My mouth twitches into a bigger smile. For so long I’ve wanted this—a group of friends to call my own. People who like me for me, and not what I can do for them.
Catherine bumps my hip with hers. “Plus, knowing those two big lugs, they’ll pay for all of us.”
“Big lugs?” I laugh.
“I said what I said.”
I shake my head. “Also, how is having Garrett and Anker pay for dinner equate toustreating you?”
“Again, Grandma Flores would want me to share my good fortune with my friends,” she says, a wink in her playful timbre.
“Does that good fortune include a blueberry Danish?” Andrew calls as we stroll out of the office.
“We’ll get you two in honor of Elise’s college acceptance and in consolation for your sadness!” Catherine shouts as we head out.
Garrett: Quinoa Protein Bowl
I lean back in my office chair, a pleased smile belts across my face, at Garrett’s now-daily lunchtime text message. Despite my phone’s robotic tone, I almost hear Garrett’s deep timbre telling me what he’s having for lunch.
For Christmas, I got him a subscription to a meal delivery service. Now, he has no excuse not to eat. It’s delivered each Sunday to his house, and I set up a daily reminder for him to grab his meal and an additional nudge to eat said meal.
Me: Glad you’re keeping up your strength. I, for one, am withering to nothing with this grilled chicken salad.
Garrett: I’m sure the red velvet cupcake latte you got earlier with Kayla and Catherine, plus the bag of chips you’re probably eating with your salad, will hold you over.
Me: You’re so creepy, Stalker Darcy.
I place my phone down and grab another chip to stifle my giggles and distract me from the little flutter in my chest at this playful exchange.
Crushing on men whom I won’t ever have isn’t new for me, but my self-control about this is. I’m not waiting for Garrett. I like him, but we’re never going to happen. This isn’t like Miles or Chase. It’s better as I’m not twisted in knots, hoping he’ll magically wake up one day ready to deal with his unresolved feelings about Val.
Past Jensen would have done just that. She’d be on bated breath and all the cliches. As I told Dr. Nor, I can recognize my feelings for Garrett without losing myself to them. I can be his friend without holding onto misguided hope that what we have will lead to more. Because I like being Garrett Marlowe’s friend. New Jensen—or at least the one I’m becoming—is focused on our mission.
We’re three months into our training. My ability to loosen the rope is improving. Next week, we’ll have our first test with Cupid Course, a Valentine’s themed 10K benefiting the American Heart Association. Each leg of our training program comes with a race component to get us comfortable with a crowded race environment.
Both Anker and Garrett talk about the race being so different than training. The noise. The energy. The other runners. That gets ramped up for visually impaired runners. At least, that’s what Sonora and others say in the online runners’ group.
Tossing my empty food container into the trash, I use wet wipes to clean my hands before logging back into my computer. This week, the grant application to fund the access technology center is due. I want to do one last review of it before clicking the submit button. Just like the lengthy interview process Catherine just went through, I won’t hear about the grant until spring. At least it doesn’t involve several rounds of interviews.
“Jensen.”
I look up from my work, happiness flutters in my chest. “Garrett.”
“Good day?” He leans against the door jamb, a smirk evident in his question.
“Great day.”
Once I submitted the grant application, I spent the rest of the day with students. It’s one of my favorite parts of the job. Not just helping them figure out their path forward, but being a sounding board. Like me, a lot of them were the only disabled kid from their high school, or in their family. I hope they get as much out of working with me as I do with them.
With the application submitted, I now have a little additional time in my schedule to take on other projects. One of which I’ve been mulling over for a while.
“I think I’m going to start a disabled students’ social club.” I log out of my computer.
My department’s focus is on disabled students’ academic success, but education isn’t just the classes we take. It’s also the experiences we have. It’s all the things that make us well-rounded individuals. This campus has clubs for just about everything. Many that aren’t accessible—not really. If the last few months with my blossoming friendships have taught me anything, it’s the importance of relationships.
I stand up and grab my purse. “I want to give students the community I am just now finding.”
“That’s great.” He almost glows from the pride radiating off him. “You’re amazing.”
