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“Partida, this is Rosie and her friend Zevulun.”
Zev stands, pulling out a chair for the girl. Her tan cheeks blush a warm pink with his gesture. I stand, too, before she can sit.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, watching for signs as I lean in. Partida welcomes my gesture, and we share a short side embrace.
“I’ll be right back,” Carlos says, glancing at a couple seated a few tables away. “You’ll be okay, Tida?”
She nods, shy enough to keep quiet, brave enough to sit with new acquaintances.
“I’m so glad you could come,” I say, hoping she’ll be willing to talk.
“I liked the last book you gave me. The one about Vietnam and the girl and her grandma.”
“I love that one,” I tell her. “I read it…” My brows cinch. I’m not sure how long ago. Do I count my six lost years? “A while ago.”
Partida’s cheeks concave and she kicks her good leg. “She broke a bone, too.”
“She did!” I point at Zev across from us. “Zev broke his leg, too.” It’s a connection, and I’m grasping for them.
Partida’s eyes draw up to my tall, ginger, and seriously cute friend.
He peers back at her, his mouth slightly ajar. “Uh… I did,” he says. “Recently.”
Her head bows slightly and her eyes drop to her bound-up leg. Her pink toes stick out from the matching pink cast. “Fibula,” she says.
“Aw. Tibia.” Zev pats his right leg.
Partida pulls in a long breath, then exhales. “No cast?”
“I had one for six weeks,” he says. “Then a boot.”
She presses her lips into a flat line. “I’ll get a boot in a few weeks. Surgery?”
“Yep.” He screws up his face. “It’s rough. How about you?”
“Nah. Just the cast.” Partida swings her good leg and lets out a sigh. “Still rough.”
“Yep.” Zev dips his head a little, meeting her eyes. “You must be tough.”
She snickers and shrugs, her expression playful. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it,” Zev says.
Partida continues to swing her good leg, her toes scuffing the cement ground. “How’d you break your…” She wrinkles her nose, thinking. “Tibia?”
“Car accident.” He says it plain and simple, and yet I swear I feel the weight of those two words. “What about you?”
A groan falls from Partida, making her look like a tween for the first time since she arrived. “Trampoline. My mother will never let me on one again. She says it’s a death trap.” Her eyes turn into saucers.
Zev groans, making me believe he might be younger than he looks. “That’s a bummer.”
“Zev’s mom might never let him drive again,” I say, and I’m not sure if it’s to be a part of their conversation or because I’m still trying to find connections.
Either way, Partida giggles and Zev’s eyes turn into round globes with the gag.
“Broken legs and you both like to read. Two peas from the same pod,” I say.
“You read, too?” She looks at Zev again, a glint in her eyes. He might be everything she ever thought a male specimen should be. “Rosie and I love to read.” I like how she says this. As if we’re old friends. I need to stop attempting to make connections and just have confidence in the one we’ve already made.
