“Oh, I love poi.” She reached out and dropped a healthy dollop onto her plate. “I had it when we visited the islands when I was in high school. Is that haupia?” she asked, pointing with the serving spoon.
I was taken aback for a second. “Uh…yeah.”
“Yasss.” She pushed her potatoes aside to make enough room for two pieces of dessert.
If she ate all the food on her plate, I’d be hella impressed. It had grown to linebacker-sized proportions.
We sat down at the folding table I’d set up in the dining room and tucked into the feast, chewing in a companionable silence that was punctuated every now and then by her sounds of appreciation and compliments over the food. She absolutely demolished her dinner. There wasn’t a scrap left when she was done.
“You’re going to have to roll me out of here,” she said, leaning back.
I pushed back in my own chair. “I’d have to stand to do that, though.”
I ate too much trying to keep up with her. I’d have to tell my ex-teammate, Shaun, that I’d met a woman who could probably out-eat him. Then again, maybe not. He might try to fly out here and challenge her, knowing his competitive streak.
She opened her mouth to say something, but her words were cut short by a loud, echoing burp in a deeper register than I thought she’d be capable of hitting.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her next words. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Where did that even come from?”
I laughed at her. I couldn’t help it; the shocked look on her face was priceless.
She pulled her hand away and grinned at me, cheeks coloring.
“Surprise burps are the worst,” I said. I hoped she wasn’t that embarrassed. I had an ex-girlfriend break up with me once after she farted in front of me.
Ella’s gaze slid back to the buffet. “I think it made room for another piece of haupia.”
Right. She had a huge family. They probably still had burping competitions. Judging by the sound she just made, she probably won them.
I thought she was kidding about the haupia at first, but then she heaved herself out of her chair, plate in hand, and limped toward the kitchen. I stood and followed her, carrying my plate to the sink. No way did I have more room. I was a little scared of what might happen if I burped right now.
“Then again, maybe not,” she said, gazing down at the delicacy, hand on her stomach, expression wistful. Her eyes rose to mine. “Can I take some with me?”
“Absolutely,” I told her. “Take the rest. My present to you.”
“Thank you. Oh! That reminds me. I brought you a present.” She joined me at the sink and set her plate in it. “I left it in the truck. Be right back.”
She turned and made her way toward the front door, her limp visibly worsening with every step. I followed after her. Hamstring injuries could have a lengthy recovery process if you let them get away from you. I knew from experience.
“Do you want me to go grab it for you?” I asked.
She dropped the boot she was trying to lift onto her foot and looked at me with a mixture of pain and relief. “Yes. Thank you. It should be the long narrow package in the middle front seat.”
She dug her keys out of her jacket pocket and handed them over to me. I slipped on my boots, unlaced, and stepped out into the chill of the night.
The interior of her truck was riddled with the detritus of the day. Bags full of Christmas presents were stacked floor to ceiling on the front passenger side. With so many family members, it must take hours to unwrap together. No wonder they all stayed over. If they had started opening any later than nine a.m., they’d still be at it.
I snagged the gift-wrapped rectangular present from the middle seat and headed back. Narrow floor-to-ceiling windows framed thefront door. Ella stood outlined in the right one, the interior light shining from behind her, throwing her figure in shadow. Her messy bun was bathed in a corona of red-gold.
My steps slowed. I let the imagery wash over me. What would it be like to come home to this? To be greeted by a beautiful woman? The sight was almost painful. Because I didn’t think I could do it. I couldn’t bring myself to ask someone to share my fate. I’d been out here for months trying to figure out where to go from here, how to move forward with my life, and I felt like my feet were stuck in the mud, preventing me from placing one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, it seemed like I hadn’t made any progress at all, despite my therapist’s assurances.
Ella was a bright light in a sea of darkness. I was beginning to think of her as a friend. I hadn’t let myself progress past that yet, but I did so now. What if that friendship eventually changed? What if I allowed my gaze linger on her? To be drawn into the infectious joy of her laughter? To stop teasing her and start flirting with her? What if we slept together? Started a relationship?
Could I really unload all of my baggage on someone like her? Smother her light with all of the dark shit I didn’t tell anyone but my therapist? Anything less wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t be a real relationship. But the thought of crushing that infectious joy beneath whatever symptoms of TBI or CTE I may or may not manifest turned my stomach.
She waved at me from the window, giving me a thumbs-up to say that I grabbed the right box. I took a deep breath of frigid night air and started walking at a normal pace again.
This is ridiculous.
