Finally, Forever(7)

I nod slowly. I know. Have you ever seen such amazing food display?

She shakes her head. It looks like art.

Worthy of a museum exhibit, I nod.

Can I try it? Her eyes are pleading.

I shake my head. No way.

Her eyebrows crease. Please?

I narrow my eyes. You should have ordered it when you had the chance. I can’t make your choices for you. My eyes cut over to Nick and back at her. Your loss.

Just one bite?

I sigh and scoop up a spoonful of scrambler onto my fork and drop it on the edge of her plate.

“Thanks,” she says and grins but I don’t return the smile. I lean my shoulder into Rachel’s.

“You want in on this?” I ask her and point to my meal. She looks between my plate and her dad’s and grimaces.

“I’m not into heart attacks,” she says. “No thanks.”

I pop a slice of bacon into my mouth and shrug. My heart has already been stomped on, kicked, and sewn over. It probably resembles the shape of a something really pathetic, like a giant teardrop. A little bacon grease isn’t going to do any damage that Dylan hasn’t already inflicted.

“Nick, what do you do?” Rachel’s mom inquires. I look at him and assume, if he’s friends with Dylan, he’s going to invent a metaphorical job description like, “I produce oxygen and help the world to grow and photosynthesize,” when really, he does landscaping.

“I’m in my second year of vet school,” Nick boasts. I glare at him. In Dylan’s dog-obsessed world, that means he’s a superhero.

“Wow, that’s a fascinating field,” Rachel’s mom says.

I stare down at my plate. Yeah, fascinating. I bet he’s all the fun and spontaneity of a medical textbook.

Nick smiles and studies his hand with this sweeping motion and for a split second I think he’s gay. Wow. My brain is reaching for anything to wish this guy out of Dylan’s life. More specifically, out of her pants.

“That’s how Dylan and I met,” Nick says. His eyes look whimsical for a second, recalling the magic moment that Dylan appeared in his life. “I was interning at an animal shelter,” he begins, “And Dylan was there, volunteering.” He rubs his hand over her shoulder. “I took one look at her, holding a pug like it was her own baby, and I knew she was the one. I had just finished assisting on an emergency surgery for a golden retriever puppy that was hit by a car. We saved his life.”

Rachel’s mom presses her hand over her heart and gives Nick this adoring smile, like he’s some kind of messiah.

I look over at Nick. One word: Tool. He’s mister wanna-be-outdoorsy, but he’s just a textbook nerd. Vet students are like doctors. They have one routine in their schedule: Studying at the nerdatorium and then eating at the nerdery with all their fellow nerdites.

“Well, what an interesting lunch,” Rachel’s mom says. “Eating with a veterinarian and a professional photographer and a professional baseball player.” Nick perks up at this. I feel his eyes on me.

“You play pro ball?” he asks. He looks impressed. Are you intimidated, Dr. Boy? Afraid muscles might be sexier than degrees?

I take a bite of my hash browns. “Minors,” I clarify. I don’t really want to talk about baseball. I don’t want to talk, period. I want to get the hell out of this situation.

Nick unrolls the paper napkin and sets it on his lap. Did he seriously just put a paper napkin on his lap? I’m calculating all of his movements, storing them away so I can overanalyze them later, and rip him to shreds in my mind.

“This summer was the best team we ever had,” Rachel’s dad brags. “Won the conference. Gray got MVP.”

“I had a great team around me,” I say.

“You worked harder than anybody,” her dad argues. “The Dodgers noticed.”

“You signed?” Nick asks me.

I shake my head. “We’re still negotiating,” I say. “I’ll probably play one more year in college.”

“It must be a lot of traveling, a career like that,” Nick says.

I narrow my eyes and wonder what he’s implying. “It will be,” I say.

“You won’t live in one place for very long?” he assumes.

“It depends,” I say. “In the minors you can get bumped around a lot.”

“And there are 162 games in the season,” he informs me as if I don’t know the schedule. “Only certain people can handle that kind of lifestyle.”

I stare him down, wondering why he cares.

“It’s perfect if you’re a baseball fan,” Rachel chimes in and leans her shoulder into mine. I look at her and smile, thankful I have a fan in the room.