I turn to her helplessly, looking for guidance, but she grabs my tattooed hand in both of hers and she shrugs again. “Whatever you want. Anything you want.”
Puffing my cheeks out, I nod slowly through a measured exhale. Her fingers trace the outline of his initial, and the ever-constant constriction in my chest loosens its hold.
“He’d like you,” I tell her.
She leans forward conspiratorially. “Did he like pretty girls, too?”
“He did, yeah. He just loved people, actually. Loved getting to know them. Could find something good in just about anybody,” I say through a laugh, and instead of pain cutting across the back of my throat, it burns, and I think I might be a bit wistful, too. “But he’d have thought the whole dinosaur thing was pretty cool. He’d think you were smart. And he’d think you were brave. For starting over after a ten-year relationship.” Her fingers twitch against the back of my hand, and I give her a grin. “And he never would have shut the fuck up about me giving you my jersey at the game. New running joke in the family forever, guaranteed.”
“What else?”
A lot else, as it turns out.
I tell her all kinds of things.
That he was missing a front tooth until he was nine. That when he was missing that tooth he had his first kiss with a girl from our neighbourhood because I dared him to, and he always sworeshe was the one who got away. That he broke his left thumb when he was twelve because we were wrestling, and it was sort of crooked after that because we were too scared to tell his parents, so it started to heal before he saw a doctor. That one time, on a spring break trip in college, he drank so many mango margaritas he puked for an entire day and couldn’t even look at the fruit in the grocery store for three years after that. That he still holds the record for fastest pitch in league history. That playing with him was the best thing that ever happened to me, and when I moved home, we bought this cottage together. That he died there, four years later.
Ren’s fingers, brushing patterns along the back of my hand, go still. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
My eyes, blurred around the edges, snap to her. “You don’t—you haven’t—you didn’t even Google it?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not my business.”
“Oh.” I swallow, relieved. “Let’s, uh—next time?”
“I’ll put it on the agenda.” Ren quirks a brow, her fingers painting a final pattern against the back of my hand before she lets it go, gently. “I should go. It’s late, and I have to be at the museum early tomorrow.”
I nod, reaching for my phone. “I’ll get you a ride.”
She shakes her head, hair tumbling around her shoulders. “I can call my own Uber, I’m a big girl.”
I flash my palms. “Far be it from me to try and be chivalrous.”
“You had your one act of chivalry when you gave me the jersey.” She rolls her eyes, thumb tapping away on her phone.
“What about this?” I gesture to the empty parking lot. “Waiting for you while you get your ride?”
She points to her phone, grabs the raptor trophy, and pushes to stand. “I picked a driver who’s just down the street.”
“Too bad.” I huff a laugh, following her upright and into the world.
It’s a shame. I could probably sit on this curb, eat shitty hot dogs, and talk to Ren Jacobs for the rest of my life.
Headlights flash as a car dips over the speed bump to get into the parking lot.
“That’s me.” Ren tucks her phone in the pocket of her jeans. “Good luck this week. Home series, right?”
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair, nodding, before the words start to spill out. “I’ve got—there’s always—tickets. Any chance you want to come to a game this week?” I tug on the ends, hopeful. “You’ve already got a jersey.”
She blinks. “Oh. Uhm—I could see if—”
“I’ve got more than one. Your friend from the museum? The dropper?”
“Imani,” she supplies through a light laugh.
“Yeah. Her.” I nod, too enthusiastic probably. “She could come.”
Ren angles her head as the driver pulls up beside her. “I’ll ask her what night might work for her.” She reaches behind her to open the passenger side door, wrinkling her nose. “Night, Miller. I’ll keep him this week, and you can have him on weekends?” She lifts the trophy before she ducks into the car.
