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“We’ll see.”
Leah gives Gabi a wave, nods her head at me, then heads out into the cool evening. We watch from the kitchen window as she almost jogs out to Roy’s truck, meeting him in the drive. They talk for a beat or two, and even from here I can spot the excitement in Roy and the absolute terror in Leah.
“I feel like I’m watching something I shouldn’t be,” I say as Roy opens the passenger seat and Leah hops up into his truck, “but I don’t want to look away.”
Gabi laughs next to me, still watching them out the window as well. “It’s weird, right? I mean…I’ve always hoped she’d find someone, but it’s just an odd thing to see.”
“You think Roy is the one?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes as the truck begins to pull out of the drive.
“Who knows?” she says as we turn and head into the living room. “Maybe it’s all a ploy to help me get more art supplies in the hardware store, or at least get me some kind of discount.”
Gabi grabs a blanket and wraps herself up snugly before collapsing on the couch, clearly leaving the music setup part to me.
“Alright, where’s this record?”
A few moments later, there’s a slight scratch as I set the needle on the vinyl, and then the familiar guitar stylings of Mumford and Sons come through the speakers, sucking me back to that summer we spent playing their music on repeat. After a few beats, I take a seat on the couch at the opposite end, and we sit listening together.
Mumford and Sons really took off when we were in junior high, but for whatever reason, we got hooked on one of the songs and it became the only thing we wanted to listen to during the summer before junior year. It was right before I asked Gabi to be my girlfriend, and I remember the many nights I spent listening to these lyrics, daydreaming about her, before I finally mustered up the courage to tell her how I felt.
Eventually, the record gets through the first side, and I return to the player, flipping it over and starting with the next song. When I drop back down on the couch, I land a little too roughly, and something twinges in my arm, the pain lancing through me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth.
Before I can even fully focus on the dull ache that blooms, Gabi has launched out of her snuggly bubble and is next to me on her knees, her hands reaching out to gently touch my arm.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m okay. I just…jarred it a bit, that’s all,” I tell her, warming at her concern. “It’s kind of tender from PT today, but I think I might…” I trail off, tugging on the Velcro of my brace until it’s loose and I can pull my arm free. I gently roll my wrist, enjoying the freedom I’m allotted now that I can move it. “These PT sessions are a lot,” I say, massaging my wrist slightly. “I didn’t realize how achy it would be like…all day afterward.”
“What do they have you do?”
“Just a bunch of tiny things over and over again, small movements to work out the joints and muscles.”
I shake my head, just massaging gently.
“So, what really happened?” Gabi asks, dropping down slightly so she’s sitting on her feet, her elbow resting on the back of the couch. “With your injury, I mean.”
“You didn’t see the video?”
She shakes her head, her lips pursed. “They had a viewing party at The Mitch, but…I didn’t go.”
I huff out an embarrassed laugh.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that everyone was watching as I made a complete fool of myself.” Sighing, I shift slightly so I’m looking more at her. “What you missed was me sliding into third base wrong and breaking my wrist and three fingers.”
Gabi winces. “That sounds like zero fun.”
“You would be correct.” I laugh then I point at the tiny scar on my wrist. “I had to have surgery, and then I spent about six weeks letting everything heal. Now I’m in this brace, which gives some more freedom, but I’m looking at probably two months of physical therapy to regain my full mobility.” I shake my head and look down at my hand and forearm, the skin slightly paler than the rest from being concealed in the cast. “Such an idiot.”
Her hand rests on top of mine, her thumb stroking gently along my skin, and I look back at her, finding her watching me with kind eyes.
“You might be an idiot, but we all do stupid things sometimes. It’s how you come back from it that matters.”
My lips tilt up. “You’re not supposed to agree with me about the idiot thing. You’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong.”
“Bishop Mitchell, in what world have I ever coddled your emotions?” she asks, and I can see her smile in the brightness of her eyes, even in the dim lighting of the living room.
