“Okay. Okay.” Bwat stood up began to pace around the now-empty locker room. “You have made a mess of this whole thing, but maybe you can salvage the situation somehow. The lamb meat was a good idea. I assume she likes lamb?”
I nodded. “She told me she did when we were at dinner once. She has a large family and is very close to them. She is proud of her mixed ethnic heritage. She loves her career, even though her family wishes she had chosen something else. She is so poor that she lives in a hovel the size of a closet and drives a vehicle that is often broken. She likes to experience new things like dances and throwing axes at a wall and boating. She wants to travel but is too poor to do so. And she makes very good fried bread.”
“What did your text messages say?” Bwat asked, ignoring my recitation of everything I knew about theWillowyn.
I pulled my phone from my pocket so I could read them to him. “The first one was ‘I know your name is Willa Filipkowski and I found your phone number. Call me back.’”
Bwat blew out a breath. “That sounds a bit threatening. I’m not surprised she didn’t reply to that text.”
I read it again, and considered that he might be right. This texting thing was new to me. The whole cell phone thing was new to me. Back home I just sent a servant to get someone I wished to talk to. There was no need to compose lengthy notes.
“The second one was ‘I apologize for not remembering your name. Call me back,’” I continued.
The other orc nodded. “That’s better, but I’m going to suggest you not continue to remind her of your failings in these messages.”
“Then what am I supposed to say?” I’ll admit I shouted, and barely restrained myself from throwing the phone across the room.
“Remind her of an enjoyable time you shared—a time that didn’t involve your hand-axe,” Bwat added hastily. “Tell her the things you like about her aside from her body. Message her about what you have in common like the foods you both enjoy, or something personal you shared with her.”
“Should I do that now? Or wait until tomorrow?” I looked down at the phone, not wanting to appear desperate even though Iwasdesperate.
I missed my shrew terribly. I’d thought about her when we were traveling and as stupid as it sounded, Ididcount the days until I’d returned. During our game yesterday, I’d seen her in the stands with her friends, and that longing had become a sharp stab only bearable because I’d known she would be in my arms that night.
Then everything had fallen apart. And here I was on the verge of panic, asking Bwat, of all orcs, for help.
“Wait until tomorrow to text again,” he advised. “Unless she texts you back today, then reply immediately. Think about what you want to write, though. You want her to remember the good times with you. You want her to think about all the reasons she wants to see you again, and not about the reasons she was mad at you.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
“And in the meantime, I will research this to see if I can find additional ideas for how you can win this female back.”
30
WILLA
Ichecked my phone before I left the gym and saw two texts that I assumed were from Eng along with a missed call with an eerily long stretch of silence for a message. I was proud of myself for ignoring them, although I couldn’t quite manage to delete the texts or the silent voice mail. Instead I went home, looked up recipes for leg of lamb, and called my parents to tell them I’d be bringing a contribution to tomorrow’s dinner.
The rest of the evening I occupied myself with grocery shopping, a solo dinner at a sushi place a few blocks from my apartment, and an audio book. Idiot that I am, I continued to check my phone for new messages or emails, but received none.
Was this it? Did he give up after a couple of texts, an unanswered call, and a leg of lamb on my doorstep? Part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t need to stay strong against an onslaught of messages. Part of me was angry that I meant so little to him that he was willing to move on after two unanswered texts. I mean, he could hardly expect me to know the leg of lamb was from him. It wasn’t like leaving packages of meat at a woman’s door was a typical apology in human culture.
I slept fitfully, up early the next morning to head to the gym for my two client sessions, then back home to grab breakfast, prep the leg of lamb, and put on an outfit suitable for Sunday dinner with the family.
None of us were particularly religious, but a few of my siblings did occasionally attempt to attend church service, so the official gathering time was always after one o’clock. Dinner was usually at four, so we had plenty of time to talk, snack, and play a quick game of pickup ball with the ancient, ragged-net basketball hoop affixed to the front of the garage. There were so many of us that it was a good thing we seldom were all in attendance at Sunday dinner except for major holidays. Today in addition to my parents and my grandparents on my dad’s side, my brother Terrance with his husband, Michaela and her family, and Trey and his family would be there. That brought the total to fourteen for dinner—too much for one leg of lamb, although mom had been happy to hear there would be an additional source of meat to go along with dad’s barbecue ribs and grandma’s golabki and fresh bread. Michaela was bringing a huge Greek salad, and Terrance was bringing brownies and pie. I was glad that I could provide something aside from my usual bags of chips or charcuterie platter.
Just as I was leaving my phone dinged. The notification showing a text from Eng sent my heart to racing. It took four seconds of debate, but I ended up reading it instead of just hitting delete.
It was a picture of the paper target from our axe-throwing date with a slash through the center. The caption said “This is when I knew you were an orc at heart.”
Tears stung my eyes. To keep myself from replying I shoved the phone in my purse and zipped the top. No, I didn’t delete the text. No, I didn’t block him. It may have seemed as if I were torturing myself, but it would have been far more painful to notknow if he was still trying to win me back, and exactly when he’d give up on me.
Driving to my parents’ house I kept thinking of the target. I’d been horrible at axe throwing, but with Eng’s guidance, with him showing me how to angle my arm and use my body, I’d finally landed one right in the center.
The picture hadn’t been taken onsite. He’d retrieved the target and kept it, me completely unaware. And he still had it.
Iwasn’this princess. I was just a booty call to him. I meant nothing to Eng beyond my availability for frequent sexual encounters. He hadn’t even bothered to remember my name.
But he’d kept the target.
