Page 43 of Patrick

I let my conversation bubbles go on without me because what am I going to say.

Trick: What about it?

I laugh because I think he’s telling me with emojis that he’s going to get a hat trick.

Me: I’m excited about the game and your possible hat trick! I’d like to meet before then if we can.

Trick: Not today. Busy with the team.

My shoulders sag. Disappointment and determination mingle, creating what’s becoming a familiar tension.

When did I get so fragile? I can wait a day to see him and tell him about my parents coming to the game. Except I have a bad feeling about blowing up our plans at the last second. Guilt plagues me for no good reason. Shit. I’m being ridiculous. Having dinner with my parents only means delaying our night together for a couple of hours. Not the end of the world.

But as the text train remains blank, without even a single dot bubbling, I can’t bring myself to type in the necessary message. I’m all too aware of the shortcomings of texting and even phoning.

There’s one thing I know about relationships, especially at the beginning when they’re fragile, and that is that clear communication is paramount. Misunderstandings are too easy when we’re still getting to know each other and not sure of where we stand yet. Things are fluid to the point of sloshy and easy to spill over with one wrong move—one misunderstood word.

In-person is best.

Trick: Fifi? You in the front row of some class hiding your phone?

Me: Almost. You have practice after your team lunch?

Trick: After classes at three. Then dinner at six. Then study. Then bed and dreams of you.

My belly flutters and gathers like champagne in a bottle waiting for release. Worse, my mouth stretches wide in a goofy smile no matter how much I lecture myself to manage my expectations.

Me: Good luck at the game. I’ll be rooting for you on the inside.

Trick: Can’t wait to celebrate with you after we win.

The pleasant fluttering in my belly stops as it tightens uncomfortably. I resist the urge to text him now to tell him our celebration will be delayed; I’ll catch him at the rink after practice to let him know in person to make sure it’s all good.

I’m about to text him goodbye when the tell-tale conversation dots bubble up to announce he’s sending something.

Trick: We can celebrate all the way into Sunday afternoon… and night.

Me: Seriously? What about your family’s Sunday dinner? Hockey practice?

I thought we’d part after breakfast and wouldn’t see him until our Stats class.

Trick: I convinced Mom that seeing her at the game makes up for Sunday dinner.

Me: Lol She bought that? You’re good.

Trick: I’m right. And according to Mom, too charming to be good.

I laugh out loud for real because his parents are coming to the game too. Standing outside the classroom building, I catch a couple of funny looks from kids passing by me. The building is a no-phone zone. We’re required to turn them off inside and only turn them on again when we leave, like we’re smokers and our phones will contaminate the place of learning. It’s probably true. I don’t have a problem with the rule. But now I need to shut my phone and finish texting later. And it’s the last thing I want to do.

Am I obsessed or addicted?

Me: Let’s explore later. Gotta go to class. ILYF, S

I shut my phone and walk inside, feeling self-conscious about my sign-off. I let the letters flow reflexively. Though the instant I hit send, I am hyper-aware that I might be rocking the boat, and for no good reason.

In my defense, it’s how I sign off with everyone I’m close to. Like Carmela, for instance. Or Mom. Why should I feel funny about it?

Because Trick isn’t a family member, you idiot. And am I really close to him?