Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Me:
So, you do know how to text.
Palmer:
Very funny.
Me:
I have no complaints. At least you figured it out.
I stop walking and stare at my phone. Finally, her response pops up.
Palmer:
I didn’t mean to come across as so hot and cold. I know that I’ve done that and it’s embarrassing. I’m not playing games with you or anything like that. I just have a hard time bridging the gap between what I want, what I need, and what I need to want.
Me:
I appreciate that. But you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You aren’t the only one that feels that way about things in their life.
Palmer:
Thank you. It’s just so frustrating.
Me:
Believe it or not, your frustration came through in your above text.
Palmer:
Very funny.
Me:
What’s going on? Boil it down for me.
Palmer:
Okay. It’s simple. I’m attracted to you. But I need to stay focused on what’s best for me. Long-term. For Ethan too. I need to want what’s best for me, which has always been my Achilles Heel.
Me:
I feel like my best bet here is for me to focus on the you being attracted to me part.
Palmer:
That’s the part that I’m having a hard time not paying the most attention to.
My shoulders ease as I relish the simpleness of the exchange. The banter. This amusing, intriguing woman. Even though she’s rejected me—a few times—this is the only easy thing in my life at the moment.
It occurs to me as I stand beside the picnic table that this is precisely why I can’t shrug this woman off.
She’s the only thing that feels right to me right now.
Me:
So, about the pizza—what kind of pizza do you like?
I asked not because I care about what pizza toppings she prefers but because ending this conversation feels lonely. And besides, she reached out to me. Maybe she’s lonely too.
Palmer:
Anything but olives. You?
Me:
I’ve never met a pizza that I didn’t like.
Palmer:
I was afraid you were going to pull some California pizza thing on me with cauliflower crust and a broccoli Rabe topping.
Me:
I mean, to each their own but that description does not equal a pizza to me in any way, shape, or form.
Palmer:
Thank God. Also, now is a good time to tell you that Val set aside her frustration that you chose to have dinner with me and not her after her overt picture-liking and said she’d be happy to watch Ethan on Friday.
Me:
That’s the second-best thing to happen to me this week.
I watch with bated breath for another message to pop up on my screen. Just when I’m scrambling to put together a message to keep the banter flowing, my phone dings.
Palmer:
I’ve got to get this kid to bed. But, before that, we’re going to have a battle about taking a shower. What is it about preteen boys not wanting to shower? I just don’t understand.
Me:
I think it’s less about the shower and more about being able to exert control over your own body. I’ve actually never thought about this until now but that’s what came to mind as I remember being his age. I wanted to decide what I could do with my body. I didn’t want my mom telling me.
Palmer:
So you fought your mom about taking a shower too?
Me:
Yes, ma’am.
Palmer:
Did you also fight her about wearing a coat in the winter?
Me:
No. I didn’t want to be cold. But I do recall someone *coughs* you *coughs* that didn’t wear a jacket to practice.
Palmer:
Me:
I will see you Friday unless I run into you before that.
Palmer:
Sounds like a plan. And thanks for everything you’re doing with the boys. Ethan talks about baseball constantly. We stopped and got the glove oil you mentioned. It’s really nice to see him so excited about something.
Me:
He’s a nice kid. It’s my pleasure.
I wait for a long time to see if she responds, but she doesn’t. I wonder if she’s also staring at the word “pleasure” and comparing that with the taste of our kiss earlier today.
Me:
Good night, Palmer. Say good night to Ethan for me.
Palmer:
Good night, Cole. I will.
I slide my phone into my pocket, but I don’t move. Instead, I stand in the stillness of the country evening and think about the wild-haired woman who has captured my attention.
It occurs to me that I really know nothing about her—way less than I usually know before I have a meal with someone. Interestingly enough, I’ve had more conversations with Palmer than I usually have before a first date, but I actually know less.
Our chats are more generalized and about nothing and are less set up. Maybe that’s why I think about her all the time. This thing between us is more authentic, more organic—all happenstance.
I blow out a breath and look up. Mom is standing on the back porch, waving her hand to tell me it’s time for dinner.
Nothing is fixed and nothing is better. But the ball in my stomach is somehow a little less raw.