by Sonia Hartl
Matilda was his prized lop-eared rabbit. She had the softest fur, thanks to regular grooming, and the sweetest temperament. Paxton practiced posing with her so often, she’d gotten accustomed to doing what he needed to win a ribbon. Part of me wondered if she understood it all, and if those ribbons meant just as much to her as they did her owner. Things had been off with us last night, but if I stopped by today, maybe we could sort out that weird tension before we had another shift together.
“I guess I could go over there,” I said casually. Too casually.
Peg and Donna stopped shooting each other death glares long enough to look at me, and a slow smile spread over Peg’s thin lips. I knew that look. It made all the muscles in my shoulders bunch up and tighten.
“No wonder you have no interest in the baseball boy,” Peg said.
I glanced at Gigi, silently begging her to rescue me, but she did no such thing. She just sat back with her arms crossed, wearing a satisfied grin. Traitor.
“You got a thing for Paxton?” Donna asked.
My face burned so bad, I thought it might catch on fire. “No.”
“Liar.” Peg’s jowls flapped like a turkey’s neck as she cackled. “That boy is as sweet as apple pie on a crisp fall day. Can’t say I blame you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I willed the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I didn’t want to have this conversation ever, and I definitely didn’t want to have it with Gigi in the room. “We’re coworkers. Friends. That’s it.”
Gram pulled her head out of the refrigerator, where she’d been pushing jars around and clicking bottles together trying to get to the sun tea in back. She came out of the kitchen, totally unaware, and stared at me. “What did you all say to make Macy so uncomfortable?”
“Macy has a crush on Paxton.” Donna’s eyes sparkled.
“I do not,” I said, refusing to meet Gram’s steely glare.
“Your momma is going to have a heart attack if she finds out,” Gram said. “You know how she feels about dating coworkers. I don’t mind it myself. You could do a lot worse than Paxton. He’s a good-looking boy and a soft one too.”
Thank God that Mom had already left for work. If she’d been here, I had no doubt she would’ve assumed I’d be impregnated by week’s end. I stiffened my spine. “I’m not going to date him. Jesus. I didn’t even say I liked him. I just said I might stop by to help him with the bunnies, and these old gossips ran wild with it.”
“If you say so.” Gram lit a cigarette and turned back toward the kitchen. “I still wouldn’t tell your momma about helping with the bunnies. She worries too much as it is.”
“I know.” Because it had been ground into me before I’d even made it out of the womb. No coworkers. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom tried to have it tattooed on my forehead one day. “I’m leaving now, and I am going to the lake.”
“Tell Paxton to get the hamburger out for dinner,” Gigi called as the screen door slapped shut behind me. Peg’s and Donna’s laughter chased me all the way down to the sidewalk.
I wouldn’t go see Paxton. The Bees would never leave me alone again. And Gigi, of all people, totally set me up. I would not go there. I’d go to the lake and dip my toes in the cool water, and … somehow my feet took me in the wrong direction. Through a break in the woods at the edge of our property. The way to Paxton’s house.
Twigs snapped under my feet as I walked, making my heart race. After the bloggers, I couldn’t underestimate how exposed I was out here alone. Lisbeth and Gigi had bought a two-bedroom house at the end of a dirt road, set way back near the trees. The earthy scent of the woods fought for dominance with the farm smell of the bunny hutches spread out along the back of the property line. I’d only been here twice before to run patterns and cucumbers over to Gigi for Gram. Paxton didn’t like people coming to his house, and after leaving the chattering Bees behind, I was inclined to agree with him about not wanting company. Lisbeth still worked at the nursing home two towns over, and was gone more often than not, so Gigi had mostly raised Paxton.
The gate clinked against the chain-link fence as I shut it behind me. I didn’t text before I came over, because then I would’ve had to admit I was coming over in the first place. According to Gigi, he needed to deal with the other bunnies while getting Matilda ready for the fair. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.
Gigi’s daffodils swayed in the gentle morning breeze. She loved to garden, but she was best known for her daffodils, which she often clipped and brought to people who were sick or mourning or heartbroken. Paxton got all his softness from Gigi, even if they weren’t related by blood. Maybe I’d ask him if I could bring some to my mom before I left. Browning grass crunched under my feet as I stepped around the side of the house, and stopped short.
Paxton held Matilda above his head, her fur gleaming from a recent brushing, and he kissed her wet nose while her little legs kicked the air. “Who’s my sweet baby? Who’s taking first place this year?” Matilda’s legs kicked faster. “That’s right. None of the other rabbits can compare. Not against the prettiest bunny in Shelby County.”
I put a hand to my chest, just to feel the place where my heart had melted clean away. I’d seen Paxton with his bunnies before, but usually at the fair, or other local competitions, when he was all business and focused on their posing for the judges. Never with this open and tender joy. Like Matilda held his world in her tiny, fast feet. I once asked him why he’d named her Matilda, and he said because she was magic. Seeing them together, I finally got it.
He caught sight of me and grinned. Not a hint of embarrassment over cooing at his rabbit like she was a toddler. He held Matilda against his chest, waving her front paw at me. “Looks like we have a visitor.”
“Sorry I didn’t text. Gigi sent me over here. She said you needed help with the bunnies before you went to work, and I didn’t have anything better to do.” Keep it cool. Easy. Like I just stopped over here and offered to help with his bunnies every day.
“Just finishing up.” He tucked Matilda back into her hutch, and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “Is that really why you came over?”
“Gigi also said you had to take the hamburger out of the fridge for dinner.” My voice got softer, nearly inaudible, as he walked closer and closer.
He stopped inches away from me, close enough for me to smell the soap on his skin. Closer than I’d been to him since the lake. “And you couldn’t have texted me that?”
I swallowed, keeping my gaze at his feet, afraid to look up. I didn’t have a lake behind me to flip into. “I wanted to make sure we were okay. Last night felt like a fight, but not.”
“I think you’re mistaking me for the hipsters you chased out of the store with a wrench.” The humor in his voice warmed me more than the sun peeking up over the tree line. His plain blue T-shirt hung right at the waist of his jeans, like it had shrunk or he had grown after he’d gotten dressed that morning. The button of his jeans was half undone. With one finger I’d be able to flick it open, and do what I definitely should not have been thinking about doing with my coworker. The material of his shirt stretched over his chest. Not because he was a secret Superman, but because his shirt really was too small. His lips parted slightly. Finally I met his eyes, and they looked the same as they did last night at work. No humor, just a burning intensity that made my pulse quicken.
“You didn’t answer my question.” My voice cracked and I wanted to kick myself for being so weird, but with him this close, my brain stopped functioning on normal cylinders.
“What question is that?” He’d angled his head so his words were like a kiss of air across my lips. I’d only have to push up onto my toes.
“When you said Midnight and Elise being together was worth the risk. Were you really talking about them?” I swallowed. My muscles gripped my spine so tight, it trembled. “Or someone else?”
“Someone else,” he whispered. The distance between our lips narrowed to the point where
even a piece of paper wouldn’t have been able to slide in, but he waited.
He could’ve kissed me at any time, and my skin was warm and tingling enough that I would’ve let him. In fact, he probably could’ve taken me behind the rabbit hutches and I wouldn’t have objected. Everything inside me was screaming to grab his shirt, pull him against me, and kiss him until I forgot all about Jessica and Eric and Twitter.
Except for that small noise in the back of my mind. A clicking. Scarily similar to the sound of a rotten toenail on linoleum. I was sort of dating Eric. Not for real, but no one could know the truth, and I definitely shouldn’t be kissing another guy right now.
I put a hand on his chest, and he shuddered, his heart pounding hard against my palm. It matched the beat of my own. I took a step back. “I have to go.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned and ran all the way back home.
After dinner, Mom, Gram, Peg, and I sat in the living room to watch Wheel of Fortune. I sat at Mom’s feet in front of the recliner, and tried to check Twitter again, but Gram yelled at me. It was family time, not phone time.
“That’s Vanna’s best dress since Beach Week,” Peg said. I looked up from spacing out. Vanna White wore a maroon gown with a beaded empire waist and one strap over the shoulder. “She looks good in chartreuse.”
“That’s not chartreuse,” I said. “Chartreuse is a yellow green.”
Had I been out on the lake with Paxton only a few days ago? I was a mess. Even though the Baseball Babe stuff had given me the kind of subscribers I’d dreamed about, I hadn’t been sleeping well, my anxiety levels had gone through the roof, and my emotions were all over the place. I was in no position to make sound decisions about relationships. I could barely manage my fake one, forget about adding a real one into the mix. Crossing that line with Paxton while I was still trying to figure myself out wouldn’t do either of us any favors.
The show ended, and Gram turned her piercing gaze toward my mom. “Are you going out with that Roger again?”
My head whipped around. “Who’s Roger?”
“Cradle robber,” Gram grumbled.
“Bizzy.” Peg’s voice was a low warning. “He’s a nice boy.”
“Boy?” Gram wheezed as she laughed. “He ain’t no boy.”
“I’m seventy-five years old,” Peg said. “Everybody is a boy to me.”
“Would you knock it off, Mom? I don’t even want to bring Roger around for dinner because of you.” My mom glared at Gram. “And yes, we’re going out again tonight. The Royals game is playing at a bar in Shelbyville.”
“Um.” I held up a hand. “Who is Roger and what cradle is he robbing?”
“Roger is someone I’ve gone on a few dates with. He’s very kind and he’s a Royals fan.” Those two things were pretty much Mom’s only requirements in a man. “He lives in Shelbyville, and he happens to be a few years older than me.”
Gram snorted.
“How old is a few years older?” I asked.
“Fifty.” Mom crossed her arms, daring Gram to start in on him again.
“Ew,” I said. “I’m going to have to agree with Gram on the cradle robbing. Fifty is really old. Like, a-discount-at-the-car-wash old.”
“Excuse me?” Peg sputtered.
“Don’t worry.” I gave Peg my sweetest smile. “I think you’re really old too.”
Peg held up her fists. “Do you want to take this out back and see what old can do to smart-mouthed teenagers who don’t have any respect?”
“Anyway,” Gram cut in, trying to bring the conversation back to a serious tone so she could keep harping on Mom. “The cradle robber is also a fancy business owner.”
I turned back to my mom. “You’re dating a rich cradle robber?”
“He has a name,” she said. “And he owns three businesses in broken-down, pass-through towns. I wouldn’t exactly call him rich.”
“Richer than us,” I said.
“Baby girl, if I turned down every man richer than us, I’d never date again.”
True, yet depressing, facts. “As long as he’s nice to you, I guess that’s okay.”
Mom quirked her lips. “I’m so glad I have your permission.”
“You didn’t get mine,” Gram said.
I tuned out Mom launching into a rant about how she wasn’t sixteen anymore, and scrolled through Twitter. Because I lived there now.
@baseballbabe2020: Can’t wait for @Pellegrino’s in St. Joseph for the best food, and even better company #baseballbabe and #flyballgirl #datenight
@MacyAtTheMovies: Looking forward to seeing the sun set on the river in St. Joseph tomorrow night. #FlyBallGirl and #BaseballBabe #DateNight
I should’ve told Paxton about my date instead of blowing him off with some bullshit excuse. It was like I existed in two realities, only one of them wasn’t real. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Fake it for Chicago, fake it for Chicago.”
“What’s that, Macy?” Mom frowned at me.
“She’s in a trance,” Peg said. “I’ve read about those on the World Wide Web. A spirit enters the body and tries to communicate through a living being, but it comes out jumbled on account of them being dead and not remembering how to make words and all.”
I shook my head. “You really need to stop believing everything you read on the Internet. I was just talking about my date tomorrow. Which I have. A date. And I need to borrow the car.”
Gram narrowed her eyes. “Who you dating?”
“The guy from the baseball game.”
I winced as they all started in at once: Gram said she knew it was going to happen the whole time and everyone should’ve listened to her, Peg told me to run a credit check on him, and Mom sighed and debated wardrobe choices. I really should’ve told them one at a time. Or just stolen the car for the night and not said anything at all.
“Anyway.” I held out my palms to quiet them. “I have a big day tomorrow and I need to take care of a few things before then.” Like see how many retweets our date night hashtag had gotten and if they translated to more clicks on my channel. “But you’re all free to continue discussing this without me.”
I went to my room and flopped face-first on the mattress. No texts from Paxton. Just a whole bunch of strangers in my mentions who didn’t have a clue I was lying to them all.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
BEFORE I LEFT FOR my date, Mom gave me all the “don’ts” of a lifetime. Don’t leave the restaurant, don’t get in a car with Eric, don’t even take a walk with him, don’t park in a garage, let the valet take it. And my timeless favorite: don’t get pregnant.
Turned out, I didn’t need to pay the valet to take my car, because it had already been arranged. Maybe Eric did it because he knew it wasn’t a good idea to let an eighteen-year-old girl walk through a barely lit parking garage alone after a hundred thousand people liked the tweet stating exactly where she’d be. Or maybe Pellegrino’s did it as a thanks for all the free advertising. Either way, I now stood in front of the restaurant.
Potted plants flanked the walkway laid out with gold rope through iron poles. I brushed a hand down the dress my mom had given me to wear tonight, light blue silk with a tight, dipped top adorned with tiny beads that flowed down and flared out, the hemline just above my knees. It was the nicest thing I’d ever worn, and I had no idea where she had hidden it all these years to keep me from stealing it a long time ago. She’d bought it for graduation when she got her associate’s degree. Back when she thought she’d be able to afford all the dresses she wanted.
A man in a solid black suit held the door open for me, and I grimaced as I passed. I would’ve been 1,000 percent more comfortable at Denny’s. The inside smelled like warm bread and oregano, and soft candlelight bounced around the dark paneled walls. The seating area was arranged with plush couches in a rich red velvet, and all of my instincts screamed that I didn’t belong. An appetizer here probably cost more than a week’s worth of groceries.
Eric stood by a trickling fountain formed from marble angels. His broad shoulders filled out his dark gray suit, and when he looked at me, his golden hair caught the reflection of the candlelight. His deep brown eyes traced the lines of my dress as a slow toothpaste-ad smile spread over his lips.
“Macy.” He took my hand, his calloused from batting practice. He wanted me completely in his thrall as he linked our arms. “You look great.”
I gave him a gentle nudge. “You say that like you expected otherwise.”
“I never doubted you,” he said. “Ready for a picture?”
He led me to the fountain specifically to pose, like I was one of Paxton’s rabbits, but I couldn’t even be annoyed about it. I chose this. For my family, I’d be his Fly Ball Girl. Arm candy and bathroom gymnast for the beautiful boy who could do no wrong.
I studied Eric’s profile and had a strong urge to muss his hair or draw a mustache under his nose, something to shake up that unnerving perfection.
The host—or maître d’ as he was probably called in a place like this—took our picture. I smiled prettily, tilted my head just so, played the part. Eric uploaded it to Twitter before he said another word to me. Part of me thought he’d smack me on the butt and send me out the door now that he’d gotten what he really wanted, but he just took my arm again as we were led to our table. Where more photo opportunities awaited.
Once the waiter, clad in all white, filled our water glasses and left us alone with our menus, I took a sip and surveyed him over my glass. “I draw the line at sharing a plate of spaghetti with you, Lady and the Tramp style.”
He chuckled. “Sorry about the picture, but you know how it goes.”
I certainly did, but we could at least attempt to enjoy the evening by getting to know each other. “Tell me about your blog.”
He launched into a monologue about batting averages and pitching speeds, all with a lot of hand motions. I nodded politely, understanding none of it. My mom would appreciate this conversation so much more than me. I rested my chin on my hands while he kept talking. He hardly paused to take a breath, let alone for me to respond. So I kept nodding, while my mind drifted elsewhere. To Paxton. And my silent phone.
