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I send it before I change my mind again.
I stare at my phone as I will a reply. I wonder what he’s doing. Is he with Amelia? She’s not here, though it’s Sunday, and she’s never here on Sundays since she’s usually watching Spencer play.
We all watch. The televisions at the bar in the restaurant are all tuned into the channel he’s on.
Do I stop and stare at him in his uniform? Of course I do. I have for years—long before he got together with my sister.
Do I play it off like I’m looking at someone else? You’re damn right I do.
I slip my phone back into my pocket as I swing by the tasting room at the vineyard where I work. The game is over, but I’m still proudly wearing one of my Vikings tees in support of our local team despite the tough loss. Nana is in here working the room like she always does, and Delilah, our longtime tasting room manager, is here, too.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I’m saying goodbye to the last guest in the tasting room before we close for the evening, and I nervously fish it out as I hope it’s a reply from Spencer.
I can’t get this worked up about texting him. He’s off-limits. The nerves racing up and down my spine are ridiculous, really, and I probably shouldn’t have texted him when Amelia is most certainly still there, but obviously I wasn’t really thinking when I sent it. I was too busy focusing on the content to worry about the timing.
I glance at the screen and see it’s just Drew, the head of our cellar workers, letting me know the schedule for the week. He’s asked me out several times. He’s cute, and he’s nice, but I’m not really the kind of girl who mixes business with pleasure.
As I’m replying to him, a new text comes through.
This one’s from Spencer. I navigate immediately to his text to read it, abandoning my drafted reply to Drew.
Spencer: I’m okay. It’s nice of you to check in on me. It was a tough loss, but we had a great season.
It sort of leaves the door closed for me to ask anything else, and I stare at it in disappointment as I try to come up with something, anything, to say in reply.
But then another one comes through from him.
Spencer: What about you? Sometimes it’s as tough on fans as it is on players.
Me: I’m good. Just thinking about you.
Backspace backspace backspace.
Me: I’m good. Just wondering what you’re up to.
Backspace backspace backspace.
Me: I’m fine. Are you coming up to the winery soon? Because I’d love to see you.
Backspace backspace backspace.
Sigh.
Me: I’m fine. I’ve got a tall glass of malbec waiting for you.
Send.
Spencer: I will take you up on that.
I’m smiling at my phone when Amelia walks through the door, and the smile immediately leaves my face as I’m pushed back into reality.
As she passes by me, she smacks my phone out of my hand, and it clatters to the ground. I bend down and snatch it up, glaring at her as I slide it into my pocket and wondering if she really is thirty-one or if she’s still eight and pushing me over as I learn to walk.
Same sentiment twenty-three years later, I guess.
“How was your weekend?” I ask, trying as ever to be nice to the girl who seems to hate me for no reason that I can fathom.
“Well, my fiancé’s team lost, so how do you think it was?”
