We step out the back door into the yard where we rode bikes, built forts, and chased lightning bugs as kids. The big oak tree used to hold a tire swing that Evie fell off and broke her front tooth. Our playset is long gone, as is the sandbox, but it still feels so much like home.
The older I get, the more this shit matters. I have championship rings, my highlights are played on sportschannels to this day, and I’ve been more places and done more things than people usually do in a lifetime. But as that slows down and I take a moment to take stock of what I have, the more I realize that the most I ever had was here. In this house.
“Still having baby fever?” I ask as we mosey toward the lake at the back of the property.
She tugs her hoodie closer to her neck to fend off the cool breeze. “I think I just need a new hobby. I mean, would I like to have a baby?” She considers this. “Yeah, I think I probably would. But I want to have it with a guy I love and have a whole family, a dog, and a white picket fence. I don’t want to do it alone.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Evie called me the other day to tell me about your new girlfriend. By the way, we decided not to talk about it in front of Mom unless you brought it up. We’re afraid it’ll set her up for a big letdown when she finds out that it’s only for, what, six months?”
“Sixweeks.”
“How’s it going? I listened to Gianna’s podcast on the way over here, and it was hysterical. I’ve never listened to her before. You two couldn’t be more opposite if you tried.”
“Yeah, well …”
She’s not wrong—at least from an outside perspective. But I’m not sure that she’s right.
The only moment last night when things felt a little bumpy was when I asked her what she wanted in life. It was the first time she paused. It was the only time she stiffened. She rolled her head around her shoulders like she was trying to ease the stress that the question caused.
But why?
I lay in bed last night long after we got off the phone—because she called to thank me for dinner—and thought aboutthese things. Nothing makes sense, yet so much makes sense at the same time.
She can list all the reasons sheshouldbe happy, but falls short of saying sheishappy. Her goal in life was to buy a home, yet permanence makes her uncomfortable. She faults men for being hedonistic douchebags, but then faults me for not treating her like a piece of meat.
Gianna may say things that make us seem miles apart, but when we’re together, it doesn’t feel that way at all.
“She’s complicated,” I tell my sister.
“In what way?”
I kick a rock down the path and think about how to explain it. “Gianna’s very independent and knows what she wants … except she doesn’t. I asked her last night what she wanted for herself in a few years, and she said it’s not something she thinks about often. For someone as smart and successful as she is, I find that surprising.”
“People can be ambitious and still shy away from being strategic. You can be strategic and not ambitious. Think about it. They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“I guess.” I lift my face toward the sky, letting the sun warm it. “What bothers me most, I think, is that she has this extroverted personality and says everything that’s on her mind without thinking twice about it. But as I get to know her, I wonder if she’s hiding behind that. Is the outlandish shit she says—the innuendos and sarcasm—there to shield her from something?”
Elodie considers this, her brows pulled together. “Could be.”
“She said no one had asked her what she wanted out of life and that her friends knew she’d be fine. And I asked her iffinewas okay. Didn’t she want to be happy? I mean, doesn’t everyone want a life where they’re happy?”
“What did she say?”
I sigh. “She said she was … comfortable, I think. Fulfilled. But she stopped short of saying she was happy.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know what would make her happy. That happens to people. Hell, it’s happening to me right now.” She grins at me. “I wanted a baby a few days ago. I was convinced it would make me happy. Now, the happiest scenario that I can fathom is going home to a quiet house, a glass of wine, and a true crime show. Those things are mutually exclusive.”
“But what if she knows what she wants, whatwouldmake her happy, and is afraid to want it? It would explain her approach to relationships. She always has an eject button, always has an out.”
“It’s possible.” Elodie shrugs. “It’s a theory that makes sense. But remember that you can’t make someone else happy. They have to choose that for themselves.”
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the lake. I pick up a few stones and skip them across the still water. Elodie sits on a boulder on the shore and watches me search for the smoothest rock that I can find.
I’m treading on thin ice when it comes to Gianna, and I feel the proverbial cracks under my feet. This was supposed to be just fun—a way to get a dose of a woman I knew I could never truly have. After all, who is goofy enough to fall for someone when you know it’s going to be over in a few weeks?
Unfortunately, I might be that goofy son of a bitch. And that scares the piss out of me.
