Page 9 of Stroked Long
“I love tap water, no need to open a bottle.” Taking charge, she fills both glasses with water from the faucet, snags napkins from the napkin holder on the counter, and then heads back to the table.
A little perplexed, I shake my head at her and head back to the dining table behind her. Popping open the lid to the cookies, she takes out two and places them on napkins. Sliding one of them over to me with my water, she winks and says, “In case you get a wild hair in you.” She takes a sip from her glass and then scrunches her nose. “Ooo, that’s cold. The ice knocked against my front teeth. Ever get a brain freeze from ice hitting your front teeth?”
“What? No,” I say, confused.
“You know what a brain freeze is, right? Oh wait, you don’t eat ice cream because it’s sweet.”
I can’t help it, I chuckle. “I’ve had ice cream before, Ruby.”
She claps her hands and sits up in her seat, vibrancy pouring off her. “Awesome! So you know what a brain freeze is. Ever get one from ice on your teeth?”
“No.”
“Me either, but what a story that would be, right? One knock from the old ice cube sent my head into a fit of panic and froze everything over. The only cure? Tongue to the roof of one’s mouth and prayers to Elsa fromFrozento end all pain. Am I right?” She elbows my arm and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Uh . . . sure,” I drawl out, a little intimidated by her ability to talk about pretty much anything without a worry or care. “Maybe we should get started on the foundation planning.”
She’s in mid bite to her cookie when she nods her head, crumbs falling to the table. I make a note to vacuum once she leaves. “Great idea. No more nonsensical chit-chat. Let’s get down to business. What are you planning to accomplish with this foundation? What is the money going to? What would you like me to do? Do you have anything done yet? Do you have marketing or promotions or a Facebook page, or a board of directors?”
Her questions come flying at me a mile a minute and I can’t comprehend all of them. Her multiple and diverse questions spin around in my head, sending me into a pit of confusion and frustration. She’s going too fast, and it’s making it hard for me to concentrate.
“Wait.” I hold my hand up and squint, trying to comprehend everything that’s coming out of her mouth. “Just give me a second.” I take a deep breath and open my notebook. I have notes with boxes next to each of them so I can check off the topics I want to go over.
“Wow, your penmanship is on point.” She leans over and looks at my notes. Feeling a little suffocated, I pull away quickly, and she catches on. “Oh, sorry. Am I invading your bubble?”
“My what?”
“Your personal bubble.” She motions a circle around her. “I get it, I can be a little much at times; you just have to tell me if I’m going too fast for you. You’re not going to offend me.”
I nod and swallow hard. Even though I am extremely uncomfortable, surprisingly, she is not making this hard.She is reading me somehow.If this is going to work, she needs to know a little bit about my working process, that way I can make sure I don’t end up freaking out on her, which I can already feel starting to build up.
I pat my pens and notebook and then look up at her. She’s patiently waiting for me to answer. “I’m, uh, a little particular about things.”
“Say no more.” She holds up her hand to stop me from continuing, saving me from having to expose a side of me I try to keep hidden. “Let’s go at your pace. You lead, and I will wait for your cues to proceed. I don’t want to step on your toes or make you feel uncomfortable. So lead the way, Bodi.” Taking another bite of her cookie, she smiles brightly while she chews and waits for me to lead our meeting.
“Okay.” My chest eases and my breathing becomes less restricted. “I’ll give details of what I want to accomplish, and then we set goals for today. We can go into other things at a later date.”
“Sounds great to me.”
Handing her a pamphlet, I start telling her about the idea of the foundation, how we want to develop scholarships for kids interested in art or swimming who can’t possibly afford the right kind of education or coaching they need to succeed. We want to bring arts and athletics together, creating a harmonious connection, rather than having the two things separated. One can support the other. One thing Eva’s passionate about is ensuring kids who are interested in art are given just as much of a chance at a future as those who are very good at athletics. She believes our society sometimes focuses too much on athletic prowess, and she wants to make sure artistic ability isn’t left behind. I support her one hundred percent on this because, even though I’m immersed in sports, I’ve seen how art has been therapy for Eva and how she’s able to live a normal life . . . unlike me.
“This is fantastic, Bodi.” Ruby’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “We can have a fundraiser gala where we incorporate—”
Doooooong.It’s eight thirty.
I grab my phone and head to the living room. “Excuse me.”
I don’t have to search for the number in my phone, it’s the first one. I make my routine call.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with Ruby right now?” Eva answers on the second ring.
“It’s eight thirty.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the time. Are you being rude, Bodi?”
“No.” I pace the living room, feeling Ruby’s stare on my back, and speak softly into the phone. “I just need to make sure you’re okay.”
She sighs on the other side of the phone. I know this is annoying to her, my need to call her at eight thirty every night to make sure she’s in for the night, locked up, alarm on, and safe. But this single phone call, to hear her voice and make sure everything is okay, allows me to be able to close my eyes and sleep. Eva is everything to me.
