Page 5 of Try Hard

Eve

W e circled the parking lot and, thanks to the hand warmers and activity, my feet were feeling a lot better—as was the rest of me. Still, I wasn’t quite ready to just head back and join everyone else. Fia was talking. She was interesting.

“Did you drive here?” I asked, nodding at the cars.

“No. Just walked. It only takes about a day.”

I shook my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. She was so sarcastic. “Oh, so you’re really committed to this whole thing, then? Setting off a day in advance just to watch an EasyJet flight take off for Geneva.”

“Mm. Yes. I couldn’t bear to miss it. You know, rare as it is.”

I laughed. “No. Did you drive your own car or come in your dad’s?”

She frowned, the cutest pucker appearing between her brows. It should have been illegal to look so adorable. “My dad’s car. What difference does it make?”

“Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “Alistair. Man of taste and class.”

“You’re talking about my dad?”

“Yes. The man who named his daughter Ophelia Pendrick, like she’d just walked in from a fantasy novel.”

She rolled her eyes, and I loved it. Loved the pretend exasperation glistening in the kaleidoscopic hazel depths of her irises, and the amusement it was concealing.

After all this time, Fia still played her cards close to her chest. I couldn’t blame her for it.

I knew better than anyone what happened when too much of you was given away to the world.

It suited me just fine most of the time but it wasn’t for everyone.

Yet, even with that—perhaps, especially because of that—getting to amuse her, getting to understand her, felt like the best thing ever.

“Just wait until you learn my middle name,” she quipped, walking just a touch faster in a way that said she wasn’t about to give it up that easily.

I cast my mind back. I had to know it, right? Had to have heard it? We hadn’t gone to one of those schools where middle names were regularly used, but plenty of peoples’ came up. However, if it was as interesting as she was implying, it seemed unlikely I’d have forgotten it.

“Huh,” I said out loud, speeding up to catch her. “I don’t remember ever hearing it.”

“Good.” She laughed lightly, almost despite herself. “I mean, I love it, but if you already think my name sounds made up…”

“I didn’t say that. I love your name.”

“Well, yours is from a book too.”

I chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, interestingly, not the reason my parents picked it.”

“Oh, no?” She stopped—right in front of my car, I realised belatedly—and turned to look at me. “They didn’t think you’d go eating from the Tree of Knowledge?”

Margot had been flirting. She’d been very clear about it. Fia’s comment could be flirting, but I didn’t trust that it was. Still, something in my stomach tightened under her gaze, dark and questioning, and, god, why did she have to be so damn beautiful?

I cleared my throat and turned to sit on the hood—the bonnet of my car.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking around frantically. “You can’t just sit on people’s cars!”

I tapped the bonnet beside me. “Don’t worry. I own this one.”

She relaxed. “Oh.” For a moment, her eyes ran over the vehicle, appraising it. “Oh.”

“An overwhelming verdict.”

“No. Sorry.” She shook her head and stepped back a tiny bit. “I just expected…”

I grinned. “Something more American? Cadillac, Dodge Ram, Chevy Suburban?”

“As if you could drive anything that big around Eddlesworth.” She shot me a look. “But, don’t avoid the question.”

Of course. As sharp as ever. I sighed. Was she flirting or not? Flirting or not…? “Let’s say, I don’t think they have any problems with me eating from whichever trees I choose.”

Something flared in her eyes like she thought I was still copping out on answering but couldn’t decide why. “Okay,” she finally said, stepping back again. “Now, do you want to tell me what you were getting at with my dad being a man of taste? ”

I laughed, standing up from my car. “I’m surprised you didn’t take drama with those acting skills,” I said of the accent and attitude she’d put on.

She waved me off. She really was more confident than she’d been in school, but I suspected this version had been inside her all along.

For as long as I’d known her, there had been a fire inside her.

Sure, she’d been shy and behaved, but she’d also been more than happy to deviate from the peer mentor guidelines to actually engage with Sophie.

She’d been carving her own path, even then.

You didn’t do that without a little fire inside you.

I checked for moving vehicles before standing in the middle of the path and turning slowly. “I’m going to guess which car in this parking lot belongs to your dad.”

She breathed a quiet laugh, one clearly not intended for me, but I heard it and I turned to face her again.

She bit down on her smile, trying unsuccessfully to hide it. “Carry on,” she prompted.

“Not until you tell me why that’s so amusing to you.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you always laugh at unamusing things?”

“More than you’d think.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just your style to walk down the street laughing at shops, lawns, bins.”

Her smile grew wider on the last word.

“What?” I asked, laughing even though I didn’t know what we were laughing at. I just wanted to be amused with her.

“Nothing,” she insisted, turning back to the cars. “Tell me what your guess is.”

Without thinking it through, I reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back into me. It was only when she stumbled that I thought through the fact that she likely wasn’t as used to tactile contact as I was. I steadied her and let go. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, her gaze fixed somewhere around my chin. “You’re good.”

“Great. So, tell me what we’re laughing about.”

She glanced up and her eyes looked so brown with the way the light hit them, just the tiniest flashes of green streaking through them. I knew in that moment that hazel eyes would always be my favourite.

“You said ‘parking lot’.” She breathed the words, only loud enough because of my proximity.

“Okay?” I frowned in confusion.

“But you also said ‘bin’.”

“Oh, I see.” The penny well and truly dropped.

“I just think it’s interesting which words and phrases people hold onto from their home language, and the ones they change. Those that stick around even after they go home.”

I smiled. I was enjoying the way her mind worked far too much—the attention to detail, the fact she’d noticed it before, the things she found interesting, the way she really listened to people.

“I spent a lot of time in parking lots. There are a lot of them in the US. So, I heard the word a lot and it kind of just… stuck. I said bin, but sometimes I say trash. Heard that word a lot there, too.”

She grinned up at me and I was pretty sure I was blushing, but I hoped she’d just put it down to the cold air.

“Any British words you just straight up forgot while you were there?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I know it’s not a different language exactly, but—”

“Two peoples divided by a common language and all that.”

“Yeah.”

I thought her question through. “There was once a conversation about what everyone on the team called…” I hesitated, laughing, suddenly unsure what to even call them. “Erm… carbonated beverages.”

She smiled widely, the grin reaching her eyes in a way that felt like winning. “Fizzy drinks?”

I nodded slowly, pressing my lips together briefly.

“Yeah. Those. There’s some real fierce regional varieties on that one, and, as everyone was answering, I didn’t think it through because I just thought I knew what we called them.

But, then… it got to me and my mind went blank.

I spent ten minutes debating different names for it before we all gave up.

I did get to tell everyone about Tizer, though, so they forgave me for not knowing what I’d call it. ”

“Tizer,” she mused, nodding her head. “I haven’t had one of those in… well, years.”

“Yeah, same. And, now I’m reliably informed it’s a fizzy drink, I suppose I can go text my former team and let them know.”

She shook her head and started walking again. “You don’t need to do that. But, if you correctly guess which car my dad’s is, I’ll buy you a Tizer.”

I followed after her eagerly. “Ooh, we’ve got some big prizes on the line now—although, do they even still make Tizer?”

“I have no idea, but maybe we’re about to find out. I doubt it, but maybe.”

“Hello, fighting words.”

“Just trying to speak your language, athlete,” she said, shooting a challenging look over her shoulder at me.

Ophelia Pendrick. Hilarious, attentive, ridiculous Ophelia Pendrick. God, I was in so much trouble.

◆◆◆

We made it back to the others an hour later without me having successfully guessed what Alistair Pendrick drove.

It just hadn’t occurred to me that the man would drive a Mini.

Of course, he was fun and a little unexpected—and, apparently, had given his wife free reign over his latest vehicle and she’d always had a soft spot for them.

Fia shot me one last, seemingly fond look before we rejoined the large crowd still plane spotting and she slipped back into her shell.

That was when I realised how much she’d come out of it for me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been like that with Sophie back in school.

Had Soph always known a different version of her than I had?

Had I missed out on years of that sarcastic, insightful version of her?

I wasn’t sure we’d spent enough time together today to merit asking to stay in touch, but I was still going to ask. That was who I was.

“Ah, there you are,” Alistair called, waving a tartan Thermos in our direction. “Soup? It’s still hot and I am blessed with a wonderful wife who makes the world’s best soups!”

It was one of my favourite things in the world to see people be so very in love with their partners, especially after a long time together.

Just the way those couples couldn’t help but gush, the way they appreciated the tiniest little gestures from one another.

After my parents divorced, I’d come to realise it was the small things that kept a relationship together.

They’d always been good at the big things—loud, impactful celebrations that other people had to see.

Ones that were designed to demonstrate they were still together and they wanted to show it off to the world.

Overly long, florid posts on social media for their anniversaries, just to tell the world they had the best partner ever.

Except they never said that stuff to each other in private.

They were going through the motions, and it seemed, in hindsight, like they thought they could convince themselves everything was good so long as they could make the world believe it was.

They didn’t make each other soup or coffee or talk about each other because they simply couldn’t help themselves.

It didn’t flow naturally like it did with Alistair and Lorraine.

It seemed to be coming easier for my mum with her partner now, and I was glad of it.

She’d waited long enough. Of course, it was still relatively new and I was certain she and my dad had been like that in the beginning too, but, after years of marriage, two kids, and a divorce, I could only imagine you had a better radar for love that would last. Maybe Dad would find it soon too.

Fia turned to me, holding out one of those tiny handled mugs that came with Thermoses. “It really is good. Country vegetable. Totally vegan.”

She’d seen things about me online—paid attention on purpose, maybe—did that mean she knew I was a vegetarian?

Had she read the articles in sports magazines that I’d done where they asked about my diet?

I hoped she had, but I knew that was foolish.

She’d been busy living her life. But one could hope.

I smiled at her, reaching out for the mug. “Well, it’s no Tizer, but I guess it’ll do.”

Something flashed across her face despite her efforts to stop it, that same amusement she’d had when we were alone.

She really tried so hard not to give herself away, especially around others, and I couldn’t help but wonder where that came from.

Her father was a man so readily giving himself away.

His warmness was there, inside of her; I’d seen it, but she kept herself so contained around other people.

Still, she let me in, let me amuse her, even with a crowd.

Maybe that was the biggest win of the day.

“You didn’t guess right,” she pointed out quietly. “So, no Tizer for you.”

“I could just go out and buy some on the way home.” I watched the way she narrowed her eyes as I sipped the soup. Alistair was right. Lorraine really did make an incredible soup.

“You wouldn’t,” Fia said, sounding surprisingly certain.

“Well, you’ve given me the taste…”

“But it wouldn’t taste like victory if you cheated and bought it for yourself.”

“Oh, so I can only drink Tizer if I win it now?”

“Well… no. I guess not.” She pulled herself up straighter, glancing around at the others.

I moved beside her and nudged her lightly. “Don’t worry, I’m a good loser. I can wait until I earn it. However, you do realise that means we’ll have to stay in touch, even if only to give me chances to win.”

She looked down, her lips pressing together as she smiled. “Evidence suggests you haven’t had that many chances to practice losing.”

“Good job I was born a gracious loser then, isn’t it?”

She laughed, just for me. “That sounds awful.”

I shrugged, allowing that because, well, she wasn’t exactly wrong, but I didn’t care about that. I cared about having a way to stay in touch with her. I cared about her wanting to stay in touch, even if it was just for a silly little game.

“Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “We’ll stay in touch and you’ll… find some way to eventually win your Tizer.”

I grinned widely, not missing the way Alistair was trying to inconspicuously monitor our conversation. He really cared about his daughter and her happiness, that much was obvious. “Deal. Looking forward to coming out victorious,” I said, even as it felt like I was already winning.