I roll my eyes. “You ready for dinner?”
“Am I?” she asks warily, understandably doubting my cooking abilities.
We head into the kitchen and Marley smiles at the cherry blossoms on the table, so at least my manic, limping run to the park this morning was worth it.
I’m about to sit down when I realize I forgot to put water on the table. Pulling open the cabinet, I hear a car door slam shut outside.
“Hey, my mom’s home early,” I say as I crane my neck to look out the window, catching a glimpse of her getting her stuff out of the backseat, the rain barely a mist now. I knew she had a mischievous glint in her eye when I asked her to get out her recipe card last night. Of course she couldn’t stay away. Classic Lydia. “She’s going to be so excited to meet you.”
I head out of the kitchen and into the entryway, then pull open the door to greet her. “Hey, Mom, this is…” I turn around, but the hallway behind me is empty—no Marley. My mom’s excited expression fades to confusion, which I return with the same kind of energy.
“One sec,” I say as I backtrack to the kitchen, but even the seat where Marley was sitting is now empty. What the…?
I pause, noticing the door to the basement is ajar, her yellow rain jacket gone.
“Marley?” I call as I push it fully open, jogging down the steps. I’m met by silence, the French doors in the corner of the room flung wide open. I peer out into the backyard for a trace of her yellow jacket.
“Marley!”
Still nothing.
I grab a hoodie from the back of my desk chair. “Hey, Mom!” I call upstairs as I pull it on. “I’ll be right back.” I jog outside and around the house, squinting as I search for her.
Where did she—the pond.
I run-limp out of my neighborhood and along the path, my chest heaving by the time the glittering surface of the water comes into view, the air warm after the rain, the sky a blend of pinks and oranges and purples.
I skid to a stop when I see her yellow jacket, doing a double take when I notice there’s a duck sitting in her lap.
Like… an actual live fucking duck. Sitting. In her lap.
I pull off my hoodie and walk over. I place it on the slightly damp ground before sliding down next to her.
“Well,” I say with an exhale. “This is probably the first time I’ve ever seen anyone cuddle a duck.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, not looking at me. She remains focused on the duck, gently petting its white feathers, her eyebrows knitted together.
“What happened? You didn’t even get to taste the food. I mean, I’m no chef, but it couldn’t have been that bad.” The bird turns its head to look at me, its beady black eyes sizing me up. I scoot a little farther away, not looking for a fight.
Marley shrugs and looks out at the water, the familiar glimmer of pain in her eyes.
“Is it part of the sad story?”
She lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders rising and falling with the breath. “I just… I got nervous,” she says as she pushes her wavy hair out of her face. “Your mom came home. New people make me nervous. I can’t seem to find my voice. I don’t ever know what to say.”
I smirk and scoot closer to nudge her shoulder, the bird eyeing me. “You talk plenty.”
“Only to you,” she says as she looks over at me. “With you it’s…”
Her voice trails off as she searches for the word.
“I don’t know. It’s… us. You get it.”
Us. My heart thumps loudly in my chest at that word. I swallow and watch as she tucks her fingers under the duck’s wings and scratches, its feathers ruffling for a few seconds before settling back down. It rubs its beak against her arm, more affectionate than I knew a duck could even be.
I cross my legs, one over the other, and lean back, trying to ignore the feeling her words have just given me.
“Well, the way you ditched me at dinner was super not cool,” I say, attempting to be serious. “I spent a full hour on that sauce and you didn’t even try it.”
I glance over to see her eyes are wide, her face flustered.
“So,” I say, the word “us” still ringing in my ears. “I deserve a do-over.”
“A do-over?” she asks, both she and the duck staring at me.
“No parents allowed,” I say, meeting the duck’s gaze. “Or ducks. Just you and me.”
The duck quacks in response, its feathers ruffling as Marley and I laugh.
“Just you and me,” she says thoughtfully, hesitantly, until that shy smile pulls at her lips. “Okay.”
We stay another half hour, watching the sun set, our legs almost touching. I jog home after, still trying to figure out how I feel about all of this.
This is not at all how I expected this night to go.
I thought she’d tease me about the messy sauce or my subpar napkin-folding skills. That maybe she’d open up and tell me a little more of her sad story.
But now I just have more questions.
The thing is… I do know exactly what she means by “us.” We just get each other. And even though it feels like something I shouldn’t admit, I can’t help but be excited about our do-over. Excited about us.
I shake off my jumbled feelings and slow down as I head through the front door and into the kitchen, the uneaten rib eyes still on the table, my mom leaning casually against the counter like she didn’t just come home three hours early to catch a glimpse of Marley.
“Everything all right?” my mom asks.
“Yep,” I say as I fill a glass with water and take a quick sip. “It’s all good.” I can feel her eyes on me, prodding for more. “Maybe,” I start to say, and she perks up, eager for more information. “Maybe you can promise me you’ll actually work late next time? Instead of, you know, ruining my plans.”
She gives me a guilty smile before agreeing.
“You hungry?” I motion to the uneaten plates.
She laughs, scooping them up to reheat. “Starving. I’ve been eyeing them since you left.”
We’ve barely started eating when there’s a knock on the back door. We look over, the hinges creaking as Sam steps inside, grinning wide and holding a six-pack of beer.