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Heart softening to a sympathetic, gooey mess, Astrid crossed over to the couch, sat down on the arm, and squeezed Mrs. Duffy’s hand that was resting on her cane. “I’m sorry.”
The old woman pulled her hand free and shot Astrid the back-off glare. “So was the guy driving the crosstown bus after downing a fifth of whiskey.” But she no more than got the words out when her shoulders slumped and the tip of her nose turned red with emotion before she let out a harsh breath, straightened her bony shoulders, and her face settled back into its usual miffed expression. “One day we were planning forever and the next he cut across Fourth Avenue and that was all there was to that. I spent the next twenty years forgetting about him. If only I’d had someone to help get me to see that I was better off without him, it wouldn’t have taken so long. That’s why I’m here to mentor you. I’m a giver.”
Astrid had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, she was awake now, but the world didn’t make any more sense than when she’d been asleep and talking to her Eggos.
“At least you don’t have to worry about him cramping your style anymore,” Mrs. Duffy went on, obviously not needing Astrid’s input. “Who wants another person always in their space, wanting to talk and hear how their day went or someone to have these little inside jokes with or someone to snuggle up with on a cold night? Who needs it?” She pointed the cell phone in Astrid’s direction. “Not you. You’re better off without him. What else did he bring to the plate besides a hot bod and good hair—both of which will disappear before too long?”
Astrid gasped. “That’s not fair.” She shot up from her perch on the arm of the couch and whirled around to face her neighbor head-on. “Cal is a good guy.”
Mrs. Duffy snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? How?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “He helps people. Like how he carried Rufus up for Jada.”
“That dog is a menace,” Mrs. Duffy grumbled.
Astrid shot her neighbor a dirty look, sympathy for the older woman’s decades-old broken heart withering away under Mrs. Duffy’s hot blast of cynicism. “Rufus is an arthritic dog who even the mailman loves.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged and stood up. “So this Cal is a soft touch for animals. Big deal.”
Astrid didn’t back down. She couldn’t. The other woman had no idea what she was talking about, and it was past time someone stood up to her. “He also pays attention to people.”
“What, like how he pays attention to you?” Mrs. Duffy wiggled her eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion and then walked over to the kitchen island and plopped down Astrid’s cell phone next to a Diet Coke. “This is just what I needed.” She picked up the can and popped the top. “Unless you wanted it.”
Astrid froze because it wasn’t just a Diet Coke. It was can number six.
For more than a week, it had stayed there, untouched, along with one of the pink pens, half of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, and the drawing Cal had made for her. She made a run to the corner store when she’d already been bra-free and tucked up onto the couch for solo movie night for a new six-pack last night because she just couldn’t drink that one.
And that’s when it hit Astrid.
No, she did not want the stupid can of Diet Coke. She wanted the man who’d given it to her.
The guy who’d carried a dog up three flights of stairs for a neighbor.
The guy who’d rolled his eyes when he talked about his sisters but couldn’t hide how much he loved their interference.
The guy who paid enough attention to her to know what she liked, when she needed a pick-me-up, and made her feel like seeing her was the best part of his day.
The guy who was going to leave town without knowing that she loved him if she didn’t get her ass in gear.
“I gotta go.” She snatched her phone off the counter and started toward the door.
“What about your first lesson?” Mrs. Duffy hollered. “I take being a Be Your Own Bitch mentor seriously.”
Astrid didn’t have time to answer. She was already sprinting down the hall, heading for the stairs to Cal’s apartment.
Her heart was pounding almost as loud as she was on Cal’s door when Jada and Rufus came up the stairs.
“He’s gone,” Jada said as she took her keys out of her backpack.
Astrid winced, and her hand went to her stomach. “Already?”
The teenager unlocked her door, and Rufus pushed it open with his nose and headed inside. “He left an hour ago. He said he had to tie up loose ends with the team.”
Sixty minutes. It wasn’t much, but she grabbed hold of that thread of hope and refused to let go. It filled her chest up and jolted her into motion toward the stairs. With the way Parvo and Bear liked to chat with outgoing coaches, Cal could still be at the Ice Knights arena.
“Text me if you see him?” she asked as she started down.
“Okay,” Jada said in that old-people-are-so-weird tone only teenagers could manage.
