“My lawyer took care of my fine,” I tell her. “It was two grand. She’s letting me pay her back.”
“You still sending Eric money?”
I nod. “Sent him a check this morning. Slow and steady is the game. I’ll get it paid off eventually.”
He’s sent me several texts this week asking if he can talk to me. I haven’t replied.
I’m trying to take photos of a man with his dog when a long shadow appears in my light.
Poppy squeaks and I lower my camera.
It’s as if my thoughts conjured him.
Eric’s frame looms over us, and I hold my hand up to shield my face from the sun to see.
He’s still gorgeous. Chiseled cheekbones, perfect lips, thick lashes.
I’ve avoided all the places I thought he might be these past weeks. The student center. The food trucks. His house.
He’s wearing athletic shorts and a black mesh tank top that shows off his muscled chest. There’s a frisbee in his hands, and one look past him shows that Reece and Boone and several other guys have joined the ultimate frisbee game.
His hair is under a ballcap, the strands curling around the edges. His eyes fight to hold mine, but I can’t gaze into those depths.
I know what I’ll see.
Regret.
Sadness.
Maybe loneliness.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
He nods at Poppy. “Good to see you.”
Her eyes are huge as saucers. “Um, Eric, long time no see.” She stuffs a cookie in her mouth.
He turns back to me. “Nice dress.”
“Oh.” I glance down at the blue morpho butterfly pattern on my sundress. “It’s a little early for spring clothes, but . . .” I trail off. Lame. So lame.
He fidgets and rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, saw you over here and wanted to come and say hi.”
“You did that,” I murmur.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Hmm.”
Someone calls his name, one of the players, but he doesn’t budge. “Ah, the thing is, I still have your other Christmas present. You got my texts?”
I nod. “Ah, don’t worry about the gift.”
His hand goes to his hip. “I want to give it to you. It’s not like I can give it to anyone else, right?”
“You can do what you want, Eric.”
“And I want to give it to you,” he insists.
“Why?”
“Because I bought it with you in mind.”
“I see.” I pluck at a blade of grass. “You can always return it.”
“I don’t want to, Julia.” His voice is firm.
Poppy sighs. “Good Lord, just take the gift and be done with it.”
“I don’t have it with me,” he says, then pauses. “We have a game tomorrow. I’ll leave you tickets at the door. For you and Poppy and Taylor. Come and I’ll give it to you then.”
That’s not a good idea at all.
“Fine,” I hear myself saying as I swallow the lump in my throat.
His eyes linger on my face. “Good.”
The moments tick by.
Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve—
“Eric! Get over here and throw the damn frisbee,” calls one of the guys.
“Later,” he says with a start, then takes off running across the green.
I watch him the entire way, my heart jumping.
Poppy tosses a sandwich in my lap. “Eat this. You look pale. So, did you say ‘fine’ just to make him go away, or are we going to a hockey game?”
I replay the interaction over and over, trying to suss it out.
Why does he insist on giving me a gift?
I chew my lips. “I have no idea if I even want a gift from him. It might make me sad.”
“You should go. Closure, plus a parting gift. Maybe it’s what you need to move on.”
I’ve told myself that I’m fine, that I’m slowly getting over him, but I’m lying to myself.
Love doesn’t vanish.
Even when you wish it would.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Taylor asks as he orders beer and a hot dog from the concession stand.
I shake my head, looking around the crowded concourse. Two giggling girls in number seventeen jerseys walk by, and I wonder if Eric is in the locker room right now, feeling as queasy as I am, but for entirely different reasons.
Taylor and Poppy take their food and we go into the packed arena. We climb down the steps and stop at row A, almost directly behind the bench.
“Good seats,” Taylor murmurs.