GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  Me: No, I’m in a taxi now.

  I’ve gotten better at the whole crutch thing, so this morning I’m testing it out with only one. It’s already been easier to get in and out of the cab than when I had two. I've been on the sidewalk in front of Cosmo’s for less than two seconds when my phone vibrates with a call from Ryland.

  “Hey,” I answer and try to juggle holding the phone, my purse and the crutch. It’s still a difficult task but at least it's possible, unlike if I had two.

  The caller pants over the line and I almost hang up before Ryland speaks. “You took a cab? I turned back from my run to give you a ride.”

  “Oh…” I give up on my attempt to walk and hold the phone, stopping to stand outside the large open window in front of Cosmo’s Comics. "Don’t worry about it. We get here at nine. I’m already almost ten minutes late.”

  “Well next week I’ll finish up earlier and get you there on time.” His breathing returns to a slower pace as his words make mine pick up. My heart jackhammers behind my ribs.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Yes, he’s basically guaranteed he’d be here another week, that’s nothing to get this excited over. What would my sister Julie say?… Oh right, she’d probably tell me to jump that. Julie may be seven years older than me, but she’s never worked hard at being a good influence.

  “Marissa, are you still there?”

  Crap. Too lost in my Ryland daydream, I’m unsure what I missed of the conversation. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here and trying to walk in."

  “Oh okay.” Yet again I get too much joy from the disappointment I’m positive his words contain. “Have fun with your brunch and be careful with your ankle. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Good—” I’m cut short by the loss of Ryland’s call. Either he lost signal at the exact perfect moment or he didn’t wait around to hear me say good-bye. Men.

  The door to Cosmo’s opens and I shuffle my way into the traditional comic book store while Aspen waits for me away from the cool air outside.

  “I wondered how long you’d stand out there,” she says leading us to the three puffy orange couches at the back of the store where we meet every Sunday. She's in jeans and a large thick sweater with a flannel shirt underneath, the collar folded over the top. It had to come from Finn’s closet. The only thing Finn owns more of than button-down flannel is comic book t-shirts. When did she start wearing his clothes?

  Like every Sunday, morning Cosmo’s is mostly empty. Our group of four is the main source of income for these early hours. We walk by the service counter and Jason, the store owner, waves from his spot behind the checkout desk to our left. I wave back and catch the bottom of my crutch on a white leg from the tall boxes he uses to display the sale comics. I tumble forward a step, but thankfully don’t bite it on the grey store carpeting.

  A true best friend, Aspen stops walking long enough to laugh at me. “I’ve never seen you so clumsy, Marissa. You’ll end up taking out your other ankle if you're not careful.”

  “Hey!” I glare at her in our playful way. “I’m doing much better, thank you. There’s a learning curve. You’d be a disaster on crutches. Finn would have to carry you everywhere.” I laugh and swing my small blue purse in her direction, wobbling a little.

  “True.” She looks to the ceiling in thought and I nod back at her. Sophomore year of college we took a computer class together and Aspen fell walking up the stairs. Up the stairs. I love the woman like a sister, but I’d never walk on ice near her or ever let her hold a baby… or a puppy… anything precious really.

  When I finally make it to the back of the store and plop myself on one of the comfortable orange couches next to Amanda, I stretch my legs out in front of me, too short to reach the heavy coffee table placed in the middle of the couches.

  Amanda with her cute blonde pixie cut tilts her head toward me from her side of the couch we’re sharing. “You look tired.”

  Exactly what a woman always longs to hear. “Late night. Brunch should start at eleven.”

  “Then it’d be called lunch and would lose all the appeal.” Simone hands me a coffee and I want to hug her. If it didn’t require so much movement.

  She’s always pleasant and happy. I didn’t know what to do with her for a while. The first time Aspen brought Simone to one of our brunches I thought she’d run screaming for the hills, or from the hill since in warmer weather we used to meet at Buena Vista Park. Before Aspen decided fifty degrees is too cold for her delicate southern California body. When Simone made it through the first meeting, I knew she had solid girlfriend potential. Later when she lost her mom to ovarian cancer and we flew to New York for the funeral, I knew we’d keep her forever.

  “Why were you up late?” Aspen asks from her spot on the couch. She might have problems walking on two feet, but the chick never misses a beat when I’m trying to gloss over a topic.

  Her pink tennis shoes become the most interesting object in the room as I search them for an easy answer. In the end I’m too tired and resign myself to go with the truth. She’ll get it out of me one way or another anyway. This saves time. "Ryland and I played Dragons Reborn. Simone, can you pass me a fork please?”

  I reach for the fork Simone passes over to me with her lips pressed together, and I refuse to make eye contact. Every Sunday since Aspen moved to San Francisco last June, we’ve gathered together for the delectable delight that is Zazie’s Tahiti French toast. Two thick pieces of toast sit below a split banana with chocolate syrup and caramel running down the sides to pool at the bottom of the white Styrofoam container. The sweet cinnamon smell — one of my favorites — replaces the lingering smell of BO from the cab ride here, and I sigh in relief.

  “Are you done?” Aspen taps her fork against her own white container. “Or should you and the French toast find a room?”

  Leaning back against the sofa to get comfortable, I shake my head at the conquest for information that’s about to come. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s get it over with."

  “How long were you with Ryland?” Simone asks the first question.

  “A few hours. Grant was there earlier and I stayed later to keep playing.”

  “Did you…” Aspen waves her hand in the air. “You know… in the bedroom?”

  “Did we have sex, Aspen? No.” I roll my eyes at her continued refusal to say sex in public.

  “Make out?” She leans forward in her chair waiting for my answer.

  “Nope.” It’s an honest reply. Last night’s kiss was definitely not a make out.

  “Hmmm.” She examines me, looking for a crack in my story I’m sure. “Did you fall asleep next to him while playing?”

  “Um… no. I went home and slept in my own bed.” I quirk an eyebrow at her knowing full well it drives her nuts because she can't do it.

  I circle the group with my eyes waiting for the next girl to shout out a question — Amanda’s known for her random outbursts — but they're quiet. Someone should write this down. It’s a first for us.

  Aspen turns her conspicuous look from me long enough to take a bite of her French toast and settles back on the couch all nonchalant, but I know better. She’s already planned her next attack. “So you played Dragons Reborn?”

  I breathe deeply glad to be over the kissing questions. “Yeah. Kind of.” Another honest answer. Aspen’s a true DR nerd. Now she'll understand. “He said I needed to learn how to play so I’d appreciate the finer details of the game.”

  Her expression slowly turns to a small smirk as she blows my confidence to smithereens. “He likes you.”

  “What?” I chew quickly and swallow before allowing my mouth to drop open. How in the heck did we go from playing a video game together to Ryland liking me? Now I’m extra thankful I didn’t tell her about the kiss. “No he doesn’t.”

  Okay, yes we kissed… twice, but they didn’t mean anything. Ryland’s a soccer star… in England. He’s a known playboy and partier. He beats up goalies in bars. Just because I haven’t seen him drink a drop of alcoh
ol or have a girl over doesn’t mean anything, and it certainly doesn’t mean one simple kiss meant more to him. Those kinds of thoughts are the ones that get a girl’s heart broken.

  “Listen, Marissa, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Finn it’s that when a guy asks you to learn how to play his favorite game, it means he likes you.”

  Simone nods her head in agreement and I bite my cheek. Okay, kissing aside, could it be possible Ryland likes me? I can’t imagine many of his super model girlfriends sat around killing rats in caves with him until midnight on a Friday night. Am I considered one of the guys or more?

  “It’s true,” Simone chips in. “Trey loves it when I play Dragons Reborn with him. It’s kind of fun.” She shrugs.

  I shake my head in denial for my own benefit over theirs. “I don’t think so, guys. I’ve known him like a week.”

  Simone sighs one of those lovey-dovey sounds and we turn to her. “I’m pretty sure it took me less than three days to fall in love with Trey, but much longer for me to admit it.”

  I continue shaking my head worried they aren’t buying my refusal. “Besides Ryland isn’t even my type.”

  “What is your type of guy?” Amanda leans forward getting into the conversation and now everyone is enthralled.

  “Why? No more blind dates.” I give Aspen my best one-eyed glare.

  She throws her free hand up in defense, her other still holding the container of half-eaten French toast. “Hey, Rebecca said he was cool. I just passed on the information.”

  “He wasn’t cool? What happened?” Simone asks.

  Aspen rolls her eyes tipping her head at Simone. “He chewed his popcorn too loudly.”

  Simone laughs. “You’re too picky. Trey would eat steak at every meal and he’s always clanging his knife against the plate like he's worried it might get up and walk away if he doesn’t finish it in time. It’s one of those quirks that become cute after a while.”

  I shudder at the thought. How someone as sweet and kind as Simone ended up with the bossy and unsmiling Trey, I’ll never understand. And they’re happy too. It’s odd. I could never date Trey. He’d open his mouth and we’d kill each other on the first date.

  “It doesn’t matter. I like my boys pretty, not athletic.” I toss my empty French toast container on the coffee table. "I want them to take me to the country club.”

  Amanda sits her closed container next to mine placing her fork on top. “Have them take you for a ride on their boat?”

  “Show you their dinghy.” Aspen laughs at her own innuendo until she chokes on a bite of French toast and starts to sputter.

  It does enough to lighten the mood once we’re sure she won’t need any of us to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

  Back under control, Pen kicks her feet up on the coffee table pushing one of the empty containers out of her way. “You think that now because that’s what Cody would have done. But is that really you? Or was that you being what Cody wanted? You need to decide what you want before you settle down again. What type of guy do you picture waking up to every morning for the rest of your life?”

  A picture of Ryland and what he might look like waking up in the morning flashes through my mind. His short hair wouldn’t be tousled much after a night of sleep, but he’d have heavy eyes as he woke slowly, ready to go out for his morning run. Regardless of what position we woke up in, he’d reach over and wrap an arm around me snuggling his face in my neck and placing a kiss on the back of my shoulder. I break out a grin at the thought.

  Aspen nods at me once as if she sees the scene too. “See. Whatever you’re thinking of right now, that’s who you need, and I bet it wasn't Cody.”

  She’s right, but I refuse to get gushy with her. I’m not one to sit around and wax poetically about a man. My grin falters with my next words. “It doesn't matter. Ryland is a playboy. Even if I was into athletes — which I’m not — I'm more of a football player kind of a girl. A sport I know something about.” I don’t admit the research I’ve done on soccer the last week. “Taylor Swift probably has a song written about him.”

  “We all have pasts, but it’s the present and future that matter.” Aspen gives me her patented best friend look saying she knows more than I want her to about the situation, but changes the subject to what we’re going to do later in the day.

  My earlier fantasy with Ryland breaks up their conversation in my head, and I wonder if those free undies he gets are boxers or briefs. Maybe he sleeps naked?

  The guy who started out as my jerk of a landlord turned out to be a really nice, complex guy with problems and issues like us regular folks. He’s funny, sweet, nice, thoughtful, and let’s not forget the great smile. He doesn’t project a certain image every second of the day, especially when he’s at home lounging on the couch. Is Ryland someone I could see myself waking up to every morning?

  My heart screams yes, but my brain continues to remind me I’ve only known him on a personal level a week. There’s so much I don’t know. Does he rinse the dishes before he puts them in the dishwasher? Is he a vodka or tequila drinker? Does he brush his teeth before or after eating breakfast? These are important pieces of a person.

  And is Simone right? Am I too picky? Maybe none of those small things matter. Maybe it’s about your commitment and she’s right. If you truly love a person, you learn to love the quirks you’d find annoying in anyone else.

  Damn it. I have more than a crush on Ryland. I definitely like him like him. This is not good. He’s still the guy accustomed to dating super models, and one day he’ll go back to England or another soccer heavy country. Sure I may picture him as someone I'd love to wake up next to, but he’s picturing a lingerie model.

  Plus, he hangs up the phone before you say good-bye. That’s a negative.

  If I’m ever to get over this… this thing I feel toward, Ryland I need him to mess up. Get a girlfriend or something. Worry starts to build at the thought of him dating. If I need Ryland to show his jerky side again, there’s one guaranteed way. A whole list of them actually. They’re hanging on my refrigerator door.

  It’s time to break a few rules.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Scott opens the passenger door to his silver Accord and takes my single crutch, throwing it in the back seat. He’s a native to the Bay Area, so the fifty-degree weather is cold but bearable as he wears a thick fleece. He eyes my jacket, hat, and gloves as we buckle in, but I only shrug. I’m not as bad as Aspen, but I’m still from southern California — fifty is chilly.

  “Thanks for the ride today. The cab bill to Hunter’s Point would have killed me.”

  Once a year our company selects a week where various teams go out into the community and volunteer. This year my department picked the San Francisco Community Center for Youth all the way out in Hunter’s Point. When I voted on the location, I lived in Oakland with a car. Now the distance feels astronomical.

  “No problem, Marissa. I feel partially responsible for your ankle, so it’s the least I can do.” Scott turns into traffic, but I keep my head down and don't look at anyone on the sidewalk in fear I’ll see Ryland.

  True to his word, Ryland’s finished his run in time to give me a ride to work every day this week. Riding in his little icy blue Corvette while he sat beside me sweaty and high on endorphins wasn’t the imposition I should find it. I'd already arranged the ride to the center with Scott, so when Ryland offered, I told him I had a work friend picking me up. I may have left off the part of it being a male work friend. Accidently, of course.

  I didn’t feel comfortable telling him. Don’t ask me why. There’s been no more kissing between us — I made sure of it by racing out of his apartment every night — and we’re not a couple. I do not have those kinds of feelings for Ryland, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Yet when the time came to correct his assumption, I hesitated.

  Hell. Who am I kidding? Even I don’t believe my lies.

  Honestly? I didn’t tell Ryland because I don’t want him to start thinki
ng there’s something between Scott and me. But how in the hell was I supposed to work in a comment about Scott’s girlfriend without it being obvious? Sure I might care what Ryland thinks, but I can’t let him know I care. It’s one thing for me to crush on the tall soccer player. It’s completely separate for him to know I’m crushing on him. It’s a complicated balance. What we have going on right now is nice, and while I refuse to jump him in the hallway like my libido wants, I can’t lose him as a friend either.

  “Are you okay?” Scott asks.

  I stop rubbing small circles on my forehead hoping to ward off a headache and look up. I don’t run the risk of seeing Ryland this far from the apartment. “Yeah, sorry. Thought I had a headache coming on, but I’m fine.”

  “Do you want me to stop for meds? I used to keep Tylenol in the glove box, but I think Kayla took it in the break up.”

  Well now he has my full attention. “Break up? You two were together last week. What happened?”

  Scott doesn’t take his eyes off the road but his head shakes back and forth slowly. “It was this huge fight over a parking space and whether or not it’s acceptable to yell at a person while they’re driving. Girls are crazy.” He pauses turning a corner. “No offense.”

  I laugh. “None taken. We are certifiably crazy.” My own messed up life and thoughts are enough proof.

  Two weeks ago Scott’s single status would have a different effect… hell any effect. Now there’s nothing and it’s not fair. My Scott crush lasted only minutes, shouldn’t I get a do over? He’s the type of guy I should want to date. Not one planning to run off to England and leave me behind. Scott’s permanent and dependable and cute.

  Regardless, try as I might, the feelings aren’t there. Scott’s a great guy and one day he’ll meet a great girl, but sadly it's not me. I’m hung up on a tall sapphire-eyed soccer player who likes to kayak in his living room. Damn it.

  **

  “Where’s Keller?” Charles, my short rather plump and aging boss, yells into the group of employees. We're huddled together in the middle of the youth center’s gym floor waiting to start our day.