Look at You

Chapter 9

9

My weekend is punctuated by a long slow run on Saturday morning and a trip to The Golf Cave with my dad. I don't even play golf. He thinks I am too attached to my computer, so he rips me from the desk chair at 4 p.m. on Sunday evening. I want to tell him I've been busy negotiating my latest game sale (I design, then I sell), but I don't. I'd like to think this is as much about quality time as it is about the amount of blue light my cells receive every day.

He's twisting a club back and forth in front of me like this is what's really going to make it click for me. He's even describing it: "back and forth, back and forth, backswing, follow through..."

I am two seconds away from throwing the club when my fourth drive goes haywire. The Golf Cave isn't a real golf course—it's a simulator inside a small room, so it's not like I can even say at least it went somewhere. You do hit an actual ball, but all it does is just smack against the drop-down projector screen. Every time I hit it you can hear the fake spectators giving their best disappointed ooooh's. And if that isn't bad enough, Jay says the same thing after every single one of my shots. "Well, that's too bad."

"What's too bad is this stupid sport!" I toss the driver onto the reclining chair in the back of the room. It's a gentle toss, but it still makes me feel something.

"Simon, you know how to move your hips, you can whip a lacrosse ball down the field in seconds!"

"Dad!" I am in danger of stomping my feet. "That's in the air!"

This goes on for another hour until my fingers start to blister from holding the club too tightly trying to follow Jay's very detailed instructions. (Back swing strong, tee it up, get a feel for the club, really know your swing, Simon.) I am so mad at him for making me stay at The Golf Cave for that long that I do not speak a single word until we are home and my mom is unleashing the marinara that she's been simmering all day.

My mom is quite in tune with my oftentimes very visible emotions, so when she says, "Good time at the Golf Cave, eh?" it is simply just to make my dad burst out laughing. And he does. He can't stop until Alice is literally swatting his arm with a dish towel to convey the seriousness of the situation.

"I'm moving out," I announce, picking up the half-eaten plate of pasta in front of me. Both my parents gasp.

Alice is smiling ear-to-ear. "No way!"

Jay's leftover laughter comes billowing back up out of his throat. "All this time and all it took was one trip to the Golf Cave!"

That one gets Alice going too. I am so infuriated I do not leave my room for the rest of the evening.

__

I get up thirty minutes earlier than I normally would on a weekday.  I tell myself it's because I want to be productive, but it's really just to see if Cam is bringing me our protest coffee again. It was already waiting for me at 9 a.m. on Friday, so I get myself in the car by 8:25 and up the lobby steps by 8:37.

The eighth floor is empty, and there's nothing waiting for me at my desk. I unpack and sit down though, telling myself he has some time left. And if he doesn't come, he doesn't come. I'll just get my ass to Buzz on my own then. Like that's what I'm waiting for.

It's 8:41 when I hear the elevator ding open. I've successfully logged onto my computer and am already checking emails, so it looks like I'm being productive and not creepy and waiting for him. If it is him, anyway.