I say it, and I mean it.
This draw I feel toward her—it’s more than wanting to help Eddie’s niece or simply protecting somebody’s who’s been hurt.
There’s something about her that’s caught my attention like no other. She’s special, even if she can’t see it herself.
Conflict flashes across her face, then she sighs. “I just… I don’t know how to move forward. Maybe I should talk to someone like you said. A therapist.”
“That’s a good idea. That could really help.”
“The counselors at school are free. But what if…”
“I’m sure they’re required to keep things confidential,” I say. “And if that’s not enough. Then… we can always find you somebody not affiliated with the school.”
She thinks on it, considering as she spoons her melting ice cream. “Yeah… maybe…”
We fall into a brief silent interlude where she finally takes a real bite of her cookies and cream and I finish up the Neapolitan. Then, out of nowhere, she wrinkles her nose at me.
“Neapolitan is gross, by the way.”
Her comment catches me so off guard I laugh, the sound rough from lack of use. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”
“Ihavetried it. It’s nasty. Three flavors that don’t belong together.”
“You’re questioning my taste now?”
A small smirk tips her lips wider, the first real sign of life I’ve seen from her in a long time. “Let me guess—you’re one of those weirdos who puts pineapple on pizza too?”
“No. Anchovies.”
“You can’t be serious,” she says, making a gagging sound so horrified I can’t help grinning. “That’s even worse! What’s wrong with you?”
“Says the girl who thinks cookies and cream is the height of sophistication. Not sure you’re anybody to be judging me.”
“It’s a classic!”
“It’s boring.”
She throws her crumpled napkin at me, actually laughing now. I’m joining her, chuckling as I grab the napkin and toss it into her empty ice cream cup like I’m making a basketball shot.Suddenly the mood’s lighter, and I want nothing more than to keep making her laugh.
Keep watching her smile.
By the time we leave, she’s telling me about her upcoming audition for a play at the community center. Some production calledMoonshine & Magnoliashe’s been looking forward to and spending endless hours practicing for.
I listen attentively, secretly grateful she’s opening up in this way.
The sadness is still there underneath it all—whatever the phone call was about plaguing her—but our little ice cream date has eased her mind for the time being.
I won’t push her for more. I won’t press for details about what else is troubling her.
It’s the last thing she needs right now.
Right now, she just needs to be herself. She needs to know I’m here when she needs me.
As I drive her home, I catch myself watching her in my peripheral vision. The setting sun lights up her soft profile and she pushes a loc out of her face.
I’m forty-five years old, far too old to be noticing these things about a twenty-year-old girl.
But I notice anyway. Because I’ve come to pick up even the smallest details about her. Someone as special as Solana deserves to be noticed.
