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She laughs and looks at her husband. “It is great. I wouldn’t change it for the world. We had our first two sort of back-to-back. We said we were done, but then were surprised with a third pregnancy.”
“With twins,” her husband adds with a proud smile.
“That’s a lot of little ones,” Crickets says.
“It is, yes. Most of the time we’re outnumbered, outwitted, and outmaneuvered. I’m always tired and usually have something like food or spit up in my hair, but at the end of the day, I wouldn’t change any of it,” Jenna boasts, her loving eyes locked on her husband.
“She’s the best mom in the world,” he replies, kissing her hand tenderly.
Cricket glances over and catches my eye. It’s the first time I really try to put myself into someone else’s shoes. He has a loving wife, a brood of kids, probably mounting bills, and a mortgage that rivals the purchase of a small country. But he looks happy. Elated, actually.
And suddenly, I want that. No, not right this moment, but I allow myself to stop and think about it. A wife, some kids, and a house with a swing set in the backyard. Maybe even a horse or two in a pasture that we can take care of and ride. I haven’t been riding in ages, but I grew up with a horse. We had Shadow until my dad passed. When my mom sold the house, she left Shadow behind for the new owners and their kids to love and ride. I’ve never really thought too much about that horse until now. It almost feels like another piece of me was lost when he passed away. The only difference is I can actually do something about one of them. I can’t bring my dad back, or Shadow for that matter, but I can find a new horse, a new place to love, and maybe raise a family.
My daydreaming is interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Are these seats taken?” Danny is there, Ellen hanging off his arm like candy sprinkled in diamonds, and smiling down at our table.
“Oh, uh,” Bridget starts, turning her panicked eyes to Cricket.
Cricket tenses beside me, and even though I don’t have any issues with Danny—other than him being an occasional douche nozzle—my loyalty has changed. He’s still my friend, but not the one I protect and want to take care of. That’s Cricket, and if she’s not comfortable with Danny and Ellen sitting with us, then I’ll say so.
Before I can open my mouth to tell them those seats are reserved, she surprises me and speaks up. “No, Danny, they’re not taken. You and Ellen are welcome to sit with us.”
I glance her way, one eyebrow raised in question, but she just slips me a small smile and takes my hand under the table.
“Danny Ohara, good to see you again,” Bridget says, taking a drink of her champagne.
“Ladies, lovely to see you again. I trust you’ve enjoyed the alumni celebration so far?” he asks, always charismatic, as he helps Ellen take a seat beside me.
Great.
“It’s been a nice day,” Jenna confirms, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
Apparently, the girls don’t like Danny any more than Cricket does. I’m sure she told them all about their breakup and the way her life changed over the course of the next decade, which might be why they’re both about a degree above frosty at this moment.
We’re saved from more idle chitchat when our server arrives with a tray of salads. We all dig in, enjoying first the salad and soup, and then the main course of sirloin steak with roasted potatoes and green beans. Ellen, of course, chooses the vegetarian option, and I struggle to hold in my chuckle when Cricket rolls her eyes.
Throughout the meal, Danny monopolizes most of the conversation with stories of himself, and while that’s not in the least surprising, what is, is the fact that Ellen seems completely bored out of her mind as he drones on and on about how amazing he is. He’s definitely his own biggest fan, that’s for sure, but I suppose that hasn’t changed much. Danny was the exact same in college, whether in class or on the football field.
As our plates are collected and a chocolate mousse cake is passed out, the current school president of SIU takes the stage and welcomes the alumni. I try to listen to him talk, but to be honest, he could be selling trade military secrets to the entire audience and I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m focused on the way Cricket’s hand fits in mine. How she sips a fresh glass of champagne between bites of her chocolate cake. How she continually glances to the front of the room and looks as if she’s truly listening to what the man is saying. When he finishes and turns the podium over to one of our classmates who became a young House Representative last year, Cricket continues to take in his words, a small smile playing on her lips.
Suddenly, she glances my way and our eyes lock. Hers dilate under the low lighting, her fork with a sliver of cake on it abandoned. Cricket tightens her grip on my hand and her lips gently curl upward. I’m lost in a sea of green eyes and swirling emotions. Jesus, this woman is… amazing. She’s breathtaking. She’s everything.
The man with the microphone drones on and on about the state of Illinois and the success rate of college graduates, I focus all my attention to the woman to my left. I don’t even care that I’m blatant in my staring. She’s all I see.
A hand with eagle talons scores across my thigh. Considering Cricket is taking another sip of champagne with one hand and the other is tucked in mine, I’m willing to bet my left nut this hand belongs to the blonde viper to my right. I try to shift to my left, but the hand seems to cling to my leg like a monkey to a tree branch. I glance her way, but Ellen’s attention is focused on the stage.
Reaching for my water, I chug most of the glass’s contents, wishing it were something hard like scotch. Unfortunately, I’m left with ice water for the foreseeable future, since the servers and waiters aren’t walking around during the speeches.
On stage, the speaker finishes up and introduces a woman I vaguely remember from school administration. Everyone claps as she takes the stage, and I’m relieved when Ellen does so too. I relax in my chair, anxious to get this part of the dinner over with. This was one of the worst parts of college, listening to the endless lectures and just trying to keep up, so if the professor called on you for an answer, you were at least following along.
When the room quiets down, the speaker starts talking about the alumni association, and how much of an impact it has on the school. At least this topic is a little more interesting, as opposed to politics like the last guy. Of course, the premise of her speech is about money and why we should be giving more of it to our alma mater, but I get it, it’s part of her job. And to be honest, I could probably give a donation every now and again, especially when it goes to things like facility and education upgrades.
My mind is the furthest away from education though, when a hand cups my balls. I jump in my seat, my knee nailing the underside of the round table. Everything on the tabletop jumps, the clanking of glass and silverware heard throughout the entire hall. Cricket glances my way, her eyes wide in surprise, but what’s more surprising, is that the hand on my balls hasn’t moved an inch.
“Are you okay?” Cricket whispers as the attention returns to the front of the room.
“Fine, fine,” I reply, my voice tight and breathy, and not in a positive way. “I’m going to use the restroom. Excuse me,” I add, sliding my chair out quietly and forcing the fingers to let go of my boys.
