Which leaves a whole lot of hours in between to fill.
And how are those hours filled?
Yeah, definitely should have thought about that.
"Chess." She says it more to herself than to me, but I answer anyway.
"I beg your pardon?" I go with that since I'm not sure where this is heading.
"Chess. Do you play?" She asks, putting the final piece she's just finished polishing, that never needed polishing in the first place, back in its position.
I look at the ornate wooden set, wondering when I last played. It's not like I get a lot of visitors. And certainly not to play chess. "I... yes, I do. You?"
I shouldn't assume she doesn't, but I can't deny, I never pegged her as the type.
"Not for a few months," she admits, her expression crumbling into a sadness I don't care for. "I used to play with my dad before he died."
"I'm sorry, was it recent?"
"Umm..." She appears uncomfortable. "Yeah... about five weeks ago."
Damn. Poor girl's still grieving. What the hell is she doing here? A part of me wants to know. Another part is screaming at me to step back and not get involved.
"I'm sorry for your loss." God, that sounds trite, but what else can I say? "Would you like a game, or would that bring back too many raw memories for you?"
She stares at the set again. "Actually, I'd love to play."
She picks up the board and carries it over to the coffee table, then drops to the floor and sits cross-legged. "Are you comfortable like that?" Yeah, I know, you're wondering if I've been abducted and replaced by aliens.
So am I!
So is Juno if the look of surprise on her face is anything to go by. But the wide smile she offers makes it worth it.
"I'm good. Thank you for asking."
'Thanks for asking.' Why does something so simple hit me so hard?
She's surprisingly good, and it's the most enjoyable game I've had in far too long.
"Check mate."
"Wait what? No!"
I scrutinize the pieces on the board. How the hell did she do that?
"It's okay you underestimated me," she says cheekily. "Most people do."
"As much as I want to object, that was well played," I concede. "But how the hell are you that good? How old are you? Twenty-one, twenty-two? I must have a good ten years on you."
She grins and it's disarming. "Almost twenty-four; and I've been playing since I was six years old. Does that make you thirty-four?"
The question is almost sneaked in along with her reply, and I find myself answering without meaning to. "Thirty-two."
"When's your birthday?"
"October."
"Well, I'm May, so there's only eight years between us, and I bet you didn't start playing as early as I did."
