“Or we have more in common than you think, and that’s what I usually get too,” I counter.
She blushes a little, and I don’t tell her that I had no fucking clue what I wanted for dinner.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Same as every Wednesday—Bible study, art group, chair yoga, and pickleball lessons.”
“You run a Bible study?”
“Oh, no, I just coordinate it with a local church. I do run the other groups though, and I supervise pickleball lessons.”
“I didn’t realize rec therapists do all of that stuff.”
The waitress returns with our waters, and we both thank her.
“Technically, I’m the activities director, so that’s why I do all of that.”
“I thought you were a rec therapist?” I ask, a little confused.
“Oh, I am. It’s just rec therapy jobs are hard to find in traditional rehab settings because insurance doesn’t like to cover our services, so when I graduated, I found the activities director role.”
“Well that seems like bullshit.”
“What does?”
“Insurance not covering what you do. I don’t know much about it, but I know you help people get better, and isn’t that why we have insurance? It’s supposed to cover the costs of things that can help us get better.”
“In theory.” She lets out a long breath. “I guess. But the insurance companies don’t really see what I do that way.”
“Then that’s bullshit.” A smile ghosts across her face, and my heart swells with the thought that I had something to do with making her feel a little bit of happy.
“How was your day?” she asks, and I know she doesn’tmean to, but all the feelings I was having earlier return. The tension that had mostly disappeared pulls at the base of my skull, causing me to wince. “That bad?” she asks.
“I was supposed to meet with my dad, but it didn’t happen. He went golfing with a client instead,” I say.
“You’re kidding?” she says.
“I wish.”
“Did he cancel it?”
“No, just stood me up. It’s not the first time. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” she says.
Maybe she’s right, but I’m used to it at this point, so I just shrug. She studies me, her face falling a little, and then out of nowhere it shifts and I can practically see a light bulb go off above her head.
“Stand up,” she says.
“What?”
“Stand up. You had a shitty day, and you were in a good mood until I brought it up again.”
“Why should I stand up?” I chuckle.
“Because we’re gonna dance?”
“I’m sorry?”
