“So now your brain doesn’t know where to file him.”
I hate how accurate she is. “Are you sure you weren’t a therapist in your past life?”
“Positive,” she responds with a nod. “If I was anything in a past life, I was a gay blacksmith in the highlands of medieval Scotland. Pretty sure I had an affair with my apprentice and was beheaded, but I can’t be sure.”
“I…” I stare wordlessly at Mari as if my entire brain glitched. “What?”
She shrugs like what she just said is everyday conversation. “It was a past life regression therapy session I went to once. Kind of cool.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“So,” she urges. “You don’t know what to think of this football player?”
“Right. Yeah.” I shake my head, trying to refocus my thoughts. “I just don’t like exceptions.”
“Translation, you don’t like gray. You prefer black and white.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say bobbing my head back and forth.
Mari nods. “Exceptions are dangerous. They make you hope.”
I look down at the teacup in my hands. The crack catches the light and I smooth my finger over it.
“I’m not sure I believe in hope,” I say.
“I know. So, who was he? The football player?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea.
I take a deep breath knowing she’s going to give me all kinds of shit when I tell her. “Shepherd Haynes.”
Mari nearly spits out her tea, her hand springing up to cover her mouth as she forces herself to swallow. “Shepherd Haynes? As in quarterback for the Portland Rush?”
“The very same.” I cringe.
“Oh my God, you know he’s only one third of the famous Haynes Trifecta, right? He’s one of triplets and they all look relatively identical.” She fans herself with her hand. “They’re all athletes. Can you even imagine?”
I nod slowly. “Oh yeah. I can imagine. I met them all last night, plus brother number four. I laid eyes on each one of them.”
Mari gasps. “No, you did not.”
“I did.” I palm my forehead. “And I said—right in front of them—that pro ball players get paid way too much money to wear stupid expensive pants and play tag for a living.”
Mari laughs heartily and then pats my knee. “Only you, Sutton. Only you.”
“I know, right? Fuck my life.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. I contemplate telling her about Shepherd Haynes tipping me a hundred bucks, but I bite my tongue and keep that to myself. Finally, Mari nudges the box of teacups toward me. “You taking one of these or not?”
I run my thumb along the fracture of the cup I’m holding. “Yeah. This one.”
She rings it up without comment.
As I tuck the cup into my bag, wrapped carefully in newspaper, I feel…steadier. Not fixed. Not resolved.
Just a little more myself.
Maybe I needed to get Shepherd Haynes out of my system.
I don’t plan to see him again.
