“Nothing unusual, just a meeting.” Heat radiates to my cheeks as I sit here lying to her.
She scrunches her eyebrows at me and says, “Anyone who starts a sentence with ‘Nothing unusual’ is definitely lying. So spill it.”
“I’m working out at the gym of one of my clients.”
She almost spits her water out. “You’re what?”
“You heard me.” I glance around the restaurant sure that everyone is staring at us because of her outburst, but no one is.
“I’m sorry, but you can go work out with a client, have fun with a client, breach a professional line with a client…but you can’t play softball?”
“This deal is really important to me.”
“More than disappointing your cousin?”
I shake my head.
“Then bring your client to play. Obviously they are athletic.”
“Come on, Mads.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’ll ask him.”
“It’s a guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did I not know this?”
“Uhhh, I didn’t think it was important.”
“Well, it is! Out of nowhere you’re blowing me off for a guy. Client or whatever you say, but since that crap Alex and Jaquelle pulled on you, you’ve been a hermit.”
“Can we please not go there right now?” Bringing up my past does nothing but hurt. Plus, working out with Nate is really for professional reasons anyways…or that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Of course.” She checks her watch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s okay, it’s the truth.”
“After what you went through, I would do the same thing. That’s why it means so much to me that you join softball. You need to start getting back into social world.”
“I appreciate the support, Mads, I really do.”
“I’m always here for you, dear.”
“Me too.”
“Good, now I hate to say, but I gotta run to an appointment before softball.”
She gets up from her chair and throws down a twenty-dollar bill. I give her a hug before watching her walk off. Mads really is one of the sweetest people in the world. She’s just watching out for me and I appreciate that…I’m just all twisted up inside with this Nate situation and trying to figure out which end is up with him. As I dig into my wallet for the other half of the lunch bill, I think about asking Nate to softball.
Would it be weird? I wonder how he’d feel. I’m hesitant and second guess it. Letting my nerves get the best of me. But, then again, Mads will be pissed if I don’t go. I take a deep breath and decide it doesn’t hurt to give him a call, it’s better to talk it out over the phone rather than an awkward text. I don’t want him to think I’m asking him out or anything. Thinking of him like that makes my heart race and I immediately turn it off. I can’t get hurt again.
His phone goes to voicemail and I leave a message, “Hey Nate, it’s El…Elania. I have a quick question about tonight, can you call me?”
I hang up instantly questioning everything. Why did I call myself El? Why did I even call him in the first place? He’s my client, he asked me to his gym, and to be polite, I accepted. But there can’t be anything more. El? I’m such an idiot.
As I leave the restaurant, I remember that I need a new pair of sneakers; my running shoes are burnt to hell, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be embarrassed in front of Nate, or at softball.
With every light I come to, I check my phone worried I missed his call. Then I stop myself. I won’t do this again, I can’t put my heart out there to be jeopardized. What’s it matter if he calls me or not?
Pulling into the shoe store parking lot, I take a deep breath. I have to keep myself in control. Stay focused on the task at hand. Looking in the mirror, I appear calm. I apply a thin layer of lip gloss before heading inside, doing my best to control my stressing.
As I browse the shelves of shoes looking for the right pair, my phone rings. It’s him. I swallow hard. “Hey, Nate,” I answer.
“Hey, El, sorry I missed you.”
Christ, he called me El again. I snap out of the instant daze he puts me in, willing myself to speak. “It’s all right, not a big deal at all.” Then it’s quiet, that horrible awkward silence that everyone hates.
“So, you had a question for me?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. I was just wondering if you wanted…I mean…what shoes should I wear? I’m shopping for them right now.”
“Sneakers,” he says slowly, clearly confused by my bizarre question.
“Sneakers,” I repeat, staring at all of the options, wondering how I didn’t have the balls to ask him to softball and let things slip away so quickly. Mads is how. Damn her for making my wheels spin about him. I was completely fine until she brought up my past and it made the present throw up in my face.
“So, I’ll see you at six?” he asks.
“Yeah, six.”