Dear Life(30)

The next text is a picture of Daisy. Smiling to myself, I press on the picture to make it bigger. Standing in front of the TV where the pregame is playing, Daisy holds a football in a throwing position, wearing a pair of light colored jeans that taper at the ankle, total mom-jean material, and a blue crewneck sweater with an orange Bronco emblem cut and sewed out of different fabrics. And I’m pretty sure . . . yup, once I zoom in, I see the use of puffy paint.

Fuck, I can’t help the smile that grows from ear to ear. She’s kind of a dork but in a refreshing way. What’s the term? Adorkable? Shit, I hate that I even thought of the word.

Hollyn: Where did you get that sweatshirt?

I can’t help it, I ask as well.

Carter: Yeah, where did you get that sweatshirt? It’s kind of amazing.

Amazing in a quirky, old-school, it’s-cool-to-be-weird way, but hell, I would wear the shit out of that thing.

Daisy: I made it! I went to the fabric store the other day and gathered the materials. I wasn’t too sure how it would turn out, but I made some for my sister and her fiancé as well.

The next text is a picture of Daisy, with who I’m assuming is her sister and her fiancé arm in arm, wearing matching crewneck sweatshirts. I hold in the snort that wants out. The look on the fiancé’s face is priceless. The only reason that man is wearing that sweatshirt is because his woman made him. Just from the way he styles his hair, I can tell he’s not an iconic dresser like myself. If I had that sweatshirt, I would wear it with pride.

Hollyn: Matt looks like he wants to slam his head into a wall.

Jace: Hey, Matt works in the front office of my ball club. What a small world.

Daisy: Matt is humoring me for sure.

Carter: I would wear that sweatshirt so fucking hard.

The minute I press send, I wonder why I even typed out that response, let alone sent it. I don’t participate in group messages. I don’t participate in general, but there is something about Daisy that gets under my skin. Maybe it’s her story, how she’s looking to break free like me, or how she’s always looking to please and putting herself out there. Either way, I see the effort she’s making and it makes me want to at least return that effort to her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fitzy asks, pulling me from my phone. “You’re not even paying attention to the zingers I’m making at Joe Buck. It’s been some of my best material.”

“Sorry.” I place my phone next to me on the couch but glance down when I see more incoming texts. There is an underlying need to open them, to read them, to see what everyone is up to. Why? Why is that something I need to know? I barely know these people. I really don’t care to know them, but here I am, forcing myself to watch the pregame show as Fitzy retells his jokes, while I desperately itch to pick up my phone.

“Joe Buck is delusional,” Fitzy spouts off. He then turns to me and holds up the bowl in his hand. “M&M?”

“Sure.” I sigh, reaching over, my eyes catching a glimpse of another picture from Daisy.

Shit, don’t look at it, don’t look at it.

Don’t look at it!

I pop an M&M in my mouth and glance down at my phone, tapping on the picture. It’s an up-close shot of the sweatshirt. So fucking perfect. I smile to myself as I turn my attention back to the game.

In Daisy’s words, Go Broncos!





DAISY


“Everyone seems to think my sweatshirts are quite fetching,” I say, just as Matt starts to jump off the couch, screaming at the TV while holding his plush football he can’t seem to put down. Even when he goes to the bathroom. Blech.

“That was not fucking passing interference. Are you blind? He didn’t even touch him.” Flopping on the couch in complete distress, Matt grumbles to himself, clenching his football to his chest, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rolled up, and his hair in disarray from pulling on it so much.

Given this is my first football game, I’m quite lost. Amanda is reading a book in the corner of the couch, occasionally peeking up to see what’s going on, but not paying too close attention. I’m trying to follow everything but I’ve never been more confused in my life. The one thing I know, we want to score a touchdown. How that occurs is beyond me, but in the spirit of things, I raise my fist in the air and say, “Let’s go, Broncos, score that touchdown,” which in return will garner a fist bump from Matt.

I’m not going to lie, sports are tiresome. I’m enjoying the array of junk food at our disposal though. Fritos Bean Dip is my new favorite thing, that and the giant chocolate chip cookie decorated in Broncos colors Amanda picked up from the store. Giant cookie equals delicious on all accounts.

Feeling the tension in the room from the apparent pass interference—whatever that is—I raise my fist and say, “Go Broncos.”

Matt pounds the couch and raises his fist as well. “Fuck yeah, go Broncos.”

That’s a lot of passion.

Do I have that much passion about anything? I like crafting, but I would never pound my craft table and scream obscenities if there was a glue interference while securing jewels to a baseball cap. Maybe if Gene Kelly was still alive and I got to watch him tap away on Broadway to Singin’ in the Rain, maybe I would be fist-pumping the air and telling Gene to tap his heart out. Maybe.

“Do we need a refill on chips?” I ask, looking at the empty bowl.