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Jacksonsighs. “Yeah,Ican shoot.ButIcan buy you a stuffed animal.”
“Itwould just mean so much more if you won it for me,Nugget.Itwouldreallyshow me how much youloveme.”
MaybeIshould makeJacksonpublicly declare his love for me tonight?ButIcan’t decide if torturing him like that would be worth it, knowing how much hearing him say the words and not mean it would hurt me.
Jacksonsteps in front of me towards the game booth.Heholds the rifle with his left hand under the barrel and his right arm pulled back, hand wrapped around the back end of it.Hislong index finger stretches past the trigger.Hefreezes for a second.Andthen he pulls the trigger.
Bang.
It’slike something out of a cop show.Ora cop movie.Didn’tJacksonplay a sharpshooter in some movie?Whatwas the name of it?
Bang.Bang.Bang.Jacksondischarges the gun again and again, using up the rest of my turn.WhenIpeek around his arm to see what’s happening,Isee all four of the clay disks shattered.
“Iguess not everything you learn for the movies is just for show?”
“Ilearned how to shoot on the farm.”
“Yourdad taught you?”
“Momactually.Dad’sa crap shot.”
“Interesting.”
“Here’syour dog, ma’am,” the kid says with a slow cadence that doesn’t make thema’amsound quite so bad, as he pulls down the pink dog and holds it out to me.Everytime someone calls me ma’am inL.A.,Icringe.
Jackson’sarms are longer, so he gets to the pink dog beforeIdo. “Thanks.”
Whenhe hands me the stuffed animal,Ican’t help but grin.Thismoment is the culmination of every fantasy expectation that every small town rom com has ever given to me about your man winning you a toy at some town event.Thedog is enormous, fluffy, pink, and ridiculous, and completely perfect.Ilove it.Theonly thing wrong here is that the man who won it for me isn’t mine.He’sonly pretending.
“Myhero!”Ishout and reach up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck.Thisis when the girl would kiss her guy in the movies.Butkissing wasn’t part of the contract.Leaningclose and looking like we’re kissing, that’s what we agreed to.So, that’s whatIdo.
Jacksonwraps his arms around my waist and sways me back and forth a few times.Thenhe pulls away.
Becausethis isn’t real.Everypart of this is fake, except for whatI’mfeeling inside me.Andthat’s not his fault.Jacksoncouldn’t have been clearer about what this was.I’mthe one who can’t keep things professional like we agreed, and whenIget hurt, that’s going to be my own fault and no one else’s.
“Moregames?”Jacksonasks, scanning up and down the row of booths.
“Notsure we can top that one, but let’s take a look.”
Jacksontakes one of my hands, the other carrying my enormous pink dog, and we walk down the row of booths.Allthe usual suspects are here.Ringtoss.Thething burly men are supposed to hit with a hammer to prove how strong they are.Skee-ball.Whack-a-mole.Nothingreally catches my eye.
“Areyou hungry?”
“Sure,” he agrees.
Howdid we go fromJacksonthreatening to spank me to him not stringing more than three words together in a row?
“Youpick.Whatwould you and your brothers eat first?”
“Friesand cotton candy.”
“Together?”
“Wedon’t-”
“No,Iwant to.Let’sdo it.”
Tenminutes later,Iam a convert to the concept of fries and cotton candy.There’ssomething about the salty, sweet combination that is so, so good.Iwonder ifIcould do something like this at the bakery.Friesdon’t exactly scream dessert.Butmaybe chips?Orpopcorn?I’mdefinitely going to put some thought into that.Itmight just be weird enough for people to love it.
