“So why aren’t you at the buffet?” I asked Harry,
“Or why weren’t you, because they’ve probably already left,” I added as I put the bowl of pasta salad into the microwave.
I had been getting hungry so I decided to find myself something for dinner, to which Harry countered off complaining that he was hungry too. So I found the container of food that we had the most of and put it in the microwave.
“I just didn’t feel like going,” he told me.
“Damn you have a lot of those microwave meals,” he said.
He had walked over to my fridge moments ago to see what else I had to eat besides just the pasta salad. I just shrugged and went back to looking at the time on the back of the box for how long I needed to microwave the food.
“Back on topic please,” I told him as I pressed the numbers into the keypad on the microwave and hit start.
“I just didn’t feel like going, what more can I say?” he told me as he closed the fridge door and walked back over to the barstool where he was sitting before.
“I honestly don’t see how staying here with me is more fun than going to the buffet,” I said to him.
“Well believe it,” he retaliated.
“You hardly even know my name yet you skipped out on hanging out with your teammates to give me a ride home,” I reminded him.
“There’s where you’re wrong, I do know your name,” he said, pointing a finger at me.
“It’s Gabrielle,” he told me,
“And your last name is Gold. Middle initial is E,” he said proudly, and my eyes slightly widened causing him to laugh.
“How do you even know that?” I asked him.
“Your water bottle. When I brought it back to you it said your name on it,” he informed me.
“Oh okay,” I said.
“Now back on topic,”
“I’m just tired of the buffet food, it gets boring going to the same place everyday after practice and picking from the same food,” he explained to me.
“Makes since,” I answered.
“How do you even know that the team goes to the buffet after practice?” he asked me.
“I told you, my dad was the assistant coach, I know these things,” I told him, and he chuckled.
“But hey if you want some authentic American food, you should go to Banderas,” I told him.
“It’s off Michigan avenue in the North Side, and it’s so good,” I told him.
“I have no clue where that is,” he told me.
“Well when you want to go you can just type the place into a search bar and it’ll give you the directions,” I told him.
“Or maybe sometime you could just take me there,” he said, and I turned back around to look at him to see that he had a small smirk on his face.
“Or you could just be the grown up person that you are and drive yourself there,” I retaliated.
“I’m going to need someone to tell me what food is good though,” he said.
Thankfully the timer went off on the microwave signaling the food was done, and keeping me from having to give Harry an answer. I quickly took the bowl out of the microwave since it was hot, and then grabbed two bowls from the cabinet above me. I separated the pasta salad from the one bowl, into two separate bowls, and then handed one to Harry once I finished.
Once I sat down at the counter, Harry thankfully didn’t go back to what we were talking about before the timer went off. I wasn’t sure why he was asking me to take him to the restaurant, well in a way I did, but I hardly knew the guy.
“What does the E stand for?” Harry suddenly asked.
“The E, your middle initial,” he said.
“Elizabeth,” I answered. He nodded, and then went back to eating his food.
“Can we maybe go where there is a TV or something?” Harry asked,
“Sitting in silence is getting kind of boring,”
“You could always talk you know,” I told him.
“Do you have a TV or not?” he asked, clearly ignoring my comment.
“Um, yeah,” I said nervously.
I got up from sitting at the counter to lead him to where the TV is in the living room, I was a bit apprehensive to go eat in the living room, where the expensive furniture and nice carpet it. My dad would never let me eat in the living room, no matter what it was that I was eating or drinking. My dad wasn’t here though to tell me not to eat in the living room, but I always felt he would know if I did.
“So are you going to turn the TV on or…” Harry trailed off.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, almost forgetting that he was here.
“You know you could have turned the TV on yourself,” I informed him.
“Yeah, I could, but I have a different cable provider than you do, and all remotes have some stupid way to turn them on and how to chose shows,” he told me, and I just shrugged as I turned on the TV.
“You watch the news?” he asked amused as he looked at the screen that was currently on the local news channel.
“No, my dad does,” I told him, and he just nodded.
“What do you want to watch?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged and took a bite of his pasta salad.
“It was your idea to come watch TV, so decide on what to watch,” I told him.
He grabbed the remote from my hand and found the guide button, and then he began to go through the channels until he settled on some TV show that I’d never seen before. We watched the TV for a while, and once Harry and I both finished our pasta, I waited until a commercial, and then got up to put the dishes in the sink.
As I was walking into the kitchen, I caught sight of the time that was on the stove, and I almost dropped the dishes. My dad was going to be home in less than ten minutes. I quickly put one dish in the sink and one in the dishwasher so my dad wouldn’t ask about two plates in the sink, and then went back into the living room.
“You need to leave,” I told Harry once I was back in the living room.
“Excuse me?” he took his attention away from the TV and turned to face me.
“I said, you need to leave,” I clarified.
“What did I do?” he laughed as stood up.
“Nothing, my dad is going to be home soon,” I informed him.
“What’s the big deal then?” he asked.
“My dad would freak if there was a hockey player in the house,” I told him.
“Your dad doesn’t know me,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter, now get out,” I grabbed his shoulder and pushed him towards the front door.
“Well someone is in a harsh mood,” he teased as I continued to push him to the front door since he still wasn’t moving.
“Get out,” I demanded again.
“Let me get my shoes at least,” he said once we were in the entryway, and I momentarily stopped pestering him to get out as he picked up his shoes and slipped them on.
“Before I go, give me your phone number,” he told me, and handed out his phone.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“Well if I’m going to take you up on that offer to take me to that restaurant, I’m going to need your phone number,” he told me, still holding out his phone to me.
“I didn’t offer to take you anywhere, I already told you that you could figure out how to get there yourself,” I told him.
“Just give me your phone number,” he said again.
I hesitantly took the phone, and created a new contact for myself and put my number in.
“Now leave,” I said as I handed his phone back to him.
He smiled at me, and then opened up my front door to leave.