Page 95 of Poetry On Ice
“But, Robbie, we don’t know how to make pie.”
He looked at me as if I was bat-shit crazy. “How hard can it be?”
It turns out it’s very hard. We can’t bake pie. Baking is a science. We can barely make mac and cheese from a box, so when you think about it, us not being able to bake makes perfect sense.
We’ve asked Robbie’s dad to come over next week and help us with the pie, and in the meantime, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the comings and goings across the road.
“We probably shouldn’t spy on him,” says Robbie when he catches me at it for the second time today.
“Yeah,” I agree. “We shouldn’t.”
“We hate it when people are overly interested in our lives.”
“Yeah, we hate it.” I’m quiet for a while, but I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes off the scene playing out across the street. Ben is sitting on his front porch, as he’s done every day since he moved in. He’s lost weight since he played for the Blackeyes. His pale eyes are hollowed, haunted, with dark shadows beneath them. Hisson plays at his feet. Now and again, the boy says something, and Ben’s eyes soften.
Even though it’s nice to see a flicker of happiness on Ben’s face, that’s not why I’m watching. I’m not even really watching, per se. I’m waiting. Waiting to see if the same thing happens today as happened yesterday. “Robbie!” I yell when the scene begins to unfold.
Robbie’s head pokes around the doorway. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing yet.”
He squishes next to me as we both kneel at the window and peer through the blinds, pressing our faces as close as we can.
Are we proud of ourselves? No. Does that mean we’re going to stop? Regrettably, also no.
The neighbor directly to the left of Ben’s house approaches from the guest cottage. He has a mop of dark curls that bounce when he moves, brilliant blue eyes, and a happy-go-lucky gait that makes it look like he’s listening to music as he walks. He pauses when he gets to the gate, looking down at his phone.
But he’s not looking at his phone. He did the same thing yesterday. And the day before.
He’s stalling.
He waits until the boy on the porch says something to Ben that makes him laugh loudly, and then he unhooks the gate and lets himself through it. He does an entirely mediocre job of acting surprised to see Ben sitting on the porch.
“See,” I say to Robbie, victorious. “What did I tell you? The boy next door has a thing for Ben Stirling.”
It’s a big day here. A huge day, according to Robbie, but I think that’s a little strong. He’s been limping around the house for the past two days with a huge bandage and a ream of plastic wrap on his side.
“You can take it off now,” I tell him again. “It’s been on long enough.”
Truthfully, he could’ve taken it off yesterday, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“I’m recovering from surgery!” He breaks the word into three distinct syllables. “You can’t rush recovery, Ant. You know that. It takes time for the body to heal.”
“But you haven’t had surgery,” I remind him gently.
“Of course I’ve had surgery. I got punched by a needle ten thousand times, didn’t I? That definitely meets the definition of surgery.”
“You got a tattoo, Princess.” I laugh. “Now take that fucking thing off and show me what’s underneath it.”
The not-knowing has been killing me. I can’t wait to see the design he settled on.
He takes off his T-shirt and strolls over to the blue sofa. My brain briefly cuts out at the sight of him moving, half-naked, before me. He’s arranged the throw pillows just so and is lying back on them by the time it comes back online.
He stretches out, tucking a hand behind his head, and watches as I pick at the edges of the bandage and carefully peel it back. I expect him to look down as I unveil it, but he doesn’t. His eyes don’t leave my face.
I admit I’m a little nervous. Not nervous exactly, more like highly invested. There’s not an inch of his body I don’t love, and while I’m as much a fan of ink as the next guy, I’ve struggled to imagine a design that could possibly improve upon the perfection that is Robbie McGuire.
It takes a second to register what I’m looking at, then I bark out a laugh of surprise and my eyes fill with tears.