Page 43 of Courtroom Drama
I don’t think he means to, but his words make me unsure of what to say next. He’s right, I think. I don’t particularly excel at being present with other people, either. He, like me, keeps people at arm’s length, his interactions prescribed and controlled.
“What about you?” he asks.
My cheeks flush. I don’t particularly want to tell him I’ve never had a serious relationship. That instead, I avoid dating situations altogether until I grow so lonely I open my Dater Baiter app and accept the first date I find and hook up just to feel the weight of a man on top of me.
“I don’t really date. Haven’t dated.”
“At all?”
I shake my head. “Not really, no.”
“Why? I can’t imagine it’s from a lack of interest from potential suitors.”
I raise an eyebrow. “ ‘Potential suitors’?”
“I was going to say ‘opposite sex,’ but I didn’t want to presume.”
“There is no abundance of potential male suitors,” I say. “Thus my qualification as bad with relationships, too.”
“We sound like the perfect pair.” He rises to take his next turn. But before he makes his way over to the lane, he turns and hands me the napkin he’s been fidgeting with. It’s neatly folded into the shape of an origami owl.
He rolls an easy strike and returns to the bench.
“First a crane and now an owl?” I ask.
He takes it gently from my hand, twirls it between his fingers in front of us. There’s something rousing about his sizable hand delicately pirouetting the fine paper. “Before Kara died, she took this origami class at the library and got really into it. For her eighth birthday, my parents got her this book of hundreds of different animals and flowers and things.” His eyes flicker a shade lighter when he talks about Kara. He looks down at the ground and smirks. “She got pretty good at it. The owl was her favorite. I think mostly because it was one of the first she mastered, but also, I think she appreciated the meaning of it. Wisdom. Good luck.”
He slowly lifts my arm at the wrist, curls his fingers around mine, guiding them backward, and opens my loose fist, dropping the owl softly into my palm.
21.
Premature Deliberation (n., phrase)
jurors engaging in discussions about a case without following the proper procedural guidelines set forth by the court
an innocent discussion over nachos
We bowl two rounds, and Damon wins both, with Tamra coming in a close second. Cam is such a horrible bowler that I land in third despite it being my first time. Xavier checked in twice, his top half popping over the bench from the lane beside us to ask, “Everyone playing nice?”
Damon and I sit at the alley bar post-game, sharing a paper plate of nachos slathered in pumped cheese and pickled jalapeños. We each sip bottles of Michelob Ultra, the agreed-upon best option from the bar.
“Tell me about your job,” I say, sliding a jalapeño over to a chip before picking it up. “Is writing punny digital signs a full-time gig, or are there other components?”
He chews, the dimple in his chin growing prominent, further shadowed by the overhead light. “That’s a small part. But it’s a cooler description than transportation engineer, which basically means I design and prepare plans for bridges, highways, et cetera.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do, actually. It’s kind of rewarding, planning the infrastructure that helps support the community.”
I huff in appreciation. Even as kids, he needed to understand how stuff worked—how things were built, the mechanics of those things. Iwent to his house one day after school—our freshman year, I think it was—to find him tinkering in the garage with an old remote-controlled car. He had parts strewn about, stripped to undecipherable pieces.
“What about you? Do you like being an arbitrator?”
“I do. There’s this big sense of accomplishment in helping two parties avoid litigation. Most of the time, people just want to be heard and have some semblance of validation. Whenever there’s an agreement, I feel like I’ve saved something. And...” I pause, allowing the thought to fully form. “...it makes me feel in control of something.”
Hemm-hmms in understanding as I speak, and there’s an attractive layer of engagement in it.
“I bet you’re good at it,” Damon says, wiping his fingertips with a napkin.
