Page 75 of All Our Nevers

At first she doesn’t reply. I pull the phone back, checking she hasn’t hung up, but the screen is still bright with her name. When I put the phone back to my ear she says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“That was a pretty good apology. Very complimentary, which is important.”

Then I’m laughing. Not because what she said was funny, but because she really has my balls in her fists. Suddenly I’m happy just hearing her say she likes receiving compliments from me. When did I become this pitiful?

“Good enough that you’ll still let me come to your show next weekend?” I ask.

“You want to?”

I lean back against my kitchen counter, anchoring myself to the granite. “Yes please, Empress Mercado.”

“Oooh I like that one. Keep that in the arsenal.”

“Is that a yes?” My cheeks are tight with a big, uncontrolled smile.

“That’s a yes. I’ll text you the details.”

“Great,” I exhale. “Great. Oh and guess what?”

There’s amusement in her voice as she asks, “What?”

“I hung out with your brother today.”

“No!”

I’m picturing her actions in time with the sound of her voice. In my mind’s eye, she was laying down in bed, relishing my long-winded apology, but now sits bolt upright.

“Mhm. And guess what we did?”

“You went to a Sox game, didn’t you?”

“You got it.”

“I’m so smart,” she laughs. “I knew he would eat that shit up.”

“I’ll never doubt you again.”

“So I assume you told him about us?”

Now this is interesting. I take the opportunity to fish just a bit. “And what would I have told him about us, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably that you’re desperately into me because you like mean women, and can he please, please tell you how best to woo me.”

“Verbatim. That was verbatim what I said.”

“Figures. How was the game though?”

And oh my God… we’re talking on the phone. We’re just… talking on the phone. It feels like a breakthrough.

It shouldn’t. It’s not romantic or sexy or even particularly interesting. But the fact that she wants to stay on the phone with me and just talk feels like I’ve unlocked a privilege that few get. Like I did something to deserve it.

“I think it was fine?” I say. “Don’t tell Nolan, but I actually don’t give a shit about baseball.”

She cackles her witch laugh, unpolished and raw. “A man who hates baseball and isn’t afraid to grovel. You might be my dream guy.”

She’s joking, but it still feels like a palace door slipping open. “I’ll remind you that you said that next time you threaten to cut my balls off.”