“You chose the spot.”
“You’re not dumb, Max.” Maybe not, but I am confused. “When I gave you M&M’s, I wasn’t assuming we’d become best friends, but I also didn’t peg you as a ghoster.”
Ah. She wanted me to use her number before now and I failed her test. With a big sigh, I say, “I wasn’t. I’m not. I didn’t know what to do. Stella’s situation is new . . . ish and so far, I’ve been able to compartmentalize my caretaking life from the rest of my life. I hadn’t expected to have those two worlds intersect that day, and definitely not like that.”
Her face softens, and she leans her arms on the table, tilting her body toward me. “I can respect that. I just wish you would’ve given me some idea you hadn’t found my gesture insane.”
“Not at all. It was really appreciated,” I promise her.
“She reached out to me last week and we met for lunch. Did she tell you?”
I think back to dinner on Monday night with Stella and Violet and how my grandmother had off-handedly mentioned meeting with candidates and bringing up Nola’s name. I’d assumed it was to get a rise out of me and hadn’t given her commentary my full attention. I look at Nola and shake myhead. It’s not worth admitting that Stella did say something, but I had been in my head too much to listen.
“Can I ask one question?”
“We’ll see.” I lean back and adjust my baseball hat, waiting.
“What’s her diagnosis? It’s not my business, I know that, but I was there that day. And I’ve seen her on other days when she doesn’t . . .”
“Slip?” I fill in the blank. She gives a small nod and I pause, studying her a long minute, determining if I can trust her. She waits patiently and I can’t think of any reason to not fill her in when she’s witnessed my grandma on her best and worst days. With a sigh, I decide she passes. “Two summers ago, Stella was found in the middle of Palm Springs—where she had lived nearly her whole life—singing. She was convinced she was doing a show at Mervyn’s, a restaurant she used to sing at sometimes. Except, she was standing under the famous Forever Marilyn statue down the street from the restaurant. She knew her name but not how she’d gotten there from her house. Long story short, she’s got early stage dementia and for her, she reverts back to her younger life for a spell and then is lucid again. Could be a few minutes, or like the day you saw her, a couple of hours.”
“I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard to watch.”
“Bless Opal. She moved up here five years ago to live closer to her daughter and begged her best friend to ride out her golden years with her, even if Stella won’t remember her eventually. I made all the arrangements and came up too, to be near her.”
“That’s why this portrait is so important to her, isn’t it?”
I nod. “What did she say during your meeting?”
“I have to give her a color palette that visually represents her based on our meeting.” She gives me a smirk. “That’s what I was working on when I missed your call.”
“And you leaned toward blue?” Her eyes narrow and I tap my temple.
Nola’s nose scrunches when her fingers find the leftover paint near her hairline. Even with the bar’s dim lighting, there’s a visible blush on her cheeks. It’s endearing. “Well, that’s awkward. Blue was my starting point, but that was hours ago.”
“And what did you decide?”
“Definitely not for Stella.”
“Nope,” I agree. “What’d you land on?”
“I’m not telling you,” she says before smugly adding, “but I nailed it.”
“Fine, but just because you canceled your end of the quid pro quo doesn’t mean I lost mine.”
She rolls her eyes. “You figure out what you need from me?”
“You can’t rush something like this, Nola.” I stretch my arms out and rest them on the back of the booth seat. Being in the place where we met is making me feel like risk-taking. I have an idea forming—I think back on what Aaron told me about what kinds of stipulations would be put in place if I were to return to baseball—but I want to finalize the whole thought before I present it to her. I’m leaning toward a couple fake dates over the course of a few months. We have a rapport going now and I bet for the right price, I could get her to agree. “When you get a quid pro quo, you have to save it for the right moment.”
The server drops the extra-large nacho platter in front ofus and Nola goes for a chip, scooping a healthy amount of guac and plopping it into her mouth. I like the ease between us. We’re both holding cards close to our chests, but I don’t feel any need to prove myself to her and I can tell she feels the same way with me. We’re two people, in sweats, eating messy nachos together the night before Thanksgiving.It’s kind of perfect.
Nola pauses and pulls her phone from her crossbody bag. She gives it a quick glance before excusing herself and heading back to the hallway where we first talked to one another. I take the moment to glance around the bar, conversations blending until it all sounds like static noise. There’s a high-top table of women who’ve been eyeballing me since we walked in. I glance their way. They giggle and say something to one another. Then watch me again. It’s been a one-sided game but I get the idea they’re plotting. They’ve definitely figured out who I am.
Nola slides back into her seat and puts her phone down on the table. “Sorry about that. It was Emma and I always take her calls.”
“Absolutely. Is she okay? Is she with Reese?” This proves to me once again that I am not a great kid-person if it wasn’t until this moment that I realized I’m hanging out with a single mom at night during a holiday break. Except, she invited me.
“Oh, she’s fine.” Nola’s smile is tight. “She’s in Seattle for the week with her grandparents.”
