I don’t try to hide my perplexed expression. “Why are you asking me to go for a drink? You just told me a couple of hours ago that you’re mad at me and we should keep our distance.”
“I know I did. I still think we should.”
“Then I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I.”
This is asking for trouble. I consider answering with a definitive no when I think back to my conversation with Sam. I swore to seize every opportunity I had with Ryan, spend time with him no matter what it takes—or how much it hurts.
“Fine,” I say, doubting but not stopping myself. “Let’s get a drink.”
4
We end up walking five blocks to The Wharf, my favorite dive bar. Narrowly tucked in along 3rd Avenue, The Wharf is deceivingly huge. Once you navigate through the crowded bar area up front, there’s a small flight of stairs in the back that leads to a covered patio filled with little dining tables. The patio only has two TVs, so the roaring sports fans tend to stay downstairs, leaving the upstairs relaxed but lively by extension.
But the hands down, best, take-your-breath-away part of the upstairs area is the old wooden shelving unit pushed along the far wall that is filled to the brim with board games. I’m talking Jenga, Connect 4, Scrabble, checkers, Battleship—they even have Dream Phone! (Dream Phone being the most thrilling and quasi-salacious electronic board game my ten-year-old self ever played, where Carlos in the neon 80’s tracksuit was, and always will be, my one true love.)
“This is awesome,” Ryan says solemnly, looking up at the stacks of vintage games.
“I know.” I have to respect his admiration for the game wall. I was the same way when I first beheld this magnificent sight. “Pick your poison.”
“Dang,” he says with a sigh. “If I knew I was going to be making a major life decision tonight I would have emotionally prepared myself.” I scoot over so he can keep looking through the shelves until he eventually grabs the Jenga. “There are too many solid choices so I went with a safe bet.”
“A fan favorite and always a good pick.” I swipe the game out of his hands and lead us to one of the tables in the center of the room. We’re stacking up the pieces when a waitress comes by a minute later. I order my usual Grey Goose bay breeze and he gets a beer on tap. The drinks come out fast and I’m ready to go for my first block as soon as they arrive.
“I should warn you,” I say, “I’m a fairly well-known Jenga player in these parts, so you may want to manage your expectations of how this is going to go.”
“Consider me warned.” Ryan is fully focused on the game.
I go for my first block, a strategic side pull near the bottom. Ryan moves closer to the table as he considers his return move. He goes for a mid-level center block and three moves later, neither of us has uttered a single word. My face starts to feel warm so I take a sip of my drink. It doesn’t help; if anything, it makes my cheeks rosier.
“On the plus side,” I say, “I’m glad this excursion of ours isn’t at all awkward.”
“Absolutely,” Ryan agrees, pulling out a side block and placing it on top of our tower. “Maybe other exes go for a drink and end up battling it out in a high-stakes board game in painful silence, but not us.”
“Definitely not us. How embarrassing would that be?” I purposely give him a creepy silent stare as I pull out my next Jenga piece. He sits back in his chair with a quiet laugh.
“It’s nice to know you still joke your way through uncomfortable situations.”
“I try my best.”
“So, seeing as we’re not a former couple who struggles to make conversation, why don’t you tell me what you like to do when you’re not writing?”
Polite conversation.So good to see you again. Please save me from myself.
“Well,” I say, watching Ryan pull out his next block, “when I’m not writing, or trying to, I visit my family or go out with friends—one of my two friends, to be specific. And of course my reading game is as strong as ever.”
“You always did live life on the edge.”
“I’m a creature of habit,” I say with a smile.
Ryan shakes his head, seeming amused as he surveys our tower, and I inwardly worry his engineering background will give him some sort of advantage. “Do you only read the type of books you write or do you read other kinds, too?”
I make my next move and easily stack my block on top. “Honestly, I’d like to say I venture out more into other genres, but ninety-nine percent of the time, I stick to romance.”
“Don’t you ever get bored?” he asks. “It has be repetitive after a certain point.”
“I can see why you would think that, but to me, they’re really not repetitive at all. There are so many subgenres of romance that if I ever do feel like things are getting a little stale, I just switch it up that way.”
