King of the Court

“Sure you have to go?” I teased, knowing full well I had to get going soon too.

“Think they’ll notice if I don’t?”

I laughed. “Yeah…I guess you’re sorta hard to miss.”

He looked back at me for a long beat, smiling wide, and my heart caught in my chest. I wish I could have heard his thoughts in that moment, but he turned and kept walking and now I sit, waiting.

Usually, he’s here by now. It’s later than usual. I had a big house to clean in the afternoon and I really dragged. The sun’s good and set. The stars are starting to shine and the bugs swirl above my head, circling the light near the trailer door. I strain my ears and listen for the telltale sounds of tires on gravel or the whirr of an engine. I know what I’m doing. This eagerness inside me, nervous energy brimming over so I can’t keep still. My feet bounce on the stairs, my finger drags across my thumbnail, back and forth over and over. A critter moves to my left and I whip my gaze in that direction, trying to discern what it is. A rabbit locks eyes with me for a fleeting second before scurrying away.

I told Ben we couldn’t exchange phone numbers in a feeble attempt to keep restraints on a relationship that was never going to be contained in the first place. It was futile and naive and now I’m paying the price. I’m sitting here waiting on a man, desperate and hopeful, and it’s making me feel like an open wound.

He leaves in three days, I tell myself. Three days.

The warning falls on deaf ears though.

I keep sitting, waiting until my back starts to ache and my butt has gone numb. Something is keeping him. He isn’t coming tonight.

I fight the sudden, ridiculous urge to cry.

It’s not a big deal.

I’ll just go inside and change into my pajamas, grab something to read, and focus on that for a few minutes before bed. I’ll brush my teeth and wash my face and ignore the tear tracks on my cheeks. I’ll pretend this is any other night and I’ll keep on playing the denial game with myself until it actually works.

I have no other choice.

I’m still not myself the next morning at the diner. At some point last night as I lay in bed, I started to pin my hopes on Ben showing up at Dale’s first thing in the morning with a good excuse for why he wasn’t able to make it out to see me. When I arrived at work to find an empty parking lot, that hope vanished too.

I’m quiet as I get my work done, rolling silverware, taking orders. A few people ask me how I’m doing, and I suspect they’re worried Nan has taken a turn for the worse. I try to pin on a smile, but it’s not real big or genuine, and I know they can tell. I wish I could shake off my foul mood, but it seems to be impenetrable.

The bell rings over the door as another patron walks in. I look up to see a woman heading for the counter. I don’t recognize her, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s with one of the basketball players. She’s gorgeous and polished, and I highly doubt she’d end up in this town if the guys weren’t here training. I suppose she could be press, but she’s dressed casually in a light blue sundress and only has a tiny clutch with her.

“Can I just sit anywhere?” she asks me with a small smile.

“Sure, yeah. Grab a seat and I’ll bring you something to drink. Water? Coffee?”

“I’m trying to lay off caffeine,” she says, patting her pregnant belly. “Do you guys have any freshly squeezed juice?”

I grimace. “Sorry, we’ve only got the good ol’ stuff from frozen concentrate.”

She laughs. “Actually, you know what? I’m fine with that. I used to drink it all the time as a kid, and I could use the pick-me-up.”

I nod. “One old-fashioned orange juice coming right up.”

When I return with her juice, I bring her a menu and tidy up nearby in case she has any questions.

“Ow. You stop that,” she says, looking down at her belly.

I chuckle. “Is your baby kicking?”

“Yes,” she groans. “He’s lodged his foot right up into my ribs and is using them as a soccer ball.” She leans lower. “Stop all that kicking. Don’t you know you’re meant to be a basketball star?”

So I guessed right then. She must be with one of the guys.

“His father is here practicing for the Olympics?”

She looks up and nods, her smile faltering slightly. She looks wary of sharing that information with me, and I get it; if he’s a professional athlete, she’s probably worried about too much information getting out to the press. Maybe she’s even trying to keep this pregnancy under wraps.