The Secret Poet, page 6
I always went, and to be honest, once we were a couple weeks in, my self-consciousness turned to I-don’t-give-a-crapness, and I was more able to enjoy myself. The first round or two at the beginning of the season always beat me into the ground, though, and I dreaded it every time.
Robin had made it a group text, of course, so for the next half hour, my phone pinged nonstop until I stopped reading the responses once they went off on seventeen different tangents. I finally turned off the notifications and set the phone aside. My interest in the poetry now squelched, I quickly ordered the SparkNotes for Perry and decided it was time to turn in.
After all, I was going to have to golf tomorrow, and I hadn’t even looked at my clubs—which were somewhere in my garage, I was pretty sure—since last fall.
I fell asleep that night and dreamed of swinging at floating hearts with my seven iron.
Chapter Six
I liked Thursdays. Thursday might be my favorite day of the week that wasn’t a weekend. It holds promise, you know? I feel like Thursday says, Hang in there, baby, tomorrow’s Friday and then you are free! Plus, we closed up a little early on Thursdays, which helped me get to golf on time.
It had been a steady day, and I was glad when Perry’s last patient paid her bill and left. I waited until she was safely in her car and backing out of the parking spot before I crossed the waiting room and locked the front door.
Diane waved to me, her bag slung over her shoulder and her sunglasses already on as she headed home for the night. “Have fun whiffing the golf ball,” she called over her shoulder.
“I hate you,” I called back in a singsong voice. But I laughed out my nose anyway because Diane wasn’t wrong. Whiffing the golf ball was exactly what I’d be doing within the hour.
I was shutting things down at my desk when Perry came up to the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean on his forearms and sway a little bit back and forth, like he was waiting for something. I let a good ten or fifteen seconds go by, and he finally spoke.
“So…” He stood up then and looked back toward Joanne’s empty desk and the movable walls of files. “That book you like has more in it than just mush.”
I squinted at him. “What book?”
“I mean, Elizabeth is way ahead of her time, really.”
Blink. Stare. Blink. “I’m sorry,” I said with a disbelief that made me speak super slow. “Are you reading Pride and Prejudice? Like, actually reading it?”
Something flew across his face, and I was pretty sure it was insult. “I’m not a Neanderthal, you know.”
The way he said it, the slight tint of hurt in his voice, took me by surprise, and I felt bad. “No, of course you’re not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.” It was the truth. My big brother could be a lug of a guy and he ticked a lot of guy stereotypes, but he was smart and kind and generous, and I felt bad for insulting him. I felt worse when he spoke next.
“Zoe mentioned it when she was here last week, said she was reading it for the first time and how interesting she found it. You’re always telling me I need to pay attention to a woman’s interests”—that was true, I told him that constantly—“so I thought I’d give the book a shot.”
I had no idea what to say. I wondered if I could still cancel my SparkNotes order, since it seemed now I didn’t really need them.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I wasn’t going to mention it to her at all if I hated it.” Then his sandy brows dipped down into a V above his nose. “I didn’t expect to actually kinda like it.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my brother? And oh my God, are you blushing?” Perry’s face went an even deeper red. It was adorable and I felt a swell of affection for him right then.
“I’m gonna ask her to dinner, I think.” Now, look, my big brother has never lacked confidence. He faces everything in life head-on, shoulders squared and chin up. He will come out on top and he knows it. But right then? In that moment when he told me about asking a girl out? I have never seen him look more unsure of himself, and it squeezed my heart a little bit.
“Yeah? Well, she’d be silly to turn you down.”
Instead of scoffing at my ridiculous notion that being turned down was even a possibility, he grimaced and said, “God, I hope she doesn’t.”
This was the part where I probably should’ve talked to him about the whole working-together thing, was it a good idea to date somebody you had any kind of authority over, etc., etc. True, Zoe wasn’t his employee, and there was nothing in the regs forbidding a doc from dating a pharma rep. Not that he would ever let his personal life interfere with his work—he wouldn’t, he wasn’t like that—but it was important stuff to touch on, and as his sister and employee and confidant, I should’ve said something.
Yeah, I didn’t.
Because he just looked so vulnerable. It was super rare for me to see him looking anything other than strong and confident. He really liked Zoe. I didn’t quite understand it, as he hadn’t spent much time with her at all, but that’s why you date somebody, right? So you can get to know them?
“It’s a great book,” I said instead. “A classic. I’m super impressed that you’re reading it. My big brother, lover of romance novels.”
“Yeah, don’t go spreading that around. It’s not like I’m gonna start reading…” He raised his gaze to the ceiling and scrunched up his nose. “Who did Mom read all the time? Nora Steel? Something?”
I snort-laughed. “You’re right. Don’t give up your day job.”
“Not planning to.”
“Zoe also likes poetry, you know.” The face he made then—scrunched nose, furrowed brow, grimace as if he’d eaten a lemon—reminded me of some of the old photos I’d seen of him as a kid, long before I came along. I laughed as I said, “Is that a no to the poetry then?”
“Let’s not push it.”
We laughed a bit more and then I asked, “When are you asking her out?”
Perry straightened up slightly—probably didn’t think I noticed—and lifted his chin. Then he shrugged. Actually shrugged like this was no big deal after I’d just seen him basically slit his wrist and bleed his feelings all over my counter. “Gonna give her a call this weekend sometime, probably.”
“Probably?” I arched a brow at him, making my oh, this is the game we’re playing now face at him, but it didn’t seem to register.
“I mean, yeah, if I get a chance. I’ve got basketball Saturday morning, going over to Mom and Dad’s at some point, rounds at the hospital. Busy weekend.”
“Mm-hmm,” was all I could say because I didn’t want to call him on his bullshit, but also? I so wanted to call him on his bullshit.
“All right.” He smacked his palm against the counter, his way of wrapping up the conversation. “I’ve got to hit the hospital quick before I head home. What about you?”
“Golf night.”
“Cool. First round of the season?”
“Yep.” No enthusiasm. At all. I couldn’t find any.
“Remember what I keep telling you.”
I joined him and we said together, “It’s not a softball.”
He grinned at me. “You’ll be great. Just have fun.” He could say that because he was a fantastic golfer. Like he was fantastic at just about everything he tried. “See ya.” And he was gone.
I sighed. Loudly. There was nobody left to hear it but me, so I did it again just because.
“All right,” I said to the emptiness around me. “Just have fun.” I repeated Perry’s advice a few more times in my head. Just have fun. That’s all I was supposed to do. And I’d get there. And I’d have a little bit of fun.
Once I got a few whiffs out of the way.
✥ ✥ ✥
Northwood Hills was not nearly as fancy as it sounds and certainly not to be mistaken with Northwood Country Club. NCC was where the wealthy folks played, where national tournaments were hosted. Perry was a member of NCC.
I, you’ll be unsurprised to hear, was not.
Northwood Hills was the public course where people who were not networking or schmoozing clients or proposing expensive business deals went to play golf. The rules were a little more relaxed, though normal golf etiquette was still expected, but it was a nice place with an impressive clubhouse, and The Drive—its bar and grill—had a decent reputation for good food and craft cocktails.
The parking lot was pretty full, but I found a spot between two SUVs and slid my small Honda Civic in. It seemed like eighty percent of the population of Northwood had SUVs, which were very practical for northern winters but made life a little harder for people like me with normal-sized cars who looked out their driver’s side window and often saw nothing but door.
I hauled my clubs out of the trunk and used the golf towel I had to dust them a bit. I hadn’t had time that morning, and after sitting in my garage for the better part of seven months, they’d collected a bit of a covering and some cobwebs as well. I prayed the creators of those cobwebs weren’t camped out deep in the bag, waiting to scare the bejesus out of me when I pulled out a club.
“You know, if you kept those in the house instead of in the garage, you wouldn’t have to work so hard at cleaning them off every spring.” I glanced up to see Mary Beth Stevens, one of the players in my league. Dressed in jeans—how she played in them, I’d never understand—a white long-sleeve T-shirt, and a windbreaker, she had her bag of clubs slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face as she waited for me.
“I don’t really have a spot inside.” Lies. I had plenty of spots. I just didn’t want them in my house, taking up space and reminding me of the sport I sucked so bad at. I was pretty sure they could take away my lesbian card for being that terrible. But I liked Mary Beth and didn’t want to be all whiny and complaining on the very first night. As it was, the weather was decent—it would get chilly in an hour or two, but I had layers—and it was good to be out of the house and doing something, so I just smiled back at her, slung my clubs over my shoulder, and walked with her toward the clubhouse. I felt this way every year in the beginning. Dreading it. Not excited or enthusiastic. But I knew that once I got into the swing of things—pun intended—I’d loosen up and have fun.
I started to relax once I’d met up with the rest of my group. Every year, the league boasted anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five people. I didn’t know all of them well, and there was always at least one new person, but I knew pretty much everybody’s name, and by the end of the season, I’d have played with each of them.
Carts were gathered and parked as we all met around the first tee. We’d play the front nine that night and the back nine the following week.
“Okay, listen up.” Robin McKinney stood in front of the group and waited for our chatter to die down. I had a love-hate relationship with Robin. I liked regular Robin a lot. She was funny and smart and nice. But too often, regular Robin was shoved aside by in charge Robin. She owned her own business and she ran our golf league. Both things that took a lot of work and a lot of energy, I didn’t deny that. But sometimes, by the middle of the season, some of us wanted to punch in charge Robin in the face. Luckily, we weren’t there yet, and we quieted down and gave her our attention.
“Welcome back, you guys. I’m so happy to see you all. We’re just waiting on a few more people—the first day is always hard to get to on time—and we’ll get started.” She rattled off the first couple of foursomes so they could get their clubs onto their carts and buy their alcohol if they wanted. Most people came right from work and were so ready for a drink by then. I normally stuck to red wine, but the craft cocktails at The Drive were so fun, I often let the bartender talk me into whatever was featured that day, and he’d send me off with my plastic cup to play a round. That night, though, I opted for just a Diet Coke. Wasn’t really in the mood to drink.
Until…
“There they are,” somebody said, while at the same time, I heard my cousin Bridget’s voice call, “We’re here. I brought a sacrifi—err—newbie. The party can start now.” She walked quickly. Bridget always walked quickly because she was short and said she’d been trained early that if she wanted to keep up with her taller brothers, she’d have to pick up the pace. Her clubs clacked together as she moved, and then her next words and the newbie registered at the same time.
“Guys, this is my friend Zoe. I convinced her to sub for Connie tonight.”
“You mean you browbeat her until the only way to get you to leave her alone was to agree to sub.” That was Amanda, another player, and she winked and grinned to make sure Bridget knew she was teasing.
“That’s probably pretty accurate,” Bridget agreed while at the same time, Zoe said, “Nooooo,” and the group laughed.
Introductions went around, Zoe shaking hands with everybody. She wore a pink hat with a Nike Swoosh on it, all that wavy dark hair in a ponytail and pulled through the opening at the back, and her smile was big. Genuine. She nodded at each person and stopped when she got to me. Her beautiful eyes widened in surprise as she said my name in disbelief.
“You two know each other?” Bridget asked, then got it before either of us could answer. “Oh, I bet she sells to Perry, right?”
I nodded, having a hard time with the context of Zoe in the midst of my golf league. “She does. I’m wondering why she’s not offering me doughnuts or a sandwich right now.” That made Zoe laugh, and I took a moment to revel in that. I loved making other people laugh, and Zoe had an especially contagious one. Then I turned to Bridget, curious. “How do you know her?”
“She lives on my street,” Bridget said. “We ran into each other a few times, started chatting, and then she came into Vineyard over the weekend.”
Vineyard was an adorable little wine bar where Bridget worked. I had no trouble picturing Zoe there. Somehow, it seemed like her kind of place. “Did you like it?”
“Oh my God,” Zoe said, and her face went all dreamy. “It’s amazing. If I could live there and just exist on wine, bread, and cheese, I totally would.”
I made a mental note to tell Perry how much Zoe liked Vineyard. Then I lifted my arms and dropped them to my sides, and I could feel my own smile form. “It’s so weird that you’re here. What a small world.”
“I know, right?” Zoe said. Bridget had moved a few steps away and was chatting with Amanda, and I noticed Zoe shift a little closer to me. “It’s so nice to see a friendly face. I was nervous to be the new girl.”
“You’re in sales,” I said and bumped her with my shoulder. “You meet new people all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s work. This is play. It’s different.”
Was it? I guessed maybe. I did know that I was happy to be the friendly face. “Well, I’m glad you decided to come. This is a nice group.”
“Do you know everybody?”
I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know everybody well. I mean, some of them, I only see during this league. And then we go for almost seven months without any contact. But I know everybody’s name and enough about them all to ask about jobs and kids. I’d say I’d consider myself to be personal friends with about ten of them.” I began to point out different women, give Zoe a quick rundown of occupation, number of kids, how long they’d been golfing, that kind of thing.
“What about you? How long have you golfed?” I could feel Zoe’s eyes on me, and it was the strangest sensation. Both comforting and nerve-racking.
“When was 2018?” I asked.
“Three years ago.”
“Then three years.”
Dark brows climbed upward. “So you’re pretty new at this.”
I nodded. “True.”
Before we could say anything more, in charge Robin raised her voice and began rattling off foursomes. I was surprised when I was grouped with Mia, Kate, and Zoe. Apparently, the Universe was giving me more opportunities to get to know Zoe. I would do my best to remember any important tidbits to pass on to Perry. I changed my mind about the Diet Coke and grabbed myself a drink from the bar. We decided to share a cart and put our clubs on the back as the first foursome teed off.
We were set to tee off fourth, so we sat in our cart and waited.
“What are you drinking?” I asked Zoe as she took a sip from her cup. Sitting next to her, I could smell peaches and…something with a bit of a zing. Her hair? Lotion? Perfume? I couldn’t place it, but I liked it. A lot.
“Gin and tonic,” she said. “I’m not a huge fan of beer. I wish I was. I’ve tried over and over again. I just don’t like the taste. I feel the same way about coffee.” She turned to me, and I noticed the gentle lines that appeared near her eyes when she smiled. “I fail at drinking popular things.”
I laughed through my nose. “I like both of those things. However…” I held up my cup. “The bartender said this is a Tropical Storm. I think it’s coconut rum, Amaretto, pineapple juice? Or something.”
“Good?”
“Very.” I held the cup out to her, then watched her glossy lips touch the rim of my cup and leave a light, shiny print.
“Oh, yum.”
“Right?”
“As I suspected, you are way cooler and hipper than I am. Don’t judge me.”
There was no planet on which that would ever be the case, and I almost said it out loud but managed to keep it to myself. Instead, I commented, “No judgment here, I promise. As for the coffee and beer, maybe you just don’t like things that are bitter.”
