“Wouldn’t miss it.” Only a dummy would miss a Brower Sunday dinner when Gramps smokes a brisket.
He leaves and I work a few more hours until my eyes feel gritty. Then I head home, listening to an economics podcast to start downshifting my brain toward sleep. It’s past 11:00 when I step out of my shower, tired but not sleepy yet.
I slip outside to get fresh air. Sami is sitting on her balcony.
“Hey.” I haven’t seen her since the first time we both ended up out here a few nights ago. “Another show tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No. Trying to wind down from a regular day.”
“I came out here hoping to see an actual night owl like last week, but you’ll do.”
She’s in sweats and thick socks this time, her hands buried deep in her hoodie pocket. “You sweet talker.”
“They don’t call me Mr. Moves for nothing.”
She looks over at me, a smirk on her face. “Who calls you that?”
“Just me. I call myself that.”
“How often do you do this?”
“In my mirror every morning. ‘Hey, there, Mr. Moves. Looking good.’ Sometimes I do it in court but only during emergencies because it makes the bailiffs nervous.”
She clears her throat, and I think she’s hiding a laugh. “What kind of court emergency requires you to call yourself Mr. Moves?”
“If I’m losing, basically. I give myself a pep talk. ‘Make some moves, Mr. Moves.’ Stuff like that.”
“Works for you pretty well?”
“So far, never. I’ve been jailed twice for contempt of court, but I went to jailconfidently, so you know what? Yeah, it did work.” This time she does laugh, and I smile in the dark. Maybe it’s knowing I have no chance with her that makes it easy to let my goofy side out, or maybe it’s that it’s late. Either way, I like hearing her soft laugh.
“Fine, I’m lying. Corporate attorneys never have to go to court. Why are you still winding down at almost midnight? Stressful day?” I ask.
Instead of answering, she stands and turns toward the other side of her balcony; when she straightens, she’s holding a plastic chair like hers.
She walks to the railing nearest me and holds it out. “Got you something.”
I reach across the space between us and take it. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She sits back down in her matching chair. “I know. You owe me five dollars.”
She’s hard to read but her voice is dry enough that I think she’s joking.
“Can I pay in installments?”
“Nothing smaller than quarters.”
“Deal. I’ll check my sofa cushions tomorrow for my first payment.” I sit and shift around. “It’s a good chair.”
She nods.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “Tough day?”
She’s quiet long enough for me to decide she’s ignoring me when she finally sighs. “Yeah.”
“Tell Mr. Moves all about it.”
“Can I tell Josh instead of Mr. Moves?”
