And then.
Skip waved from just behind him. Skip was here. He brought Skip. The smile almost fell off my face but I knew how that would look. It would look like how I felt: crushing disappointment. I liked Skip. I enjoyed spending time with him but I hadn’t been expecting him. I hadn’t explicitly said it would be just the two of us but I thought …
“Hiya,” Sanders said when he reached the table. The two-person table. He sort of looked like he wasn’t sure if we should hug or shake hands, but when I didn’t move, he settled on a wave.
“Hey.” I finally let my smile drop because it was beginning to hurt and experience told me that it was getting that strained look that caused the elderly to scurry away.
“Hi, Roxy,” Skip said, his eyes darting from me to Sanders to the table.
“Hi, Skip. Sorry, this was the only table open when I got here. Let’s move over there,” I said. “Am I intruding?” I heard Skip whisper to Sanders as I picked up my bag and drink and headed to the new table.
“No way. You guys both wanted to get dinner and I wanted to get out. I figured we could all hang out.”
“Sanders, if you—”
“Can I get you guys a round?” he asked brightly when we got settled at the new table.
I’d forgotten how to speak. Sanders dashed over to the bar before I could tell him the server would be over.
“Are you okay?” Skip asked me.
I found my voice again. “Of course.”
“If I’m intruding …”
“Not at all.” I waved him away. “I’m glad to see you,” I said honestly.
“Me too,” he said. Then he shot a look to the bar and leaned in to whisper. “Listen. Sanders brought me because he made it sound like a group thing.”
“News to me,” I said.
Skip frowned. “I think he’s just afraid to be alone with you. He knows you want to set boundaries and he’s still so raw from his dad’s death, I think he’s just trying to do the right thing,” Skip explained.
My gaze searched his face. “His dad’s death?”
“I thought you knew.” Skip’s face paled.
“I did but I thought it was years ago.”
Skip ran a hand over his beard and swore. “No. It was about three weeks ago.”
“What?” I gasped.
“He’s still—” Skip stopped talking abruptly and sat back as Sanders walked up.
“They’ll come by to get our order.” Sanders looked around the bar. “Oh, a stage.”
“They have live music sometimes,” I said numbly.
I could share my Erik Jones story then, but I didn’t feel much like talking just then. My throat was too tight. Sanders just lost his dad … My stomach was too bubbly but not in a good way. This news felt like an important revelation. Why hadn’t he mentioned his recent loss to me? I felt like we were making progress and now it was like the Sanders I grew closer to was a facade. Maybe we weren’t growing as close as I thought. Maybe he didn’t think it was any of my business.
When Patty came around again, I ordered another vodka soda. “Make it a double,” I said.
Sanders and Skip both ordered a beer.
I listened as the two men chatted. Sanders kept trying to get me to talk but my whirling thoughts held my tongue.
“Hey, Roxy,” a voice said.
