of them all.
She shakes her head and hits her golf ball off a brick. “She doesn’t have to. She got a full ride for undergrad, so she invested the college money her parents put in her savings.” Liliana doesn’t see the surprised look on my face. “She earned some money from that and was awarded a few grants from privateorganizations. It’s enough for her expenses until the end of the school year.”
“Grants?” The joke is bubbling up faster than I can stop it.
Liliana takes her attention off the ball to glare at me.
“Don’t even.”
I can’t help it.
“So Rosie hasgrants.” She starts walking away, waving me off with her club. My body follows her on instinct. “And you haveGrant.”
“Oh god, don’t, please. She’s already made that joke twice.”
Liliana pretends to be annoyed with me, but the smile she can’t fight off gives her away.
If Rosie and I can both tease her like this, and pull laughs from her so easily, I think we’ll get along.
After Clementine proclaims victory and moves us onto the next hole, Liliana asks, “What’s Derek up to?”
My muscles tense. I should’ve expected her to follow with that question. Liliana’s not the type to forget someone special that I’ve mentioned, regardless of what’s happened since then.
I almost do the same thing with her that I do Heath. Lie, say that Derek is okay, and pretend I haven’t gone months without hearing from him. But she’s the one person I won’t lie to.
