He smiled at me and I wanted to melt into the couch. Before I could, he held out his arms and said, “Can I interest you in a game ofMario Kart?”
I laughed, blinked, and laughed again. The non-sequitur took me by surprise. “Um. I haven’t played that game in years.”Manyyears. I played nonstop when I was in the hospital as a kid. It was the best way to distract your mind while getting chemo. “You baseball guys like your video games, I take it?”
“More of a professional-athlete-post-game addiction. I think that’s pretty true across the board. Anyway, you should know that I judge someone’s entire character and personality on which player they choose. So. No pressure.”
“Oh, yikes, okay no pressure.”
He wound around the sectional to a stand beneath the TV where he produced a set of controllers for us. He sat at the corner of the sectional and I sat down, putting an entire cushion between us. He loaded up the game and, for the scantest of moments, a shock of fear hit me that seeing this game would trigger bad memories of needles and hospitals and vomiting. But thankfully—blessedly—the game had changed radically since my youth. My eyes were hit with neon lights and cartoony avatars. Rome selected Mario. That didn’t surprise me. I had a bevy of characters from which to choose, far more than the half dozen or so from my youth. There were even characters from other franchises. Sheesh, there was a lot…
Toad. I always chose that little guy. I thought he was faster than the others and I always liked the fast ones. I hit the Go button and selected the little guy with a funny mushroom head.
Rome glanced sideways with a sly grin and nodded slowly. “Okay, okay. I think I’m seeing things a little clearer now.”
I snorted out a silly laugh. “Oh come on. Whatjudgmenthave you passed on me for selecting cute lil’ Toad?”
Rome’s eyes dimmed in mock assessment. “Fun. Funny. A touch of sarcasm. Loyal. Values friendship.” He tapped the cleft on his chin. “Likes fast things.”
Whatever playfulness I exuded evaporated like water on July pavement. That was an alarmingly accurate description.
Rome selected a track before I could speak my mind. Something buzzed three times, then the starting fire, followed by me still staring at Rome.
“Go!” he urged me.
I returned to the screen and powered up, fumbling my way along a cartoon road and trying to remember the controls. Rome blasted ahead to first place while I carted along last.
“So was I right?” Rome asked.
I had scooted forward to sit at the edge of the couch. My concentration was fully on the television. “Huh? About what?”
“My description.”
I leaned into my turns, as if my body could control Toad. Rome remained perfectly still, his fingers moving a mile a minute. “Yes. Very much so.”
“So, youdolike fast things.”
I snickered, then hit a banana, spun out, and cursed. “Sometimes, sure. Not all.”
“Oh? What are some things you prefer slow.”
I pushed my tongue against my lower lip. I couldn’t split my concentration on witty, double entendre banter and getting Toad across the finish line. So, I defaulted to blunt honesty. “Relationships.” I spied Rome with a side eye. “Can you respect that?”
“Very much so,” he said, repeating my words. No hesitation. “Very, very much so.” A double “very.” All right. Before I could inquire further, he explained, “I have strong principles.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
Another banana. Another spinout.I suck at this but at leastour conversation is great, I thought.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Rome asked.
“Couple of appointments in the morning. Free in the evening.”
I saw him smile, triumphant as though he already won this round. “Come to my game.”
“I would but I don’t think your media people like me. The email they sent after I shared a link to the photos was… less than happy.”
“No, not that. I meant come to the game for me. I can get you into the family suite.” He turned away from the game, from his lead, to say right to me, “Come watch me play.Reallywatch.” He looked back at the television.
But I had turned to stare at him. Toad drove into the wall. His invitation came without ego. I would expect a star athlete of his level to want the fanfare, to have an adoring fan come and worship him. Instead, it seemed like he wanted me there because he wanted to feel seen. To feel connected.
