Starting Over On Blackberry Lane. Sheila Roberts

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       Chapter Two

      Griffin James finished straightening her hair, then double-checked her makeup. Okay. Done. She went into the living room of the old Craftsman she shared with her fiancé, Steve Redford, and found him still happily streaming his favorite online video game. Busman’s holiday—wasn’t that the saying for doing the same thing on your day off that you did during the rest of the week? There was a reason Steve’s job was perfect for him. He was a gaming addict.

      She stopped by the couch on her way out the door to the shower at Stef’s house. “How do I look?”

      “Good,” he said, never taking his eyes off the TV screen.

      “I dyed my hair purple. What do you think?” she asked, flipping her strawberry blond locks.

      “Yeah, great.”

      She glared at him. “Wanna know how you look?”

      “Good, yeah.” He punched the controls.

      Of course he didn’t. The avatars didn’t care. It was two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and there he sat in his ratty old T-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair pulled back in its usual man bun. He hadn’t shaved yet, hadn’t even brushed his teeth. Too busy killing imaginary enemies.

      “I’m leaving now,” she said abruptly. “I’m going to lie down in the bathtub and open a vein.”

      “Have fun.”

      “Steve!”

      He glanced up with a start. “Hey, babe, you look good.”

      Nice of him to finally notice. “Thanks.”

      “See you later,” he said, and his head swiveled back to the TV screen.

      She should have been an avatar. He’d have paid more attention to her. As she walked down the street to Stef’s house, Griffin tried to convince herself that she was excited about this bridal shower, that she was excited about getting married.

      She needed to be excited. She and Steve had been together for five years, ever since her junior year in college. Now they’d finally be solemnizing their relationship with a wedding, something that had her grandmother very relieved and her mother looking forward to the next step—grandchildren. But lately Griffin found herself wondering if they should take this first step. What were they stepping into?

      When they were first together they’d actually gone places, like the Grand Illusion Cinema in Seattle’s U District to watch foreign and revival films or to Jet City Improv. They’d gone to local pubs with friends and played Trivial Pursuit. Steve had ridden his bike a lot. (The extra forty pounds he was carrying now attested to how much he rode his bike these days.)

      He’d also played video games with his buddies back then. He had to do that, considering the fact that he was going to school for a career in the game industry. Then he’d gotten his entry-level job as a QA tester and it was as if he’d found El Dorado. The job was supposed to lead to bigger things, but once he got hooked on testing games, he’d forgotten about bigger things—including a bigger salary.

      Living anywhere near Seattle wasn’t cheap. Since they could both work from home, they’d opted for small-town life. Living off the land. Blah, blah. The only one living off the land last summer had been her when she’d gone blackberry picking with Stef one Saturday and they’d made jam together. Steve had used it for everything from ice cream topping to PB&Js and then asked when she was going to make some more. She’d said she would if he’d go berry picking with her. He hadn’t. There’d been no more jam.

      He’d promised to get working on the house, too. Her parents had lent them the money for a down payment on their fixer-upper. The only proviso was that the house had to stay in her name until they were married (Dad’s doing). Steve was going to take care of the sweat equity and fix the place up. The house was in need of paint both outside and in and had a broken step on the back porch. In spite of the fact that she’d weeded the flower beds, it was a bit of an eyesore. She was sure most of the neighbors had hoped when they moved in that they’d whip the place into shape. So far there’d been no sweating, other than by her—Steve had been too busy “working,” even when he wasn’t—and no whipping. But painting was on his to-do list. Come summer, he was going to get out there and get busy.

      Dad had his doubts. And not just about the home improvements getting done.

      Now Griffin was starting to have doubts, as well. She tried to picture her life with little Steves running all over the house. Or rather, sitting all over the house. Playing video games. While the back porch step got saggier and the paint continued to chip. Her parents had come to visit Thanksgiving weekend, and Steve had been his usual easygoing, jovial self. Dad had looked around the house and frowned a lot.

      Dad wasn’t the only one frowning these days. Griffin wasn’t exactly happy about their life together. Sometimes she felt it had shrunk to the size of a TV screen. Other than a Friday night at Stef and Brad’s, they didn’t do much as a couple. If it hadn’t been for Stef and the other women who had befriended her, Griffin would have felt completely marooned on a gamer’s desert island.

      That СКАЧАТЬ