Page 55 of Empty Net
I hold his gaze.
He holds mine for three seconds.
Then he looks away.
Three seconds is not a declaration. It is not enough to build a future on. It is barely enough to file as evidence.
I file it anyway.
When we land, he stands carefully. I stay seated until the players move first. Professional distance. He takes his bag fromthe overhead bin. His jacket rides up at the back when he reaches, and for one second I see the edge of the bruise on his side from a blocked shot and remember touching it last night, remember the way he said don't evaluate me and the way I said I'm not and meant it with my whole body.
I am in love with this man.
The second time the thought arrives, it hurts more.
Not because it is less true.
Because it is.
At baggage claim, my phone buzzes again.
Mom:
Vegetables.
I type:
Yes.
Then, because less organized is apparently contagious:
I think I am in trouble.
Her reply takes longer this time.
Good trouble or bad trouble?
I look across the terminal. Nolan is standing with Cole and Isaac. Isaac is talking with both hands. Nolan is listening with his whole still body, bag over one shoulder, face giving away almost nothing.
Then Isaac says something that makes Nolan's mouth move at one corner.
Good trouble, I type.
Probably.
My mother sends back:
Eat lunch.
Then:
Good trouble still requires protein.
I put the phone away.
I do not know what to do.
For once, I do not immediately try to solve that.
