"I don't smoke."
"I don’t usually either, but my ex-boyfriend just showed up with his fiancée and—"
"You're not drunk enough to deal with that kind of thing tonight."
She laughed. "Exactly. Not nearly."
The door opened again and for a second before it closed, raucous laughter flowed out, someone screaming as if in glee.
"Sounds like adult Disneyland in there," she murmured.
"No wonder I'm out here."
Her eyes widened. "You don't like Disneyland?" She looked around, as if making sure no one had heard me, like I'd just told her I was a terrorist.
I laughed and shook my head. "No. But in all fairness, I've never been there. I'm just assuming based on the fact that I don't like roller coasters. Or magic. Or wonder."
She leaned forward and laughed. "Right. Magic. Wonder. So boring. No wonder adult Disneyland isn't really your speed."
I shook my head and pointed across the street to a coffee shop. The sign was making a strange buzzing sound and one of the F’s in coffee was missing. An old man was sitting at a booth at the window, his head down on the table, either sleeping, or possibly dead. "That place over there's more my speed."
She gazed over at it sadly. "Yeah, there's definitely no magic or wonder there. Probably very little hygiene either."
I nodded, looking over at her, and giving her a slow smile. "Ah, but there is one thing. Donuts."
Her eyes widened. "Let's go."
I laughed. "You can't just leave your friends."
"I'll text them to let them know where I am." She nodded to the door. "It's not like I won't see them if they come outside. We'll sit by the window. By the way, my name's Jenna."
"Ryan." I smiled. "Okay, why not? Let's go."
We waited for a few cars to pass and then jogged across the street, pulling the door open to the comforting scents of sugar, grease, and coffee. A waitress at the counter, who was reading a magazine, gestured her hand around the coffee shop, indicating we could choose our seat. I chose a table by the window, a couple down from the (probably) sleeping guy. Jenna slid into the chair across from me. Once the waitress had taken our order, two coffees and two maple-glazed donuts, Jenna asked, "So Ryan, what do you do?"
"I'm an athletic trainer."
She laughed softly. "Is that a job or an undergarment?"
"Ha ha." But I gave her a genuine chuckle.
"So seriously, what does an athletic trainer do?"
I shrugged. "I'm basically the team's favorite employee. I tape ankles, rub sore muscles, and rehab injuries. In a nutshell."
She raised an eyebrow. "So you work for, like, a sports team?"
I nodded. "I work for the 49ers."
Her eyes widened. "No shit? That's so cool." The waitress brought our coffee and Jenna dumped a couple packets of sugar into hers before saying, "I'm a fan. What happened with Holden Scott last year was so tragic. Did you know him well?"
"Yeah," I said, and cleared my throat when it came out croaky. "Yeah."
Apparently there was something in my face that gave Jenna pause because she took a sip of her coffee and then said, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I said. It so wasn't okay. I missed him. But I hated making others uncomfortable. "So what do you do, Jenna?"
She smiled, obviously relieved to change the subject. "I'm in marketing." She told me a little bit about her job and the company she worked for. I mostly listened, although my mind wandered just a little. There are all these little milestones after you lose someone. Mostly, they pass by in ways that others don't even recognize, but they still continued to jolt me. I wondered how long that would last? Those few moments after Holden's name was mentioned when I had to work to regain my equilibrium, those few moments when I had to focus on not sinking to my knees.
Be proud of those victories, Dr. Katz had said. For that's what they are, small personal triumphs of strength. And they matter.
I tuned back in to Jenna. "Anyway," she sighed, "I like it. I like the job, and the travel it involves."
"How often do you travel?"