“One,” she says, and I clear my throat, trying to shift my focus back to her.
“My biggest pet peeve is people staring at me and judging me because my child is screaming in the grocery store. I know I’m not a perfect mother, but my kid is not the first one to throw a tantrum on the store floor.”
I stop chewing, then swallow, but my food gets stuck in my throat and I have to take a drink to get it down. Did I stare the first time we met? Maybe for a moment, but I never judged her. Nor would I. Kids are more complicated than assembling a rifle in the pitch black with only one hand.
“I never finished college, but I always wanted to. I hate riding bikes. They are evil killing machines. I hate—”
I cut her off. “Wait, go back. What do you have against bikes?”
Her eyes go wide and she blinks a few times with purpose. “Have you ever crashed on a bike?”
“Yeah. Everyone has. I believe that’s the point. Can’t succeed until you fail type of thing.”
“Except I’ve never succeeded,” she says. “Every time I get on a bike, I fall off, crash into something, or push someone else off the road.”
I bite back a smirk. “Do you think that’s maybe a balance issue?”
She narrows her eyes. “Shut up. I’m a natural balancer.”
“Not a thing.”
“It is if I say it is,” she says and launches a french fry at my chest.
I can’t stop my laughter from exploding. Gosh, it feels good. Her eyes light up, sparking something inside me. Something long forgotten.
She claps a hand over her face. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve been around Crew too long.”
“It’s alright. It was cute.” I freeze at my confession, and so does she.
Lyndi ducks her head and takes a bite of her burger. I do the same.
“I run an Etsy shop, and work online. I also hate insects. I don’t understand their value. Pretty much any spider just shouldn’t exist,” she says, jumping back into the game. She lists a few more.
I could listen to her talk all day. I could stare at her face, her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, for hours. I shake my head and pull my thoughts back to the safety of the game. The friendship game.
“I lost my dad when I was six,” she says, and my body goes rigid.
Loss is something I can relate to. “I’m sorry.”
She plays with the straw in her drink, her focus intent on the plastic tube as she bends, then straightens it. “He was in a car crash coming home from work. I was too little to understand. It just felt like he was here one day and gone the next.” She grabs a napkin and dabs at the corner of her eye. “Sometimes I feel ridiculous missing someone I barely remember, but I still do.”
My hands fight to leap across the table and comfort her, but I keep them firmly by my food.
“Crew’s middle name comes from him.” She sniffs and looks at me, the emotion turning her eyes a darker blue. “I wanted to remember him somehow, since the memories seem to fade a little more each day.”
I wish I could say the same about my memories of the war. They come back every other night, plaguing me with every gruesome detail again and again.
I gulp down the remainder of my water.
“And number ten: I’d do anything for Crew.”
I want to ask more about her dad, but she has already moved on. “I can see that.” I nod. “You’ve raised a handsome little man. And forgive me for assuming, but you’ve done it alone?”
She swallows and looks away.
I pinch my leg.Why did I say that?That was so insensitive.
“Yes,” she says. It’s barely a whisper, and something deep in my heart aches for her.
