Page 30 of ClickBack

“I was embarrassed for you.”

“Still counts.”

I ask for a hat. He gives me a plain navy cap, and I tuck the ends of my bob beneath it. There is no way to make this look intentional. On the other hand, nothing pinches, and I have spent enough mornings dressed for other people.

“I’ll return everything.”

“Okay.”

“Or mail it. Now that I have the address.”

“Don’t mail me my shit, Giselle.”

His phone lights on the dresser. Cam again. He reads the message, and the change in him is small but clear. I stop collecting my things.

“Something you need to take care of?”

“Next season. San Antonio came up again.”

Last night, the city meant his brother’s game. I look at him in the mirror. “They want you to play there?”

“They’re asking.” He puts the phone in his pocket. “Von’s trying to close a series. I’d like him to get through that before somebody asks him where I’ll be living.”

“Are you still going to his game?”

“I’ll call Javon first. Make sure he knows I’m coming to see him play, not meet with anybody.”

“That sounds like a distinction worth making.”

“If he lets me finish the sentence.”

“You could open with hello. I hear people respond to that.”

He looks at me, and I think of how he answered the phone last night. We both laugh, though mine arrives with a little relief. I don’t want to spend this morning testing whether an apology still counts.

He retrieves my sandal from beneath the chair while I make room in my bag for yesterday’s clothes. “Anything else down there?” I ask. “Earring? Dignity?”

He peers beneath it again. “I can help you with the earring.”

Outside, the sun is already warm on the pavement. Jarrett puts on sunglasses that do absolutely nothing to disguise him. A man walking a dog calls his name from across the street. He raises a hand and keeps pace with me, slowing when I stop to adjust the strap on my sandal. I am acutely aware of my borrowed shorts. He seems concerned only with whether the strap has broken.

At the restaurant, the hostess recognizes him and asks whether he wants his usual table. He looks at me before answering.

“Near the window okay?”

I say yes. Once we are seated, coffee arrives quickly enough that I nearly thank the waitress twice.

“That serious?” he asks.

“You don’t drink coffee. You have no standing here.”

“I got eyes.”

“Then use them to read your menu.”

He does, still smiling.

He orders breakfast in quantities that make me check whether the waitress has brought an extra menu for someone joining us. Eggs, potatoes, turkey sausage, bacon, toast, fruit, pancakes. I choose eggs and potatoes with fruit on the side.