Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,84
sermon. I guess I expected it to be in Latin or something, but it’s not, it’s in English. Each word is measured. The whole thing feels a little bit like a ceremony, like when I was in Girl Scouts and I went from Daisy to Brownie.
After the service, I follow Bo to the candles where a few other people have gathered. He drops a few dollars into the lockbox and gives me a stick to light a candle from a larger candle. We both light a candle. Neither of us says who the candles are for, but we don’t have to.
I imagine what it might be like to do this every Sunday with Bo. Even if I don’t know if all of this is something I believe in, it’s nice to be a part of something. With him.
We walk outside to the parking lot, where all the socializing is happening. Bo waves to a few people. He points to a man in a navy blazer and khaki pants. “That’s my coach.” It breaks my heart to hear him talk about this man so firmly in the present, as if he still was his coach.
“Bo!” It takes me a moment to recognize him, but it’s Collin. That same guy who came and visited Bo at Harpy’s. He jogs toward us.
“Hey,” he says, pointing at me. “I recognize you.”
I feel myself recoiling.
Bo holds his hand out and the two exchange a firm handshake that looks more like a show of strength. But there’s none of that suffocating tension radiating off Bo like there was the last time these two saw each other.
“What’s up, man?” asks Collin.
Bo shrugs. “Work. School.”
A few other guys from the team are heading over now. I feel like the elephant in the room—or the parking lot. Literally and figuratively.
He shakes each of their hands.
They ask him about school and his knee and if he’s going to try to do some rehab to get back on the court. My shoulders ease a little as I almost start to feel invisible.
Then Collin points to me and says, “And what about this one? She your girlfriend now?”
Bo glances over at me and says, “This is Willowdean.” He turns back to his friends. “And I’m working on it.” Then he takes my hand. He holds my hand. Right there in front of everyone. I am equal parts thrilled and mortified.
A few of his friends whistle as he says bye and we walk to his truck. Hand in hand.
We sit in his car, waiting in line to turn out of the parking lot. “What was that about?”
He brushes his knuckles over his chin. “I told you I wanna do this the right way. And I’m done keeping you a secret. I didn’t even mean for you to feel like a secret in the first place. I was—I don’t know. Sometimes good things happen to you at the absolute worst time. You were a good thing, Willowdean.”
“What about Bekah?”
“What about her?”
“Aren’t you guys dating?”
He scoffs. “Hardly. We went out a few times.” He pauses. “Okay. I guess we kind of dated. But I was trying to get over you. Or maybe make you jealous. I don’t know. And I didn’t expect for you to be all over that jock, so I guess I was the jealous one.”
“Mitch. His name’s Mitch. He’s not that guy. He’s my friend.”
He doesn’t respond for a minute. “Is he anything more than that?”
“No,” I say, like I’m shocked by the idea.
I feel his gaze on me.
“I don’t know.” Oh God. Of course we’re more than friends. At least to him we are. And maybe sometimes for me, too. “Technically, we’re not anything. But he wants more.”
“Do you want more?” he asks. “With him?”
“I—I don’t know. Usually, no. But I haven’t really said so.” I twist a piece of hair around my finger. “But what about you and Bekah?” I shake my head. “It’s never going to be the right time for us, Bo.”
“I haven’t told Bekah we’re not dating if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, what? You were going to leave her hanging?”
“It’s not like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Well, neither were we,” I tell him.
Jerking the wheel, he turns off into a random alleyway and puts the truck in park.
He unbuckles his seat belt and moves toward me. “I want more,” he says. “I want more with you. I want to hold hands in public. I want to drive you home from work and give you a kiss good night.