Page 28 of Play With Me
“I mean, you should dress up!” she’d said when she saw my outfit. “Let your hair down, wear a little lipstick, walk with a sashay. Talk about the most-promising archival student award you won, and that the school has already offered you a post-doc position when you’re not even done with your first year. Don’t be the same girl who left home, Nora. Be the new, incredible Nora I know you are now.”
But I’m not a new, incredible Nora. I’m the same Nora who likes the smell of old books and eats the same salad for lunch every day. Who wears wool tights and below-the-knee skirts and would probably get lipstick on my teeth if I tried to wear any. So I didn’t do any of that. I’d told her no thank you, and put on my same old wool sweater, corduroy knee-length skirt, and flat boots for the rain. Sasha sighed as I guided her out of the apartment when it was time for me to go.
“Fine, but I’m dressing you up for the party!” were her last words as I darted down the stairs.
I’m hoping she’ll forget.
When I push open the door to the sound of the little bell, I have to grip my camera strap to keep from gnawing on my fingernail. The Sip is a gorgeous, expansive space with brick walls, dainty white tables, and right now, a fresh holiday arrangement of holly boughs on every table. But apparently, I’m not first, because there, right in the middle of the cafe amongst the strains of Jazzy holiday music, soft murmur of conversation, and rich scent of espresso, sits the most adorable father-son pair in the world, a checkerboard between them.
Jude’s wearing a light blue button-down that I know even from here makes his eyes pop. His blond bun is loose, a strand of hair falling across his cheek, and he’s laughing as he reaches across the table.
He’s almost painfully handsome. And Cap—the way he looks adoringly at his dad, on his knees in his chair, his hands clasped together. I’m thrown back to when I used to meet the two of them like this all the time. I loved seeing them first, before they saw me. I loved watching their easy dynamic; how Jude is so easy with his son, and Cap so like a little man.
I love them, is the truth of it. The anger I came here with is diluted with this thought. My heart squeezes, my throat aching with the unshed tears I’ve been holding on to for a whole year. How did I ever think I could exorcise myself so completely from their lives?
Even so, I can’t help the smile on my face as I see they’re in the middle of a game of attack checkers. It’s a game Cap made up last year when, after I taught him real checkers, he declared we needed to “jazz it up.” Jude and I had both lost it at that, particularly because he’d added jazz hands.
The game involves moving around a board your opponent has set up like an obstacle course. You need to skip your pieces as fast as possible over the others while you undergo an attack. The way this plays out is Cap, who as I watch, bangs his white pieces all around the board, which is dotted with black pieces in no semblance of order. Jude, meanwhile, is tossing the other half of his black pieces like Frisbees into Cap’s giggling face, adorned with Jude’s sunglasses for eye protection.
The man next to them is staring at them with his mouth hanging open.
I can’t help it—I pull out my camera and film them, trying hard not to laugh.
It’s only when a large group comes banging through the door behind me—and Jude’s run out of pieces—that they both look in my direction.
“Nora!” Jude calls, in a voice far louder than necessary.
Cap, meanwhile, has leapt from the table, upending the board and nearly the table too as he barrels toward me like a miniature football tackler.
“Aaah!” I cry, lowering my camera just in time for Cap to throw himself on me, his little arms squeezing tight around my waist.
“Nora! Can we get hot chocolates now? Dad said we should wait for you, but I really want this one this lady got with THIS MUCH whipped cream on top.” Cap arcs his hands over his head.
I can’t help laughing. “That sounds amazing.”
Before I can even take a step in the direction of their table, Cap’s tugging me toward the counter. Good, I can have a little breather before making awkward conversation with Jude. But just then Cap freezes, slapping his forehead dramatically. “Wait. I almost forgot.” Then he’s dragging me to the table, to where I land with a plop in the seat Jude’s pulled out for me.
Suddenly, here I am, directly in Jude Kelly’s orbit.
When he smiles at me, my whole body seems to flutter. I felt the same way I did back when he first walked into my library in Quince Valley. Like a gorgeous, larger-than-life celebrity had shone their light directly on me.
Like I might have a heart attack.
“Are you okay?” he asks, frowning.
I realize I’ve gone speechless. No, this isn’t like the beginning of our relationship. This is worse. This is that, plus our years of friendship. The closeness we’ve forged over movie nights and popcorn fights and fretting over a feverish Cap together. This is me remembering how he sobbed when telling me about that year of his life when he lost his career, and later when Farrah told him he was going to be a father and disappeared. How he always asked me about my day at the library, even when it was mostly the same. How he drove me home from the eye doctor whenever I got drops in. How he walked me out of a movie when it triggered a traumatic memory, held me out there in the lobby in a sea of moving people while I cried into his chest, not demanding I calm down.
This is the beautiful, kind, hilarious man sitting in front of me, his brows slanted in worry.
“Nora, hey, what’s wrong?” Jude reaches for my hand, which makes everything worse. It’s warm and broad and feels like coming home.
Tears brim and spill before I can stop them. I pull my hand from his to reach up, awkwardly, under my glasses to wipe them away. “I’m sorry.”
“What is it?”
Nothing. I’m just still hopelessly in love with you, Jude, and I don’t think any amount of time or distance is ever going to change that.
“It’s just emotional, seeing you two again.”
