Page 31 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Only if you think you can catch it,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“Serve my dinner, wench!” booms from the hallway, making me jump.
“You’re on your own unless you want portabella mushrooms, and feta on your pizza,” Tammy answers.
Someone bulkier than Rick steps up next to him and claps him on the back. He’s close enough that I see he has a dark beard to go with short dark hair.
“Dad, this is Rene Vargas,” Rick tells him. “Rene, this is my dad, Craig.”
“So, Rene,” Craig says, “It appears I’m in need of a table wench. Are you, by chance, available for the evening?”
“Um—”
Rick shoves him. “Make your own goddamn pizza, old man.”
“You just want the wench for yourself,” Craig says with a grin.
“Damn straight,” Rick answers, pulling me closer.
We all go to work. Once we have our dough stretched onto the stones and the sauce spread, we
sprinkle on shredded cheese, then Rick steps around behind me and points out all toppings. We layer them on and slide the stones into the oven.
When we sit down to eat twenty minutes later, I have no idea what my pizza looks like, but it tastes amazing.
Rick’s family is so easy. I know they can tell I don’t see very well, but when I accidentally drop my salad fork on the floor, Tammy just tells me where to find a new one. No one here seems to think I need to be babied.
Rick’s brother takes off right after dinner, and his parents are busy cleaning the kitchen. Rick pulls me into his lap and kisses me as we settle onto the sofa.
“Mmm . . .” he says with a grin. “You taste like pepperoni. I approve.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There’s a clap from the kitchen and I jump and slide off Rick just as Craig comes around the corner. “There’s got to be a ballgame on this thing,” he says, scooping something off the coffee table. The next second, the TV is on and he’s flipping through channels. He stops on a Giants game and I settle into Rick’s side as he pulls me closer.
And I realize this is the first time since I’ve been home that I feel like myself.
Six
I PUT ON the Coke bottle glasses the optometrist gave me last week and look at the picture on my Mac screen for a long time. I didn’t smile when I clicked the close up of my face. I center the picture on my left eye and slowly tighten the magnification. There’s a black pupil in the middle of a light brown iris. I scan to my right eye, and with my limited vision, it looks pretty much the same. God, I hope it looks the same.
I have to zoom in even more before I can make out the scar cutting through my right eyebrow. Though I generally avoid looking in the mirror, on the occasions I’ve glanced up at myself, I’ve noticed that the scar isn’t the first thing I see anymore. Looking at the picture, it’s clear that it’s starting to fade—more pink now than red.
I reach for my face and finger along the scar from forehead to lips. It’s starting to feel smoother, blending into the skin around it. The doctor said it would do this—fade over time. I didn’t believe him.
Rick wants me to come to San Jose today for his birthday, and he graduates next week, which means another trip. We’ve gone out a few times on the weekends when he’s come home, but it’s always been to places where there weren’t very many people and I knew none of them.
This feels different.
He wants me to meet his friends. He wants me to put me out there in front of everyone he knows.
I’m not sure I’m ready.
It’s the first time in the two months Rick and I have been “together” that I think I can’t do this. I’m still terrified of something setting me off. I don’t want do anything crazy and embarrass him in front of his friends. I don’t think I could take it.
But last weekend, he caught me in a moment of weakness and got me to agree to go. It was the way he kissed me when he asked. It left me dazed and confused. I didn’t understand what I was agreeing to.
I stand and pull the towel off my head. My hair is getting longer, and yesterday I got it trimmed into something that looks intentional. I fluff it with my fingers, then go to my drawers and grab a pair of cotton underwear. I start to tug them on, but then change my mind and root for a white lace thong and matching bra—just in case. I pull jeans and a T-shirt over them and look again at the image on my computer. Making a decision, I move to the family room.
